After he hung up, Thor went to his desk, opened the top drawer, and removed a folded newspaper article with the headline “Local Abortion Clinic Bomber Canon Edwards to be Released from Jail.” He had torn it out on some whim, some gut feeling that this information might prove useful. Thor fingered the edges of the paper and thought again about a plan he had once discarded as unattractive.
5
BECKY TAYLOR CREPT UP the stairs clutching a Greenbrier Pharmacy bag, which she tried to keep hidden. She had spent the better part of her Saturday morning driving the seventy miles back and forth to Greenbrier so that no one she knew would see her buy this. When she heard the clanking of dishes in the kitchen, she paused, then tiptoed to her bedroom and closed the door. She tore the blue and white box from the plastic bag and shoved it under a pile of clothes on the floor. Then she opened her door, very quietly, and slipped into the bathroom. From a pink floral dispenser mounted on the wall, she pulled out a small paper cup.
Moments later, Becky crept from the bathroom, carrying the cup filled with urine. Once inside her bedroom, she retrieved the box from under her clothes, opened it, and pulled out the plastic tester. A small cup fell out with it. With a shaky hand, she deposited three drops of urine into the sample window, then waited. One minute, two minutes. It felt like an eternity. Three minutes. She paced the room, not caring that she stepped all over clothes and shoes. She watched the pulsing second hand of the Bulova on her nightstand. Five minutes. She closed her eyes and held her breath, afraid to look at the plastic container, afraid of what it would tell her. Another full minute passed with Becky standing in the middle of her room, eyes shut tight.
Finally, she opened them and stared at the tester. A red stripe cut across the sample window. Without knowing how she got there, Becky found herself on the floor weeping into a pile of dirty clothes. How could this happen? They had used protection. She picked up her head and looked at the tester again, hoping, praying that she had misread it. But the color had not changed.
Suddenly, she heard her mother’s voice. “Becky. Becky!” Footsteps were coming her way. Not now. Oh please not now! She threw some clothes over the pregnancy kit, then buried her face under the bed just as her bedroom door opened.
“Becky, I’ve been calling you.”
Becky continued to pretend to look for something.
“Get up, Becky. I have something for you. A letter from Georgetown.”
Becky could hear the excitement in her mother’s voice. Quickly, she wiped her eyes, then grabbed a shoe she had not seen in months and pulled it and herself out from under the bed. She remained kneeling on the floor.
Nancy Taylor waved the envelope in Becky’s face. “This is it. The one you’ve been waiting for. Open it. I can’t believe how nervous I am.”
Becky took the envelope, ripped it, and pulled out a letter. Her eyes scanned the page until they hit the word accepted, then she handed it to her mother.
“Oh Becky! I knew you could do it. Wait till your father hears, he’s going to be overjoyed. This is the day we’ve both dreamed about. You’re the first Taylor to ever go to college. But Georgetown…I’m so proud.”
Becky looked down at the one shoe still sitting in her lap and squeezed her eyes closed. If only her mother would go away. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep herself together.
Nancy Taylor bent over and gave her daughter a hug. “You’ve always been my delight.”
Becky began to sob.
Her mother bent down and put her arms around her. “I had no idea how stressed this was making you. I wish I had known. I would’ve told you that no matter what college you went to, it would’ve been all right with your father and me. It didn’t have to be Georgetown. I’m sorry if I…if we made you feel so pressured.”
Becky only sobbed harder, and Nancy pulled her daughter’s hands away from her face.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Nancy was on the floor, now, beside her daughter, and when Becky wouldn’t look at her, she forcibly lifted Becky’s chin. “What is it?”
Becky just shook her head.
For a long moment the mother’s eyes bore into her daughter’s.
“No, oh no, no. Don’t tell me you’re…?” Color drained from her mother’s face.
“What should I do, Mommy? What am I going to do?”
Nancy Taylor had already risen to her feet, had begun backing away. Her right hand was behind her feeling for the doorknob. “I’ll discuss this with your father,” she said in a near whisper. “We’ll come up with some…thing.” Her voice trailed off as the door closed. Then all Becky could hear was the sound of her own sobs.
Around 2:00 A.M. Maggie had awoken with a pressing desire to pray for Teresa Emerson. So when the doorbell rang at 8:15 the next morning, Maggie wasn’t surprised to see a timid but smiling Mrs. Emerson at her front door.
“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer for church. I hope you don’t mind.”
Maggie returned the smile, then invited her in. “I’m thrilled you came. We have a little time yet, so how about some coffee?”
Teresa laughed nervously. “I guess I am a little early. I just didn’t want to make you late…or miss you.”
Maggie led her guest into the kitchen, poured freshly brewed coffee into two cups, and handed one to Teresa.
“I read that book you gave me, The Centurion’s Pathway. I don’t understand it all, but I see so much of Thor in it, so much of myself. I never realized how big a part I played, just by not speaking up. How I…how I…”
“Facilitated?”
Teresa nodded. “I’ve spent a lot of time soul-searching. I must tell you, I don’t accept all of what it says, but I’d like to find peace, to put an end to this turmoil. To put it behind me. I think maybe if I stick with it and keep going over the steps in the book, then maybe…maybe I can heal.”
“I’m sure of it,” Maggie said, taking a sip of her coffee. Please God, touch Teresa this morning.
Throughout the service Maggie watched Teresa out of the corner of her eye. And every time she did, she felt God reminding her that it was not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit. Her prayers increased in fervor. Please God, don’t let Teresa leave the same way she came. Please help her, comfort her, give her peace. Bring her into the saving knowledge of Jesus. But the more Maggie prayed, the more restless and uncomfortable Teresa seemed.
The choir led the congregation in singing “Amazing Grace,” “Rock of Ages,” then “Our God Reigns.” When they finished, Pastor Summer stepped behind the podium. “Two men,” he said in his clear voice, “come into church to pray. One man sits upright in the pew, thinking about how good he was all week, how he tried to do everything right, how all his problems and troubles were because of someone else. The other man, the man next to him, barely looks up, but keeps his head down, wishing he were better, knowing how far short of God’s standards he has fallen.
“There are people right here, right now, that fit these descriptions. People who are burdened by their sin and know of no way out, and others burdened by their pride and looking for no way out. But both are burdened and both lack peace. Both need a healing touch. Both need to come to the feet of the One who died for them, who freely gave Himself for them. Both need Jesus.”
Maggie watched Teresa begin to rise, then sit back down. Is she leaving, Lord?
“‘For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.’”
Maggie reached for Teresa’s hand, but she pulled away.
“I feel the Lord wants me to open up the altar early today. I believe He wants us all to spend time around it, on our knees. Don’t leave here burdened by sin or burdened by pride. Jesus said, ‘Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’”
Teresa shot up from her seat and stepped into the aisle. But instead of running out the front door, as Maggie expected, she ran up to the altar, dropped to he
r knees, and began to weep.
Sounds of a ball hitting the side of the brick building floated through the slightly open window of Maggie’s office. From time to time, she’d put her pen down and just listen to the laughter of the children, their feet slapping against the asphalt alley. The kids had come straight from school and had been playing stickball for hours.
She listened as one boy accused another of cheating, then held her breath waiting for a fight. She peeked out the window and watched as the boys settled their differences. One bloody nose and it was all over. Soon, Maggie heard the whack-thump-whack of the ball and once again she picked up her pen.
She had been working on her Bible study for the next Project Rachael group, but she kept allowing herself to be distracted by the children outside. She felt the familiar stab. No children of her own. You’ll never have children of your own.
She hated when she got stuck in that rut, the wheels of her mind spinning and spinning but going nowhere. Wallowing in self-pity again, Maggie? Yes, it just isn’t fair. She had been through this with God a thousand times. And lately, she was having this argument with Him more frequently. Not an argument, but a complaint. She had been complaining and whining about it a lot lately.
Why couldn’t she let it go? Kirt said it didn’t matter. But she knew differently. She had seen it before. In the end it always mattered. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see it. It would be up to her to be the strong one, to maintain the balance in their friendship and keep it from teetering over into love. But even now, she knew it already had. It just isn’t fair.
When she looked up, she was startled to see a large man scowling down at her. He had crept in so quietly she hadn’t noticed. Where was Agnes? How had he slipped past the receptionist? Maggie began to pray silently.
“Hello, Canon.” He looked even more disturbed than the last time Maggie had seen him. His eyes were dark, brooding, and moved in nervous jerks as he studied the room.
“Don’t like open windows.” Canon moved to the window by Maggie’s desk and closed it.
Maggie again looked toward the door. Where is Agnes? “Why don’t you sit down?” She pointed to the chair across from her desk.
But Canon continued to stand by the window, watching the kids play in the alley. Just then Agnes appeared at the door, holding a cordless phone. She mouthed something about calling 911.
Maggie shook her head.
“I used to play stickball when I was a kid,” Canon said. “The psychiatrist in prison kept askin’ me about my childhood. Wanted to know if it was happy or was I abused or somethin’. As if they know anythin’. They thought I was crazy. Practically said so.” Finally, he walked over to the empty chair and sat down. “You think I’m crazy?”
Maggie shrugged. “You can’t go bombing abortion clinics. You can’t go doing some of the things you’ve done without people thinking you’re a little off.”
Canon smiled, then nodded. “They’re all liars, you know. Them doctors. They tell you things that ain’t true. They know what they’s doin’. They see, they see, but they lie just the same. They’re all liars. But I don’t care what people think. I don’t much care about that. Don’t matter anyway. Don’t matter one bit.”
“Why not, Canon?”
“Because the whole world’s goin’ to hell in a handbasket, that’s why. Because it’s all topsy-turvy anyway. Because when people start killin’ babies and nobody doin’ nothin’ about it, that’s when we’s finished.”
“I know how you feel, Canon. But we have laws. We have to work with and by the law. You just can’t take the law into your own hands.”
“Why not? They do. They take God’s law and switch it to suit theirselves.”
“Yes, they do. But you can’t. Because if you do, you’re just like them. You can’t go around threatening someone because you don’t like what they do.”
“Maggie, I respect you. I always have. You do good here. But you’re a woman, and God never give no woman the same mandate of warrior as He gave a man. He don’t expect you to do what I do. But we’re in a battle and I gotta fight for the right thing.”
“Canon, this is a spiritual battle. We must fight this thing with prayer and fasting, without violating God’s laws.”
“I don’t see where David fought Goliath with prayer and fastin’. No sir. He picked up a stone and hurled it. That’s what I am. A David. It sure would be nice if you could understand that.”
Maggie shook her head. “I can’t, Canon. I’m sorry.”
He knotted his eyebrows and began clenching and unclenching his fists. “Then you can’t use me?” he finally said.
Maggie shook her head.
“You won’t let me stay, maybe do some good here at the Center?”
Maggie sighed and leaned across her desk. “I can’t, Canon. We get fifty girls a week here, and most of them are frightened and confused. We must maintain a peaceful atmosphere if we’re to help them. Sometimes just a little thing can set them off. You’re unpredictable, Canon, and I can’t—”
“Unstable. That’s what the psychiatrist said. But what does he know? I ain’t, though, Maggie. I ain’t unstable. You just don’t understand. I ain’t blamin’ you. Can’t be helped that you’re a woman and don’t see it the way a man would. In all the other wars, the men went out to battle and the women always stayed behind. Can’t be helped that you don’t understand. And I ain’t holdin’ it against you either. Don’t think I hold a grudge.” Canon Edwards slid a piece of paper across the desk, then rose from his chair.
“That’s my number. If you ever need me, Maggie, for anything, ever, you just call. You hear? You just call.”
Becky sat on the couch holding her mother’s hand. She wished she could just roll up in a ball and die. She couldn’t bear to look at her mother’s face, which was all twisted and red. Her father’s was even worse, with large sparkling tears that hung at the corner of his eyes like suspended glass, threatening to shatter all over his face. That was the worst part. Seeing her father like that. Knowing she had reduced this tough mechanic to tears. How her parents must hate her! Maybe if she’d just die, her parents wouldn’t be in so much pain. They wouldn’t have to be sitting here trying to figure out how to solve her problems for her.
Becky had not gone to school, but had spent the day in her room, crying and waiting for her father to come home. Her mother had told her they would talk about the “situation” tonight. No one had talked about it since Saturday, when Becky had first told her mother. It was now Monday night. She was sure it had taken her mother a full day and a half to figure out what to say to her father. She was sure her mother had not dropped the bombshell until this morning when Becky had heard them arguing. She imagined her mother telling him all about it, all about how his daughter had messed everything up, how she had gone and ruined all their plans and the family’s hope of sending someone to college.
And when her door had finally opened and her mother told her to come downstairs, Becky had been numb with fear. Whatever her father did to her, she deserved that and more. Maybe he’d hit her, although Becky had no memory of her father ever hitting her. But if he hit her now, it would be okay. Anything would be okay, only she wished he’d stop sitting there looking so sad. She wished he’d stop looking like any minute he was going to bust out crying, because she couldn’t handle that. Not that.
“You’re careless, Becky. You’re careless.” Jim Taylor’s voice faltered. “Just look at the way you keep your room.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry.”
“Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Daddy. It’s too late. I’ve ruined everything.”
Becky could feel her mother’s labored breathing, as though she was weary of life and all its burdens, as though this new burden was the one that would finish her. Becky buried her face in her hands and began to sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then she felt her father’s hand on her head.
“Okay, okay. We’ll
just have to make the best of it. No use going on and on with this. We’ll just have to make it right.
There are things that can be done. We’ll just have to make it right.”
Becky could feel her mother tense. When she looked up, she saw a new terror on her mother’s face.”
“No, Jim, please.”
“There’s no other way. You want her to ruin her life like you did?”
“Jim, not now, for heaven’s sake.”
“I don’t see any other way. We’ve got to get her back on track. Help her get her life together.”
“Please, Jim, there are other ways. We could—”
“No. History’s not going to repeat itself here. Not in this house.”
Frantically, Becky looked from her mother to her father. Her mother’s eyes were pleading, begging, while her father’s face was like flint. When her mother looked down, Becky knew she had lost some secret battle.
“It’s best,” her father said. “I believe it’s the right thing…the only thing. I want you to get an abortion.”
Becky sank back into the couch. She felt as if someone had just drilled a hole in her heart. She just sat with her head against the pillows of the couch praying that something in the night would take her life, that she’d go to sleep and never wake up.
All the way home from the Life Center Maggie prayed for Canon Edwards. She felt a deep sorrow she couldn’t pinpoint. Was it because of him? Or was it because of those kids outside her window? She suspected it was both. Her heart broke for Canon. But it also broke for herself. It bothered her that her inability to have children kept coming up, kept rising to the surface like oil in a pot. This thing she wouldn’t let God put His finger on. Not fully. She had to stop thinking about it. Thinking about it wasn’t going to do any good, wasn’t going to change things.
Before she even got to her apartment door, she could see them, red and full, crammed into a cheap plastic vase. In spite of herself she smiled. Roses. She looked from side to side to see if Kirt was around, and knew he wouldn’t be there because he was at the capital—yet felt disappointed anyway. Funny how it was getting harder and harder to say good-bye. She knew for him too. But that gave her little comfort now.
Tears in a Bottle Page 8
