Twilight's Serenade

by Tracie Peterson

“Britta, it was crib death. There’s nothing you or anyone else could have done,” her mother explained.

  She began to flail all the harder at her mother’s comment, but Yuri wouldn’t let her go. His arms felt like steel vises around her, but Britta wasn’t deterred. “You have to let me go to her.” A wailing sob broke from her throat and tears began to flood her eyes. “I have to help her.”

  “You can’t help her now, Britta,” Yuri whispered.

  “Let me give you something,” the doctor said, reaching for his bag.

  Britta shook her head again but felt the strength drain from her body. “I don’t need something—Darya needs it.”

  “Darya is gone.”

  Britta stilled for just a moment. “No. She’s just sleeping.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Sweetheart, she’s with God.”

  Yuri watched Britta sleep and wished fervently he could undo the events of the day. He felt consumed by guilt. He had never given Darya the love she deserved. Because she wasn’t his, Yuri had kept himself from getting too close. Now she was gone.

  Could a baby die from a lack of love?

  Well, it wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed love. Britta had adored Darya, as did most everyone who came in contact with her.

  “Why couldn’t I love her?”

  Of course that was the age-old question for him in regard to so many people in his life. He had always pushed people away. Only Britta had found a way to break down his defenses.

  Well, there was Laura. Lydia had arranged for her to stay with Phoebe and Dalton. She had no idea that her baby sister was dead. He couldn’t help but wonder how it might affect the child. Would she miss Darya?

  Britta moaned in her sleep, and Yuri put aside thoughts of his daughter and turned to his wife. He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her into his arms, finding that he needed her comfort as much as he imagined she needed his.

  Nothing in life had prepared him for the death of a child. Even a child that he couldn’t quite accept.

  “It wasn’t her fault,” he whispered.

  Darya had done nothing wrong. It was all his stupid way of looking at things. His anger and frustration over what Marsha had done. Now they were both gone, and he could either let that anger continue or let it go. He seemed to be standing at a crossroads . . . and thankfully, God was standing there with him.

  I can go on feeling this fear, this rage, he told himself, or I can leave it here and move on without it.

  He sighed and felt Britta stir in his arms. How in the world would they ever get beyond this moment? Things were just starting to look up for them. He and Britta were finally able to open up to one another, to enjoy marriage the way God intended. And now this.

  Yuri hadn’t realized that he’d dozed off, but when he awoke, he found Britta sobbing softly in his arms. He pushed back her damp hair and stroked her cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Britta. I’m so sorry you were alone. So sorry Darya . . . that she . . .” He couldn’t say the words.

  “It’s not fair. She did nothing wrong.”

  “No one did anything wrong. Not you or Darya.”

  “I must have. I must have missed something. She needed me and I didn’t know it. I should have known.”

  Yuri lifted her face so he could see her eyes. “Britta, you don’t control life and death. Not for yourself or for the children.”

  It was then that she seemed to remember Laura. “Where is she? Where’s Laura?”

  “She’s with Phoebe and Dalton. She doesn’t know yet about Darya. I thought we’d wait until you were feeling better.”

  Britta tried to sit up. “She must be upset. She could see that something was wrong. We need to go to her.”

  Yuri pulled her back down. “Your mother and father just saw her. She’s fine. She’s having a lot of fun. Phoebe is keeping her busy.”

  For several minutes, Britta said nothing, and Yuri thought she’d faded back to sleep. He eased his chin against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

  “What if this happens again?” Britta asked in a barely audible voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  She pulled away and looked at him. Her eyes were swollen from crying. “What if I have a baby and that baby dies, too?”

  He hadn’t considered them even having children. For some reason, it hadn’t been uppermost on his mind. They had been intimate for such a short time that the concern had not been real before this.

  “I suppose . . . well, it’s possible. Life is so fragile.”

  “Everyone dies,” she said almost flippantly. “Illiyana died. Aunt Zee. Marsha. Darya. I’ll die . . . you’ll die.” Her voice broke. “Everyone dies.” She fell back against the bed in a fresh flood of tears.

  Her pain pierced Yuri’s heart. He had mourned so much of his life that death had never frightened him. Until now. Britta was right. Everyone would die sooner or later. The thought filled him with sorrow. Laura would die someday—and hopefully he would be long gone before that happened. But it would happen.

  Britta would die. In fact, what if she died in childbirth as Marsha had? The thought terrified him more than he wanted to admit. If she died giving birth to his child, how could he not blame himself? And then he would be alone again. Alone without anyone to turn to—to love.

  For the first time in a long while, Yuri wanted a drink. He wanted to forget what had happened, and he wanted to forget what might happen.

  O God, I’m so weak. I cannot bear this alone. Please help me—help us.

  Chapter 23

  Britta sat near the tiny casket as the pastor spoke of God’s mercies and love. She had bolstered herself for this day with a sort of numb resignation. Nothing she did or said was going to change the fact that her daughter was about to be buried in the ground.

  Yuri sat solemnly beside her, looking rigid and awkward in a suit he’d borrowed from Dalton. Everyone else stood nearby, while Laura moved back and forth between Britta and Lydia. Britta’s mother and father had explained Darya’s death to Laura. She seemed curious, but not overly grieved. It was impossible for Laura to understand the full implication of the situation or even to be afraid, and for that, Britta was thankful.

  “It is never easy to say good-bye to a loved one,” the pastor began, “but even harder when that loved one is a child—an infant.” He opened the Bible and recited several verses about Jesus being the resurrection and the life, but Britta found no comfort in them.

  “Little Darya Belikov was only eight months old, but in observing her at church I have to say she was one of the happiest children I’ve ever known,” the pastor continued. “And I’ve had the pleasure of watching a great many children in my years as a minister.

  “Darya had a joy and light about her that seemed to penetrate even the gloomiest moment. She was full of laughter and adventure. Her grandmother told me she was just learning to walk, even though she was very young. Perhaps she sensed her life would be short and wanted to accomplish as much as possible in whatever time she had here.”

  Britta twisted a handkerchief around her fingers until she felt pain and slowly released the tourniquet again. Such action kept her from weeping or thinking too much on the words that were said. It was the only way she could make it through the funeral.

  “Sometimes we face situations like this and we can’t help but ask ourselves, ‘Where was God? Why did He not keep this child from death?’ ”

  Yes, Britta thought. We ask those questions, but we get no answers. God is ever so clear on a great many things but strangely silent when bad things happen to the innocent. She looked up, almost afraid she’d voiced her thoughts aloud. No one seemed to notice, however, and the pastor continued.

  “Many folks will ask these questions, and often we will hear things like, ‘This is a fallen world. Adam and Eve brought sin into it and because of this, death.’ And while that’s true, it offers little comfort.”

  Britta could vouch for that. She didn’t want to hear all the well-rehea
rsed Christian answers. The pain she felt could not be eased by remembering that the world suffered because of sin. The rest of the world’s pain was not hers to contemplate when her own was eating her alive.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to believe that God is good and compassionate when something like this happens,” the man went on. “Some would even call God cruel for having robbed a mother of her child.”

  Or a child of her mother, Britta thought. Of course, she hadn’t felt that way when Marsha passed away. The woman hadn’t cared properly for Laura, so there was no reason to believe she would have been a decent mother to Darya. Still, Marsha’s death had been nothing but relief to Britta. Her death had freed Yuri.

  Maybe that’s what this is all about. It felt as if Britta’s heart had tightened into a knot. Was this some kind of divine punishment for having coveted another woman’s husband?

  But I didn’t, Britta reasoned. I loved him first. I went away when I learned he was married. I tried to fall in love with another man. I didn’t sit around, pining for Yuri. I loved him—that’s true enough. But I’ve always loved him. I’ll always love him.

  Surely God wouldn’t take Darya as punishment for having loved Yuri. She sat staring at the tiny casket.

  “The psalmist says in Psalm 116,” the pastor said, turning in his Bible, “ ‘I love the Lord, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications. Because he hath inclined his ear unto me, therefore will I call upon him as long as I live. The sorrows of death compassed me. . . .’

  “We have found trouble and sorrow here on earth. The sorrows of death compass us and leave us with the pain of hell’s hold. But there is release—there is hope beyond this moment of misery. I speak here today to those left behind, those who mourn the passing of this infant girl. God has not left you to bear this sadness alone. He has not abandoned you.”

  Then where is He? Britta looked skyward. Where are you, God?

  She thought back to those exhausting nights when both Darya and Laura had been trying to adjust to life at the Lindquist house. Some nights she had begged God to help the children sleep—to give them peace and let them feel safe. Rest had been so important then; now there seemed to be no rest, no peace.

  As if on cue, the pastor continued reading from the Bible. “ ‘Then called I upon the name of the Lord; O Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul. Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful. The Lord preserveth the simple: I was brought low, and he helped me. Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee. For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living.’ ”

  Britta refused to hear anything more. How could her soul return to rest? How could she call upon the Lord for deliverance when she felt He had turned away from her? The psalmist might have found comfort in those words, but Britta wondered how she could possibly feel the same way.

  Then she remembered that David, too, had lost a child. That child had been the result of his sin with Bathsheba. God had taken that child, just as He had taken Darya. Why did the innocent suffer?

  But in this case, the innocent didn’t suffer, she thought. The innocent babies were whisked away from the pains and sicknesses of this life. Those children were spared the grief that life on earth could bring. The innocent didn’t suffer . . . but she did.

  I wasn’t innocent. I made a vow to God and pressed Yuri to do the same, not knowing whether it would ever be fulfilled. I’m paying the consequences of my own sin.

  She buried her face in her hands and bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. The pain did nothing to take her focus from the accusations in her heart. Yuri put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Britta didn’t try to stop him. She needed the warmth of his touch, even though there was little comfort to be had.

  Her only thought was to endure to the end of the service and then go home. Home to sleep and forget the pain of her loss. Home to hide away from the questions and pitying glances of her loved ones.

  The pastor continued to speak, but Britta refused to listen. She waited until the final prayers were said, until the men lowered the tiny coffin into the small grave beside the spot where Marsha Belikov had been buried eight months earlier, before hearing so much as the breeze blowing through the trees.

  “I’ll take Laura back with us,” Phoebe said, coming to Yuri and Britta. “She can play with Connie, and then we’ll bring her home for supper.”

  “Thank you,” Yuri replied.

  Britta nodded but could scarcely meet her sister-in-law’s eyes. Instead, she glanced to where her father was helping her mother into their carriage. They had ridden there together as a family, but all she wanted now was to be left alone.

  “I’ll walk back,” she said, nodding toward the carriage. “You go ahead with them.”

  Yuri didn’t argue. He seemed to understand that she needed some time to herself. She hated closing him out of this moment in her life, but Britta couldn’t deal with the guilt that consumed her. Somehow, all of this was her fault and she had to figure out a way to make it right.

  One by one, the funeral-goers left and Britta stood by herself at the grave. She let the grief pour over her as she remembered losing Illiyana, Aunt Zee, and now the baby. It hurt so much to have loved and lost them. Their passing left holes in her heart that would never be filled.

  “Only God can fill the empty spaces of our hearts,” her mother had once told her. “Whether those empty places come about because of death or betrayal, God is the only one who can make broken hearts whole again.”

  Britta shook her head. God seemed so far away.

  “I didn’t want you to walk home alone.”

  Britta turned and found her father standing only a few feet away. She suddenly felt like a little girl again—scared and confused. Britta rushed into her father’s arms as she might have done twenty years earlier.

  “This hurts so much,” she said, letting her tears escape.

  “I know.” He held her close and stroked her back as he had when she’d been young.

  For several minutes, she stood there crying—desperate to find solace and hope. Her father had always been such a pillar of strength for her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, finally pulling away. “Where is God in all of this, Father? I just don’t see how He can possibly be here—how He can still care.”

  Her father put an arm around her and led her from the grave. They walked toward the road, leaving the cemetery behind them.

  “I can’t give you answers I don’t have,” he said softly. “But I can assure you that God is still here. He still cares.”

  She wanted to believe him. “How do you know?”

  “Because He said He would never leave us or forsake us.”

  “I feel forsaken. I feel betrayed. God has taken the life of that baby and left me to bear the guilt of my sins.”

  “And what sin would that be?”

  She hung her head. “Yuri and I made a vow to God and to each other when we married, and yet we were not honest about it. Yuri didn’t know if he could ever fulfill that vow, and I forced him to pledge it anyway.”

  “And you think God is punishing you by taking Darya?”

  She looked up and met her father’s look of disbelief. “Well, why not? God disciplines His children. You told me that long ago. You said the Bible says that He disciplines those He loves.”

  “Discipline and the death of a child are two different things, Britta. It would be a great injustice to suppose they were one and the same.”

  “But what of David and Bathsheba, Father? They sinned, and God allowed their child to die.”

  He thought on this for a moment. “I don’t pretend to know all the answers, Britta. You’re right, God did take David’s child. Such a punishment seems harsh, yet He later gives David and Bathsheba another son. Solomon becomes an even greater, wiser king than his father. God’s people were blessed under his rule
.”

  “I don’t understand. God is all-powerful. He has the power of life and death in His hands, isn’t that true?”

  Her father nodded. “God is omnipotent.”

  “So God didn’t have to let Darya die.”

  “No. I suppose He didn’t.”

  Britta looked back at the ground. “But He let her die all the same.”

  “Just as so many have died before her.”

  “Yes. So many people I’ve cared about.” Britta stopped and turned to her father. “I can’t see the love in that. I can’t see the mercy or the promise of never being forsaken. I feel alone and hopeless. My pain is so great that I can scarcely breathe.”

  “I know. I’ve felt that pain many times. When Dalton was taken and your mother nearly died; when your brother died; when my first wife died.”

  “Mother told me about the baby—my brother. Why did no one ever speak of it before?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose that pain you’re speaking of caused us to hide it away. Dalton was too little to remember, and the baby lived only a very short time. He’s buried up in the mountain behind the house. Your mother used to walk up there from time to time, but she preferred we not speak about it, so we didn’t.”

  “I don’t want to be that way about Darya. She was such a good baby. I loved being her mother.” Britta wiped at the tears with the back of her hand. “I’m just so afraid.”

  Her father again opened his arms to her, and Britta stepped into his embrace and let him hold her. “What if it happens again?” she whispered.

  “Britta, you can’t live life in fear of death. Death will come to each of us. It’s a part of our world. If you live in fear—if you spend your days watching for death at every turn—you’ll never know happiness again. And sweetheart, you have so many reasons to be happy. Laura, for one.”

  “I know she needs me. She doesn’t understand why I’ve been so sad. I tried to talk to her about Darya and how I miss her, but she just patted my hand and said that Darya was safe with Jesus. She trusts God more than I do, I suppose.”

  “She’s a child. It’s easy to trust when you’re little. Remember how you felt as a girl? You weren’t worried about much of anything. I think you were pretty carefree and easygoing.”