CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sweet Is The Work...
It was all very well for Grandpa and Brigham Young to counsel us to be happy. Family members, I could tell, were making a valiant effort to be cheerful and hopeful. But, how could I be happy when everything bad that had happened was my fault? — well, part of it was Leatrice’s fault; and those bad dogs had killed the rabbits.
But it was my fault the flowerpot had fallen from the window and gotten destroyed. And, God must have meant to punish me, because He hadn’t caught the pot and saved Miss Biggs’ violet.
God hadn’t answered any of my prayers. The violets were dead, and so were the rabbits, and Brother Nickelbee — even though we’d prayed that he’d stay alive for a while longer; and, now, Little E. Clare was on the point of dying, too.
Grief and shame were dragging me down unbearably. At one time, Leatrice and I had regarded death as a joyful process by which you were zipped up to a realm of everlasting joy. Now, remembering the rabbits, we knew that death can be unexpected and violent. Remembering the passing of Brother Nickelbee, we knew it could be very sad for those who are left.
And if little Emily and Clare died, Leatrice and I would be to blame; would we have to go to Sing Sing? to the Big House? and then fry? Children have no sense of proportion to weigh guilt or innocence. The enormity of it all weighed on me crushingly.
On top of all this I recalled Brother Lubeker, our Sacrament meeting speaker way back in May, leaning over the pulpit and reminding us how sad it would be if any of us failed to inherit the Celestial Kingdom. Could I make it to the Celestial Kingdom? I knew I would never, ever make it, with that weight of sin hanging on me. So, what was the use even praying at all? When I tried, God just slammed the door and turned away. Even the fifty cents in the money dish hadn’t been a miracle. It had just been Unky Doodle.
Daddy, always sensitive to my feelings, called me into his study. “Beth, I feel that there is still something troubling you. Are you still blaming yourself for everything that happened?”
I hung my head and nodded.
He sighed. “What can I say to convince you that your Father in Heaven hasn’t abandoned you?”
I gave an indifferent shrug.
“Sometimes it seems so, I know, when we pray for something and it doesn’t come right away. But we have to remember that even though our Father is all-powerful, He works through the great law of free agency. Yes, He can work miracles; but, mostly, He waits for people and events to come around to the desired outcome. And so, we must have faith that He does hear and does answer.”
I gave a sniffle of disbelief.
“Beth,” Daddy said, leaning toward me and looking me squarely in the eye, “I am absolutely sure of this. You will get an answer to your prayers, as we all will. Perhaps Francie’s and Roger’s babies won’t survive. But you mustn’t blame that on yourself, dear. Our prayers must always include, ‘Thy will be done.’”
Daddy took me in his arms, and it felt so good I wished that Heavenly Father would do the same. But I was pretty sure He never would.
__________
Mamma and Daddy went to the hospital again; and this time I went with them. I hadn’t seen the twins. I’d heard that they looked just alike; but when I looked through the nursery window, I couldn’t really tell. The babies were lying on their backs, crying feebly; their mouths were open, and their little faces were twisted up in distress. They looked as though they had the collywobbles.
I turned to Mamma questioningly.
“Poor little dears,” she said. “The doctor can’t find anything wrong with them. They’re getting the best of care; but still they aren’t thriving.” Aunt Francie had looked up and smiled when she saw us. Now she was hovering over the cribs — like a worried mother bird.
I noticed something odd. The babies were making exactly the same movements. Whatever was bothering them, they were both reacting to it in the same way. Maybe that was because they were twins.
Memory was nudging at me, trying to tell me something. What was it? Those babies didn’t have collywobbles. It was something else making them unhappy. Then, forgetting that I had dismissed God as one who never answers prayers, I asked silently,
Oh, Heavenly Father, help the doctor to figure out what on earth’s the matter with those babies. I’m not asking anything ‘specially for me, but for them.
And then I knew. It just came into my mind. I remembered Leatrice climbing into bed with me when I was sick and needed comfort. I remembered her putting her arms around me and the peace of having her there — so comforting that I went to sleep and woke up almost well.
Leatrice and I were so close in every way that folks joked about it — saying we might as well have been twins. It came like a great revelation. I tugged on Daddy’s coat.
“Yes, Beth?”
“Those babies,” I said, breathless with the awesomeness of the thought. “They want to be together — in the same bed.”
Daddy peered through the glass. “Why — I wonder if you could be right.”
Doctor/Bishop Lindblum was coming down the hall. I ran to him.
“Those babies — little Emily an’ Clare. They want to be together.”
He looked surprised. “What makes you think that, Beth?”
So I told him about Leatrice crawling into bed with me when I was sick and how good it felt.
“Well, we’ve tried everything else. I’ve never heard of that as a treatment for preemies; but why not? We’ll give it a try.”
The doctor went to the door of the nursery, opened it, and beckoned to the nurse. She looked as though she’d never heard of the idea; but in a moment she had picked up little Emily — or was it little Clare? — and placed her in the bassinet with little Clare — or was it little Emily?
What followed was just amazing. The babies turned toward each other, reached out little hands to touch; they stopped crying and calmed right down. Then, as we watched, their eyes closed, and they slept.
I was treated like a heroine. Relatives turned to me, asking, “How did you know?”
The doctor shook my hand and said, smiling, “I may just write this up for one of the medical journals.”
I had become someone to admire. It was such a swift change I couldn’t handle it. While everybody hugged me I began to cry.
As Lambs to His Fold Page 22
