“It was a car wreck, Benjy.”
“His wife was okay. She’s going to have a baby.”
“This is the baby.”
Benjy nodded as if he had finally put it all together. He put his hands in his lap and his eyes darted. “Visitor day,” he said. “I’m here forever.”
“Benjy, does it scare you that you’re having trouble remembering things?”
“Dad lost his memory. He died.”
“Your dad is still alive, Benjy.”
“Will he come?”
“No.”
He nodded. “I don’t want to lose my mind.”
“Give me your hands,” she said, and he let her take them in hers. “More important is that you don’t lose your soul.”
“I’ve got Jesus in my heart, Ma.”
Elisabeth started. He sounded so much like himself, so sure. “You do?”
He seemed to scold her. “You prayed with me. Don’t you remember?”
“I do, Benjy, but you can’t live like you want and say you’ve received Jesus. In Matthew 7:16, Jesus says, ‘Ye shall know them by their fruits.’”
“I’ve been bad,” he said.
“Yes, you have. But Jesus loves you.”
“I know. Jesus loves me, this I know. The chaplain prays with me. I’m a Christian.”
“How do you know?”
He seemed calm and looked directly into her eyes. “Romans 8:16,” he said. “Romans 8:16.”
“What does it say?”
He shook his head. “I used to know. But it’s true.”
“Let me look it up,” she said.
She got out her Bible. Her eyes filled as she read, “‘The Spirit himself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.’” Elisabeth reached for his hands again. “Do you know what that means?”
He shrugged. “I used to. Chaplain explained it. I want to go to heaven.”
“I want you there too, Benjy. I want us all together there someday. My dad is there. Your brother is there. Your father will be there. Someday your sister and I will be there too.”
“I’m not good enough,” he said, “but I’m going anyway.”
“You do understand then,” she said. “None of us are good enough.”
“I’m the worst.”
“The apostle Paul said he was the chief of sinners, but he was a great evangelist.”
“I know him.”
“You do?”
Benjy nodded, then looked puzzled. “He comes to our meetings. No wait, he doesn’t come. We read about him. We read what he writes.”
Elisabeth put her Bible away and sat staring at Benjy, who looked self-conscious. “You realize you probably have the same disease your father has?”
He nodded. “I don’t want to lose my mind.”
“I know.”
“Are you going now? Taking the baby?”
“Soon.”
“Good-by, Mom. Good-by, baby.”
Lisa stirred on the way out and Elisabeth sat feeding her in the parking lot. How was it possible that Aunt Agatha and Benjy had somehow grown spiritually tender after she had virtually given up on them? God wanted them for his kingdom even more than she did, she realized. Was there something about this baby that changed everyone’s perspective of the future?
Elisabeth agonized over Joyce, who was drifting. She coveted Joyce for the church, not just Christ Church but Christ’s church. She believed Joyce’s conversion had been real and that God would somehow hound her until she returned.
As Elisabeth drove Lisa back to Three Rivers in the dark, she prayed up and down her list. Will, Benjy, Betty, Joyce, Lisa, and Ben. Yes, Ben. He seemed so lonely, and yet he maintained his passion for ministry. She knew he cared for her, probably even held out hope for rekindling their romance someday. She loved him. She always had. But her husband was still alive.
Elisabeth was to return Lisa to Joyce the following noon. Back home, she finally put the baby down for the night and collapsed into her own bed. Exhausted as she was, she was grateful to God for both meetings that day. She turned onto her stomach and tucked her knees up under her so she was kneeling on the bed, her face in her pillow.
“Lord,” she said, “I don’t know what else to pray except thank you for the gift of this little one. I’m still wounded, still confused, still angry over my loss. But the desire you’ve given me is to see people come into your kingdom. If there is pain along the way, I’ll try to accept it. And if there is no reward this side of heaven, help me accept that too.”
Elisabeth hummed “Trust and Obey,” and sang, “When we walk with the Lord, in the light of his Word, what a glory he sheds on our way. As we do his good will, he abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey. Trust and obey, for there’s no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.”
Happy in Jesus, she thought as she fell asleep. That alone would be worth it all.
The next afternoon, Elisabeth stood in the bare dirt yard, if it could be called that, of the trailer Joyce shared with a cousin and the cousin’s boyfriend. A playpen sat outside next to a girl who sat smoking in a plastic lawn chair. “Just put her in here,” the girl said. “I’m Joyce’s cousin.”
“I’d like to speak with Joyce first, if you don’t mind.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“I’ll wake her.”
“She won’t like that.”
Elisabeth entered the trailer, where she was met by the barefoot, bare-chested man of the house. He lolled around in jeans and carried a steaming cup of coffee.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said.
“It’s not morning anymore,” she said. “Where’s Joyce?”
“It’s my morning!” he said, laughing heartily until disintegrating into a raspy cough. “Joyce!” he said. “Git up! It’s yer ma or in-law or somethin’!”
Elisabeth heard movement in a back room, and Joyce swore. She hurried to find Joyce sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, squinting at the sun. “Whoa,” she said. “Hi. What time is it?”
“Almost one. I thought you’d be worried.”
“I never worry when she’s with you,” Joyce said.
“I wish I could say the same when she’s here.”
“Don’t worry about her. Everybody loves her here. My cousin’s watching her this afternoon. She set up a pl—”
“I’d rather keep her, if you don’t mind.”
“I mind. I want to see her when I get off work.”
“She should be in bed by then.”
“I can raise my own kid.”
“I wish that were true. Joyce, look at you. Look at this place. This is nowhere to raise a baby.”
Joyce stood and threw the blanket on the bed. She yanked on a blouse and slacks, stepped into a pair of sandals, and reached for Lisa. Elisabeth pulled away. “If you ever want to see her again,” Joyce said, “you’ll give her to me! This happens to be how I was raised, and I was good enough for your son!”
“I’m sorry, Joyce. I didn’t mean to insult you. I—”
“You did a good job of it. Now I said you could take her to church Sunday, so you can come get her Saturday night. Meantime, she’s my daughter, she stays with me, and I raise her. You don’t like it, kiss her good-by right now.”
Elisabeth reluctantly handed Lisa over. “Think about letting her live with me awhile. Will you?”
Joyce glared at her. “Give Lisa up to you?”
“I’m just saying there might come a time when you’ll see she’d be better off—now don’t look at me that way—staying with me in town for a while.”
“In the first ward, you mean.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Just come Saturday night,” Joyce said. “And I want her back Sunday night.”
Elisabeth put in several hours at the Fairbanks plant, then drove to Kalamazoo. She prayed for Lisa every time she thought about her, seemingly every second.
“Ben! Hi!” she sai
d as she entered Will’s room. “To what do I owe the—”
“Dr. Fitzgerald wanted to know when you arrived,” Ben said, rising. “I’ll get him.”
“Fitzgerald from Three Rivers? I haven’t seen him in years. What’s the matter?”
“Something with Will, of course, but I don’t understand it, Elisabeth. Let me get him.”
Dr. Fitzgerald had been sent Will’s weekly charts for years but had made clear to Elisabeth that the daily care provided at the State Hospital virtually took him off the case, except as the physician of record. “It’s good to see you again,” he said as he entered. Ben had disappeared.
She smiled guardedly. “Should I be happy to see you, Doctor?”
He cocked his head. “That depends. I understand you have been consistent in your visits. Please sit down.”
Elisabeth was way past the need for gentility. “So is the end finally in sight?”
“I’m afraid so. He’ll soon need to be put on some sort of life support, and—”
“No. If he’d had the choice, he’d have said good-by a long time ago. I don’t want him to suffer, that’s all.” Elisabeth’s voice sounded hollow and flat to her. She knew this day was coming, but that took away none of the pain of its finality.
The doctor looked at Will. “Ma’am, he has felt nothing for years. We would continue to feed him and give him oxygen so he can breathe on his own.”
“And how will he die?”
“His heart will give out.”
“He won’t struggle?”
“Nothing he would be conscious of. I would like to move him to Three Rivers Hospital. That should make things easier for you.”
Elisabeth nodded, numb. Will’s breathing was labored. She heard every sound in his throat. “How long do you guess?”
Dr. Fitzgerald leafed through his chart. “There’s heart and liver damage now. A few weeks. A month at most.”
Elisabeth sighed. “I’ve had people tell me for years what a relief this should be. And I suppose it will be. He’s been dead to me, but I’ll miss him still. I would love to be with him when he goes.”
“I’ll check with the ambulance company.”
“I mean when he goes to heaven,” she said.
When Dr. Fitzgerald left, Elisabeth took Will’s hand. “When you’re ready, love,” she said. “When you’re ready. I’ll be along later with all three of our children. We can be happy about that.”
She heard footsteps outside the door and fell silent. “The doctor thought you might need to chat with someone,” Ben said from the hall.
“In a moment,” she said.
Elisabeth covered Will. She sat, weary but relieved. “Come in, Ben.”
He sat across from her, only a night light near the bed illuminating them. “You okay?” Ben said.
She nodded, tears welling up. “I’m going to miss him so.”
“You’ve been a wonderful wife, Elisabeth. A man could not ask for more.”
She felt as if his words were from God to encourage her. “Thank you, Ben.”
He nodded.
“I’d appreciate if you’d sing at the funeral.”
“I’d be honored.”
“I love ‘I Have Decided to Follow Jesus.’ The preacher referenced it the night Will and I dedicated our lives.”
“It’s the story of your life, Elisabeth.”
“How I wish that were true.”
Ben leaned forward. “May I pray for you, Elisabeth?” She nodded. “And may I take your hand?” She nodded again, appreciating his asking. He thanked God for Will’s life and for the love Will and Elisabeth had shared, “that has been an example to me and many others of true commitment.”
As he finished, Elisabeth felt pressure on her knuckle. As he let go and they opened their eyes, she saw the glint of metal. “Ben,” she said, “are you wearing a ring?”
He nodded.
Elisabeth wondered if she could draw a breath. She fought for composure. “A wedding ring?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me?” she said, pretending the offense was merely that she didn’t know. “Invite me, you mean?”
“We invited no one. One of my old seminary profs officiated, and he and his wife were witnesses.”
Elisabeth hated that this news devastated her as much as the word about Will. She wished she were somewhere she could scream, bang her fists on the wall, something. She forced herself to act normal. But what was normal now?
“So, someone I know?”
Ben looked surprised. “Dellarae.”
Elisabeth was speechless.
Ben walked with her out into the hall. “Doesn’t seem like my type?”
Elisabeth shrugged, not trusting herself to speak.
“I need a little flamboyance, wouldn’t you say?”
Elisabeth whispered, “You’re fine the way you are.”
“She’s a woman of God, Elisabeth. Transparent. What you see is what you get. She’s fond of you.”
Elisabeth wanted to say, “And I of her,” but she could not respond. She was fighting rage, even hatred against Dellarae. Hatred?
“She’s hoping we’ll all be friends,” Ben said.
Elisabeth teetered on the edge of actually asking Ben if he would have chosen Mrs. Shockadance had he known Will’s prospects. His awful news brought clarity to what she had not admitted even to herself: that her one hope, dream, and consolation was that Ben would one day be waiting at the end of her long and painful journey. She, and she had assumed he, had been obsessive about remaining appropriate until she was free. But hadn’t they both been harboring hopes that the day would come when they could freely reveal their feelings toward each other? Had she only assumed he shared her longing?
Maybe he had simply wearied of waiting. Perhaps she had played her part so well that Ben had lost hope she would ever return to him. Fortunately, he had to assume it was the news about Will that rendered her uncommunicative. He walked her to her car and accepted her assurances that she was all right. Elisabeth pulled out, but rather than head south on Oakland Drive, she turned left and drove north to the deserted parking lot at University High School.
There she broke down and let the tears flow, pounding on the steering wheel and raging in the darkness at the injustice of it all. Exhausted and unable to pray, Elisabeth rued the future. Ben would naturally expect his new wife to accompany his solo at Will’s funeral. Elisabeth would have to sit there, mourning her husband, mourning her firstborn and his inherited dementia, mourning the miles between her and her daughter, mourning the memory of her youngest child, and mourning the death of any future she had dreamed of with Ben. All the while she would see his choice of a life’s mate, in all her glory, playing the piano.
When Elisabeth finally pulled herself together and headed toward Three Rivers, she sensed God checking her spirit as she itemized her sacrifices. Each time she dwelt on Bruce, something niggled at her brain. Something she had never considered. Was it possible that Bruce was spared by dying young?
Would he not have had a tendency toward the same affliction that affected his paternal grandfather, his father, and his older brother? In truth there was little consolation that Bruce may have avoided an ugly end by suffering what appeared a premature one. Yet this was something she had to consider.
That night in bed she tried to pray. “So it is to be just you and me the rest of the way?” she began. “No husband who can see me, talk with me, pray with me, touch me, hold me, kiss me, sleep with me? I don’t understand your timing, and I wonder if Ben does. Take Will peacefully, that’s all I ask.”
If this was a test, Elisabeth wanted to pass it. If God wanted to know he had her attention, her whole heart and soul and mind for the desire he had given her to increase his kingdom, she wanted to assure him he had it. Though it had never been easy and apparently never would be, she wanted to leave her situation, her circumstances, to him. She would serve and obey, not resignedly or only because she knew no other
way. Rather, she would fulfill her commitment to a God she believed was trustworthy even when he didn’t seem so.
For the next three weeks she visited Will every day at Three Rivers Hospital and kept little Lisa on weekends. Now that Will was dying, rather than vegetating as a mental patient, several friends from Christ Church also visited. Even Pastor Clarkson came, and Elisabeth had to give him credit. He was not afraid to look at Will and touch him and even address him. Most others talked with her as if Will were not there.
Elisabeth corresponded with Betty, pleading with her to somehow make it back for the funeral. Betty wanted to but made no promises.
At about three in the morning, Friday, October 4, 1946, Elisabeth was dreaming of the weekend with Lisa, now nearly ten months old. The phone awakened her. Elisabeth did not hurry. She knew what this message bore.
Making her way down the stairs, she prayed only that Will would hang on at least another hour. By the time she dressed, drove to the hospital, and reached his room, Will’s breathing had decreased to nine respirations a minute.
“He doesn’t appear to be struggling,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. “His respiration should slow until it stops. I’ll leave you with him. If you detect any discomfort, we can medicate him.”
Elisabeth sensed she was in the presence of God from the instant she was alone with Will. He lay on his side, his face to the wall. She pulled a chair there and forced his hand open, placing hers inside. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply. She counted. Just barely nine a minute. A couple of minutes later, he was down to eight, then seven.
Slowly, slowly his breathing became shallower. When he was respiring only four times a minute, she wondered if each breath was his last. She spoke softly to him. “You’re about to see Jesus,” she said. “I envy you. Say hello to our dads, will you? And Bruce? And would you tell God I have a lot to ask him?”
He took a long, deep breath, and let it out, and she heard nothing for more than twenty seconds. “Go quietly, my sweetheart. I love you with all my heart, and I always will. I’ll love you with all that is in me until I see you again.”
Will inhaled deeply yet again. Elisabeth stood and pried her hand from his, leaning to embrace his bony frame. She pressed her face into his neck, one arm on his back, the other in his thinning hair. “Good-by, Will,” she said. “Good-by, my love.”
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