by Angela Hunt
No matter how bad the news might be, Megan found comfort in the thought that their waiting might soon end. By some miracle of modern medicine, perhaps this doctor could provide an answer . . . and a baby. But even if all he could give was a clear reason why they had failed, at least the months of disappointment would end.
She made a face as she glanced at the calendar. Dr. Comfort, Dave’s boss at Valley View Elementary, was coming to the house tonight. Dave felt that she wanted to discuss his future away from the school, so Megan had planned a nice dinner—cranberry chicken, tossed salad, and her famous yeast rolls. Maybe, if she had time after work, she’d whip up a chocolate chess pie for dessert.
Two-thirty found her at the desk, explaining the doctor’s instructions to Mrs. Wilt, whose dainty Pekinese had developed a urinary tract infection. After Mrs. Wilt pocketed the prescription, Megan offered a flavored vitamin to the petite Peke, who accepted it with delicate pleasure. “Take care now,” Megan said, smiling them out the door. “The doctor will call in a few days to see how she’s doing.”
Three o’clock found Megan at the desk again, her hands on the counter, her attention a million miles away from her job. When the minute hand of the large clock over the desk shifted and creaked past the straight vertical position, she picked up the phone and punched in the number she’d scrawled on an appointment card.
After being passed from the receptionist to the doctor’s private office, Megan waited on hold for about five minutes, then heard a male voice.
“Mrs. Wingfield?”
“Yes?”
As the doctor proceeded to speak in a flat monotone, Megan stared at the image of a sad-eyed Bassett pup on the desk calendar. When he finished, she thanked him and hung up.
So that settled the matter. Her prayer had been completely answered in an instant. God didn’t even want to negotiate.
She blinked as the image of the puppy began to waver. “Laurie,” she said, turning toward the receptionist sitting behind her, “would you tell Dr. Duncan that I needed to leave early? It’s sort of a family crisis.”
Laurie opened her mouth as if to ask for details, then nodded wordlessly when she saw Megan’s face.
Megan moved through the waiting room toward the door, a little amazed that her arms and legs and hands could still function. How could they open doors and walk and unlock the car when her brain was numb and her heart breaking?
Chapter Two
An hour later, Megan lay on her bed, the pillow damp beneath her cheeks. The sense of numbness had carried her home, but the dam broke when she crossed the threshold of their bedroom. After the tears, dry sobs wracked her body for a brief interval, then faded away.
The tears did nothing to ease the pain. She had thought she’d feel better after a good cry, but this burden was far too heavy to be wept away in an hour.
Lying there, she listened to the steady click of the cuckoo clock in the hall and waited for the sound of Dave’s key in the lock. He’d be home at any moment, then she could share this heaviness.
She closed her eyes as she heard the soft sound of the opening door followed by the squeak of his shoes on the foyer tiles. “Megan?”
“In here.” The pillow muffled her voice, but he had no trouble finding her. When she sat up to greet him, the look on his face told her he knew. Obviously, he’d called the doctor, too.
She stood and held out her arms, and they moved together, holding each other in a soundless embrace. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hand to the back of his head.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” he whispered, his breath stirring the hair by her ear. “It’s all my fault.”
“Shhh.” Pulling back, she pressed a finger to his lips even as fresh tears threatened to erupt. She shook her head. “You can’t say that.”
“But I had a feeling, and I didn’t want to face it.”
“Hush.” She lowered her forehead to his chest, not willing to watch him take the blame. This would have to be a shared problem, not his or hers, but theirs. If the situation were allowed to come between them, it could separate them forever.
“We have to decide,” she said, taking his hands, “what we’re going to do next. We can try to conceive with a doctor’s help, and there’s always artificial insemination. Or we could adopt.”
“I don’t know what we should do.” Holding her hands, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down next to him. “But we’ll pray about it and see how we feel—“
“I can’t pray any more.” She gulped hard, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’ve been praying for so long. I can’t pray another month. I’ve been praying for a sign, and this is it. Now we have to decide what we’re going to do.”
She turned to face him. “Honey, this afternoon I asked God to make our path clear. I told Him I’d rather have no chance for a baby than only a little chance, and I’m afraid that’s what we’d be facing if we went to the doctor and investigated experimental procedures. We’d be signing on for more waiting, and struggle, and lab reports, and tests. The frustration and uncertainty, not to mention the expense, might drain us.”
He absorbed this news in silence, then lifted his chin. “So you want to adopt?”
She drew a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about it. We both love children, and we know there are thousands of kids who need parents. We could be parents to one of them—if we can’t have our own. But I think we should check out all the options. Maybe there is medical hope for us. Maybe I was wrong to pray that prayer this afternoon—maybe I was testing God. I don’t know. I just know I want a baby.”
Watching her husband, Megan saw a look pass across his face, a look she recognized. She’d worn the same expression half an hour ago—when she had realized she might have to surrender her dream of a biological baby and move on.
Dave’s hand reached up and touched her jaw, then her hair. “I was hoping for a daughter like you,” he said, his voice husky.
Megan touched his cheek, and felt his tears burn her fingertips like hot wax. “A son like you would be wonderful,” she whispered, “but we’ll have to see what God has planned.”
And then, because she had an important guest coming for dinner, Megan pushed her sorrows down, clamped a smile over them, and went out to the kitchen to begin making dinner.
Megan toyed with a wilting lettuce leaf on her plate as Dr. Comfort—Stella, in this casual environment—laughed with Dave about the child who’d brought his pet tarantula to school and turned it loose in the kindergarten classroom. “I’ll never forget Miss Pritchard’s face,” Dave said, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t think she’ll ever promote ‘Pet Day’ again!”
“I couldn’t get over the fact that the boy couldn’t understand why we reacted so strongly.” Stella laughed softly. “After all, he pretty much let the spider run free in his bedroom.”
Dave shook his head. “I remember that boy—Ricky Feldon. I taught him the next year, in first grade. He and his family must have been cut from a different bolt of cloth—they were all creative and bright, but they definitely marched to the beat of a different drummer.”
“Remember his sister, Moonglow?” Stella’s blonde brows arched mischievously. “She was three years ahead of Ricky. One day she brought a book to show and tell, then proceeded to read the poems of a love-struck seventeen-year-old.”
Dave frowned. “A library book?”
“Her older sister’s diary!”
Megan reflexively joined in the laughter, but her thoughts were drifting far from the current conversation. She looked at Dave—six-three, handsome, and as appealing on the inside as he was attractive. All of her girlfriends at the community college had thought him a great catch—but would any of them willingly trade places with her now?
Of all the young men she had dated in high school and college, why had God led her to marry Dave? She’d been in love with several of the guys she dated, and any one of them might have made a fine husband. But God had led her to Dave Wingfield, and, as a resul
t, he had brought her face to face with infertility.
She dropped her fork to the table and picked up her iced tea glass. Of all the physical problems Dave could have had, why did he have to have one that prevented them from having biological children? He could have been born with one leg shorter than the other . . . or without a sense of smell. He could have developed allergies, or diabetes, or epilepsy, and none of those things would have prevented him from being a father. But God had allowed Dave, a man with a unique love for children, to face a future without any kids to call his own.
She lowered her gaze as tears stung her eyes. She had to rein in her thoughts, turn them toward something useful. God had led her to Dave, and she had vowed to love him in good times and bad, in sickness and in health. And this problem wasn’t his alone, it belonged to both of them. Since God had called her to this marriage—and she truly believed he had—then infertility had to be part of God’s will and plan for her life as well as Dave’s.
But why?
She’d lived her entire life by the rules: don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t have sex before marriage. Do go to church, do study hard, do get a job, do maintain a good reputation. Her name was on the dean’s list at college and listed in two volumes of Who’s Who in American Universities. She’d grown up with God, and no one could say she hadn’t been at least a dutiful example of what a Christian young woman should be. She wasn’t perfect, no one was, but she’d always done her best to make good choices. She’d waited for Mr. Right, and she’d been delighted to find Dave and learn that he was planning to spend his life teaching young children. He was the most giving person she had ever met, and she’d been convinced they would make a great team.
So why was God sabotaging her plans?
The Lord knows what he is doing. He has promised to be with you in every difficulty, and he will not allow you to suffer beyond the limits of your endurance . . .
The words echoed in her mind, a lesson learned from Sunday school classes and Bible studies of years gone by. She believed those words in her head, but that belief, springing from her rational brain, did nothing to assuage the clawing pain that ripped at her heart.
She wanted to be pregnant, she wanted a baby, she wanted to raise a baby who would be flesh of her flesh and bone of her bones. And she did not want to wait. They had been married for three years and waiting for two, and surely they had waited long enough . . .
“Honey?”
She looked up. Both Dave and Stella were staring at her.
“Stella was just saying she has to leave soon. Would you like to serve the dessert now?”
Megan felt her lips twitch in an automatic smile. “Sure. I made chocolate pie.” She pushed back her chair and kept talking as she walked to the kitchen counter. “It’s an old recipe, from a friend. Sometimes the cocoa doesn’t dissolve, that’s why you’ll see these little sprinkles on top, but it should still taste okay . . .”
She stopped her mindless babbling when she heard the creak of a chair. She turned and saw Dave standing behind her, and something in his forlorn expression broke her heart.
Unable to speak, she burst into tears.
With his sobbing wife in his arms, Dave looked at his boss. “I’m sorry, Stella,” he said, softening his voice. “We got a bit of bad news today. Apparently . . . . well, it looks like we’re not going to have children in the usual way.”
The older woman’s eyes closed for a moment, then she nodded slowly. “I didn’t know you were trying, but I should have guessed. After all, you’ve been married for a while now, and I know you both love children . . .”
Her voice trailed off as Dave pressed his hand to the back of Megan’s head. He had never felt more helpless in his life.
“I’m okay,” Megan said, sniffing. She lifted her head and wiped away tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to blubber in the middle of dinner.”
Stella stood, then reached out and placed a hand on both Dave’s and Megan’s shoulders. “My friends,” she said, her voice breaking with huskiness, “you two are precious people. I know God has something special in store for you. But nothing worthwhile is easy, my friends. If it were, we wouldn’t appreciate it like we should.”
Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened. “I’d like to share a proverb with you: ‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick; but when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.’”
She smiled, her eyes shining with beautiful candor. “Not if the desire comes, Dave and Megan, but when. This is God’s promise for you. Trust Him.”
She gave Megan a quick hug. “The pie looks delicious, my dear, but I ought to be going. I think you and Dave need some time alone.”
Dave stepped forward to see her to the door, but she waved at him over her shoulder as she picked up her purse. “Never mind me, I’ll see myself out. Thank you for the dinner, Megan. Thank you both for the fellowship . . . and the trust.” She gave Dave a confident smile. “I’ll be praying for your future—concerning your child and your job. I know you’d make an excellent principal, Dave. I’m curious to see how the Lord will work things out.”
Dave waited until he heard the click of the front door, then he turned to Megan, who stood at the kitchen counter, her woebegone gaze fastened to the speckled chocolate pie.
“I want to show you something, honey.” He pulled a photograph from his wallet. “Do you remember this day?”
He gave her the picture and waited while she studied it. He had taken the photo nearly six years before, just after they began to date. Megan had come to see him at the school where he taught, and during a lunch break she’d spent some time reading picture books to the first-graders. One little girl, a blonde, blue-eyed waif called Daniella, had stolen Megan’s heart. They’d made such a pretty pair, Daniella with her blonde hair and Megan with her brunette, that Dave had snapped a picture of Daniella sitting on Megan’s lap. Later, when he explained that Daniella was a foster child, Megan’s eyes had filled with tears. And at that moment, he decided to marry Megan Myers.
Her eyes were flowing again as she stared at the snapshot.
“I fell in love with you that day,” he whispered, leaning against the counter, “because I knew any woman who loved kids as much as I did would be a wonderful wife and mother. Nothing has changed, Meg. You’re still the same girl, and you’ll still make a wonderful mother.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t speak.
“Daniella needed a home . . . and though I don’t know what happened to her, I know there are thousands like her in foster care. We can be parents, Meg. I think we can find a child fairly quickly if we’re willing to accept one as old as Daniella.”
Megan bit her lip as she traced the little girl’s image with her fingernail. “I’d forgotten her name,” she said, her voice wavering. “But I could never forget her.”
Reaching out, Dave drew his wife into the circle of his arms. “We will have a child,” he promised. “You’ll see.”
The next afternoon, Megan said goodbye to Mrs. Leber, Princess, and the five newborn pups (two big black males, one big tan female, and two tiny black-and-white spotted females with pointy faces and oversized ears), then pulled her sack lunch and can of soda from the staff refrigerator. Dr. Duncan was holed up in his office, munching on a tuna sandwich between follow-up calls, so she knew she’d have a good half hour to eat and think in relative quiet.
The veterinary hospital bordered a community park, a quiet place for lunch, particularly in the humid heat of July. With her lunch bag and a book, Megan walked down the narrow path to her favorite bench, then spread her chips and sandwich on a paper towel. She hadn’t felt like preparing much this morning, so her sandwich was peanut butter and jelly—not very creative, but filling.
The afternoon air was warm and sprinkled with sunlight that dropped through the dense canopy of oaks. Chewing on her sandwich, Megan turned away from the sight of a young couple sprawled on a blanket a few yards down the path. College students, from the looks of them, a youn
g couple in love.
Insects filled the air with a continuous omnipresent churr as she hesitated and swallowed the thick peanut butter. Did that young couple dream of marriage and babies? Probably not. These days marriage seemed trivial to most people, and most career women regularly postponed motherhood until they had established their careers.
But Megan had wanted a baby almost immediately after her marriage. Two years of community college had resulted in a degree that enabled her to work as a certified veterinary technician, a job she’d hoped to keep until she married and had children. Dave was only two months shy of thirty on their wedding day, so a honeymoon baby would have been a surprise blessing. Megan knew she and Dave were in love, committed to their marriage, and committed to God’s plan for their lives. A baby would only have increased their joy.
A mosquito buzzed around her ear, and she swatted it away. How odd that some people conceived easily, and others struggled for months. In the last two years she had often read the biblical stories of Hannah, who prayed for a child so fervently that the priest thought her drunk, and Rachel, who clung to her husband and cried, “Give me children or I will die!”
In her Sunday school days she hadn’t been able to understand how the lack of children could darken a woman’s soul . . . but now she knew that agony all too well.
Her gaze drifted to the edge of a sandbox, where a dark-haired woman sat with a blond, blue-eyed toddler in denim overalls. A boy.
As much as she wanted to look away, she couldn’t. The sight of the child intoxicated her starved senses. Who was this woman who tended him, and what had brought them to the park? The woman could not be his mother—that fair-skinned child couldn’t possibly have sprung from her genes. It was always possible that the boy’s father was of Nordic descent, but it was far more likely that the woman was a nanny or babysitter.
