The Atonement Child

by Francine Rivers

  Something chewed at her sense of security, some niggling apprehension. And guilt.

  “Hi,” Jim said from the doorway.

  She glanced up sharply, relieved to see him. He still made her heart jump. She rose as he entered, and he took her in his arms and kissed her. It wasn’t the usual casual peck of greeting but one of hunger and promise. She leaned into him, clinging, relishing the moment. Seldom in the past few years had he come home in such a mood. After a long moment, he drew back, his fingers lightly combing through her hair. “I love you,” he said, eyes warm, expression clear of tension. She hadn’t realized how much the stress had affected him until it was gone.

  Those three words still had the power to reduce her to tears. How had she ever been so lucky as to have won a man like Jim Wyatt? Reaching up, she touched his face, loving him with every particle of her being. She couldn’t speak.

  “You look a little down,” Jim said. “You okay?”

  She lifted her shoulders slightly, unable to explain, not sure she wanted to diagnose her feelings. Perhaps it was best not to examine some things too closely. You might find corruption. She went back into his arms, her head resting against his chest so she could hear the steady, solid beat of his heart.

  Oh, God, have I been wrong? Have I been wrong all along?

  She withdrew, crushing the traitorous thought, afraid of where it might lead. “Dinner should be ready.”

  Jim knew something was wrong, but he didn’t press her. “I could smell the leg of lamb when I came in. And peach cobbler, too, I hear. Dynah said you’ve been busy all afternoon.” He loosened his tie and headed for the walk-in closet.

  She followed him. “You like her, don’t you, Jim?”

  “Very much. Don’t you?”

  “She’s like a little sister,” she said truthfully, gripped by a terrible sadness. She knew she could talk to Dynah, and yet she had refrained. Why? She had seen proof that this young woman would cast no stones and bear no grudges. She was like a sweet fragrance in the house, an open window that brought in fresh air and sunlight.

  And she’s leaving tomorrow.

  Cynthia’s throat closed at the thought.

  Dinner turned out to be a quiet, glum affair. Neither Todd nor Cricket was very hungry, both obsessing about losing their newfound playmate. Even the peach cobbler with a dab of whipped cream failed to raise their spirits. Usually Cynthia had to tell them to slow down and not be in such a hurry to rush back to their play. Tonight, Jim had to ask them to leave the table. When they still resisted, he bribed them.

  “There’s half an hour of sunlight left before you two have to get ready for bed. What do you say I challenge you both to a game of soccer?”

  It was an offer neither could refuse. To have their father play with them was a delight beyond anything.

  Grinning, Dynah rose and began gathering dishes.

  “I’ll do them,” Cynthia said quickly. “You go rest.”

  “You cooked. It’s only fair I clean up.”

  Cynthia busied herself with finding containers for the leftovers. She glanced out the window several times, smiling as she watched Jim and the children competing for the black-and-white ball.

  Dynah finished putting the rinsed dishes into the washer and turned to her. “Cynthia, thank you for taking me in.”

  “Nonsense. It was Jim who helped you.”

  “You opened the way for him.”

  Cynthia didn’t know what to say to that. She had opened the door to this girl, and her life was never going to be the same. Because of Dynah, Jim had made a decision that would change everything, most of all him. Was she happy about it? Part of her rejoiced, while another part was afraid. It was the fear she didn’t want to dissect.

  Dynah sensed there was something troubling Cynthia Wyatt. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the woman’s distress, but she knew some things had to be addressed before she left. “You have more influence than you realize,” she said, fully aware how quickly things could change if Cynthia wanted it so. A woman could be the wind beneath a man’s sails or a gale to send him into uncharted waters. She could be an anchor in stormy seas, or she could let him drift onto the rocks.

  “Jim has always done what he felt he had to do.” Cynthia turned away, hoping Dynah would leave it at that.

  She didn’t. She couldn’t. “It’s easy to see how much you both love each other. Jim said the other evening you’ve supported him in everything.”

  In everything. Cynthia closed her eyes tightly, her stomach tightening. “It was never my idea that he perform abortions. He did it because of what happened to his sister.”

  “Were you against it?”

  “I didn’t think about it.” She hadn’t dared. Wasn’t a wife’s job to support her husband and not fight against him? Turning, she looked at Dynah, resenting the question. “I was for Jim. That’s all.”

  Dynah looked into Cynthia’s eyes and wanted to weep for her. Cynthia turned away again, stacking containers and opening the refrigerator. She shoved them in heedlessly and let the door swing shut as she straightened. She faced Dynah again, anger stirring. “I find it rather amazing that you would dare stand in judgment after all we’ve done for you.”

  Dynah shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m not judging you, Cynthia.”

  “But you think I was wrong, don’t you? You think I should have spoken up.” Stepping past her, she reached for the dishcloth. “Well, I think you should pack.” She began wiping down the counter Dynah had already wiped down. Clutching the cloth, she found herself alone in the kitchen. Leaning on the counter, she shut her eyes, ashamed.

  The truth was, she had never allowed herself to think too deeply on the issue of abortion. She had always been against it until Jim had explained another side. Then she had been for it for his sake. She had chosen to close her eyes and ears and mind to all sides but his. It was too complex an issue, too volatile, too sensitive to discuss. And after all, wasn’t it a matter of personal choice? Everyone said so, didn’t they? The newspapers, magazines, television. From the president of the United States on down the line.

  She hadn’t wanted to think about it too much or look too closely, not when the love of her life was so intimately involved. She couldn’t bear to think he might be wrong. It had been easier to follow his lead rather than try to pull him in another direction. He had been so convinced he was doing right. She had chosen not to question him.

  Oh, God, why didn’t I? Was I afraid he wouldn’t love me anymore?

  She had only seen the smallest measure of anguish he had suffered in taking the course he had. She hadn’t guessed the depth of it, had never dreamed of the battle going on inside him, the sense of shame and despair he had lived with for the past four years. And then the dam had broken three nights ago. She had never seen her husband weep as he had then. Now he had made a complete U-turn in his thinking and his life.

  And she was falling into step again, saying nothing, accepting.

  Cynthia went into the living room, away from the windows looking into the backyard, and sat down. Her chest was so tight she could hardly breathe.

  Maybe if she had said something in the beginning, maybe if she had given even the smallest hint of warning, she could have saved him all the suffering. Maybe if she had reminded him of why he had worked so hard to become a doctor in the first place. Maybe if she had suggested other ways to help women facing crisis pregnancies besides aborting their babies.

  Oh, God, oh, God, I shared in it.

  It was too late now. They would both have to live with their sins: Jim for his actions, her for her inaction, her silence and omission.

  The sliding-glass door banged open as the children came inside and charged down the hall for their baths. Todd was old enough to manage for himself, but Cynthia could hear her daughter calling for Dynah. She was glad for it. She wanted to sit here in the solitude of the living room and nurse the wounds that were opening with every thought.

  “Hon
ey?”

  She tried to smile at her husband, but her mouth trembled as he entered the room. He studied her for a moment. When she couldn’t hold his gaze, he sat down in the chair facing her and leaned forward, hands loosely clasped between his knees.

  “Are you sorry we’ll have to give all this up?”

  Cynthia looked around the elegantly decorated living room. Nothing she was looking at was irreplaceable. She didn’t care if they gave up country club membership. She had seldom had the time to enjoy it anyway. She didn’t care if they sold the house and moved. None of the neighbors had ever been particularly friendly. Perhaps that was her own fault, living in fear behind the high iron gate. Or had shame kept her hidden away?

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “None of it. These are just things.” Only Jim mattered, Jim and the children—and she’d failed them all.

  She looked at him, aching inside, and shook her head, struggling to contain the turbulent emotions twisting and churning inside her. “I’m sorry, Jim. I’m so sorry.”

  Jim sensed what was bothering her and loved her all the more for it. “You’re not to blame for the choices I’ve made.”

  “No, but I’m to blame for not talking to you about my reservations. I’m to blame for not asking the hard questions that might have helped you look at things in a different way. I knew you were suffering.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I knew, but I convinced myself I shouldn’t interfere.” She touched his cheek. “You know, you never had to tell me which days you worked at the clinic. I knew by how depressed you were the morning you left. I knew because you were angry when you came home. I knew when you spent the entire evening in your den going over cases from your office. I thought keeping silent would make it easier for you. I was wrong.”

  “You did it because you loved me.”

  “Yes. I loved you. I do love you. I love you so much, I’d die for you. So why couldn’t I love you enough to be completely honest?”

  His eyes moistened as they searched hers. “I never knew you had any reservations.”

  “I was afraid to tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Another lie. She tried again. “I knew by the way you talked about Carolyn how much your sister meant to you. I didn’t want to add to your hurt.” An excuse. And yet again, she tried. “I think the truth is I was afraid it would tear us apart.” Saying it hurt. She was getting closer. “My parents disagreed on a lot of things, and they fought constantly. I swore I’d never live like that.” Even that sounded like an excuse to her. “There’s no good reason for not dealing with things. I should’ve said something.” Who better qualified to hold up a yellow flag? Or a red one?

  Jim came and sat beside her, drawing her into his arms. “It probably wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  This from the man who had chosen to go to medical school in San Francisco because she’d always loved the West Coast. This from the man who had moved her to Mill Valley because she was concerned about rearing the children in the city. This from the man who had bought this house because she had loved it at first sight.

  It would have made a difference.

  It would have made all the difference in the world.

  Dynah awakened in the night, needing to use the bathroom. Glancing at the small clock on her bedside table, she saw it was two fifteen in the morning. Sighing wearily, she flipped the covers back and pushed herself up into a sitting position. She felt the baby move strongly, feet down on her bladder. Leaning over, she felt for her robe. It was lying across the foot of her bed within easy reach, convenient for her nightly visits to the bathroom across the hall. Smiling faintly, she shrugged into the robe as she rose, one hand beneath the bulge of her abdomen.

  On her way back to bed, she noticed a light was on in the living room. Curious, she drew the sides of her terry-cloth robe more snugly around her and went to see who was up at such a late hour.

  Cynthia was sitting in one of the swivel rockers, barefoot. She was wearing a pink-and-white flannel nightgown and looked more like a girl of twenty than a woman in her late thirties. A young girl anxious about something.

  “Are you feeling all right, Cynthia?”

  “I should be asking you that.”

  Dynah rested her hand lightly on her abdomen. “The baby’s tap-dancing.”

  Cynthia smiled. “I remember. At the end, I couldn’t fit behind the steering wheel of our car.” Her expression grew solemn again. “I heard you get up. I was hoping, if you weren’t too tired, we could talk awhile.”

  “I’d like that.” Dynah came into the living room and sat in the matching rocker nearest her. Her expression was open and sweet, almost thankful. Cynthia’s anxiety evaporated.

  “I didn’t mean to come at you the way I did earlier,” she said. “I was feeling defensive.”

  “I understood.”

  Cynthia saw she did. “Jim and I talked about it. He doesn’t really understand what I’m feeling. Men seem to see things in black and white rather than shades of gray.” Her mouth curved ruefully. “That’s where I’ve been living for a long time. In the gray area.”

  “Sometimes it feels safe there,” Dynah said. Hadn’t she gone along for months without making any kind of decision or stand? She’d like to think now she did it to protect her baby, but in truth, she hadn’t. She had wanted to deny its very existence. She had wanted to wish it away.

  “Unfortunately, life has a way of slapping you in the face with reality,” Cynthia said quietly.

  Dynah knew that only too well. She also knew that after the sting of awakening came the blessing of dawn.

  “You were right, Dynah. I did support Jim in his work. It’s a damning word, isn’t it? Support. I upheld him in it. He’d like to absolve me. As much as I’d like to let him, he can’t. Inaction is an action in itself, and silence can speak louder than words.” She smiled weakly. “Trite, but true. I just wanted you to know that before you leave tomorrow.”

  Leaning forward, Dynah took Cynthia’s hand. “I came because God sent me, and you opened the door. I needed help, and you took me in.”

  “You said that once before,” Cynthia said, touched by her concern.

  “I’ll say it again. Others weren’t so kind.” Ethan. Dean Abernathy. Even her own parents.

  Oh, God, who are the infidels? These people who took in a stranger off the street? Ethan and Dean Abernathy are saved. So, too, are Mom and Dad. None of us deserve it, but You cover us with Your grace and mercy. Oh, but, Lord, what of these two people I’ve come to love? What of their children? Oh, Jesus, please. I beseech You on their behalf. You’ve opened their eyes. Open their hearts as well so that their names are written in the Book of Life.

  “I’ve been very glad of your company,” Cynthia said, squeezing Dynah’s hand gently in return.

  “We haven’t talked very much.” Not enough. “Not about the important things.” Christ. The gospel.

  “No, but I’ve watched you.”

  “I want you to have the peace God’s given me.”

  “I know, but I don’t think I’m ready for it. Not like Jim was.” He was ripe for the harvest. She was still standing grain. “You’ve made me hunger and thirst, Dynah, but I’ll have to find my own way to the well.”

  God, may it be so. When Cynthia withdrew her hand and leaned back slightly, Dynah understood that the spiritual side of their conversation had been closed.

  “What of the young man who’s been calling you?”

  “Joe? He’s been a wonderful friend.”

  “Are you sure it isn’t more?”

  “He was my fiancé’s best friend. When my relationship with Ethan disintegrated because of . . . well, difficult circumstances, I think Joe felt someone had to shoulder responsibility for me.”

  Cynthia raised her brows. “So he moved all the way to California to do that?”

  “He’s been talking about going to UC Berkeley since I met him. He said it’d be a great place for testing a person’s
faith.”

  “Well, he’s probably right about that. Does he plan to become a minister?”

  “I don’t know,” Dynah said, frowning slightly, wondering. “I’ve never really nailed Joe down about anything.” All she knew for certain was that he loved the Lord wholeheartedly. That had been enough to cement her respect and admiration from the beginning. As to the rest, Joe had never been quick to share his hopes and dreams or his plans. Not the way Ethan had.

  They talked for over an hour, about the children mostly and some about Cynthia’s college years and her dreams of being an interior decorator. Both grew drowsy. They walked down the hall together. Cynthia touched Dynah’s arm lightly. “I’ll miss you.”

  Dynah embraced her. “May God bless you and your family.”

  Cynthia watched the door close behind her. She felt a strange ache in her heart, a pang of loneliness.

  “Is one of the children sick?” Jim said groggily when Cynthia slipped back into bed.

  “No. Dynah got up to go to the bathroom. I thought I’d visit with her for a while.”

  “Hmmmm. Good.”

  “Sorry I awakened you.”

  He was snoring again within two minutes. Cynthia curled onto her side and tucked herself against him. Doctors learned early to sleep whenever they had the opportunity.

  “May God bless you and your family.”

  Maybe the blessing of a girl like Dynah was enough to assuage the guilt. She hoped so. Her own faith was lacking.

  Closing her eyes, Cynthia Wyatt willed herself to sleep.

  Tense, heart pounding, Evie sat silently in the wing chair near the sliding-glass doors that led out to Gladys’s deck. The door was open, allowing the warm breeze to carry in the scent of the pine forest and the sweet sound of birdsong. The calm atmosphere did nothing to ease Evie’s turbulent spirit.

  Virginia Hart, Doris Fulton, and Marva Novak chattered gaily, delighted with Gladys’s flavored coffee, cookies, and cupcakes, totally oblivious to Evie’s wretched state of mind. Gladys had called the women together for an afternoon “tea.”