Abigail stepped in from the brilliant winter sunlight and had to stop and blink several times. “Oh, hello, everyone. Is this the welcoming committee?”
“Reinforcements,” Kenneth agreed with a straight face.
Kyle nudged him and stepped forward to give Abigail a hug. The woman wore a stunning outfit of midnight blue set off with a string of cultured pearls. “You look wonderful.”
“Thank you. And you look quite—enormous.” She frowned as she rubbed the fabric of Kyle’s dress between thumb and forefinger. “I distinctly remember telling the seamstress I wanted your dress done in silk.”
Martha’s meaningful look drew Harry from propping up the side wall. “Come on, Abigail, we’re holding up traffic here.” He crooked his arm and said, “Mind if I escort the most beautiful lady here to her place?”
She took his arm and said, “Harry Grimes, don’t you dare start on me today. You know what I think about weddings.”
“Now, let’s see.” Harry craned his neck up and down the church, a mischievous grin on his face. “We’ve got to set you behind a column or something so you don’t upstage the bride.”
“This is your final warning.” But Abigail was struggling to keep her smile under wraps. She pointed down the center aisle. “There. Right up there in the middle. That’s where I’m sitting.”
Kyle waited for them to move off before saying to her husband, “Why can’t you be like that with Abigail?”
“I would,” Kenneth replied, “if I could only figure out how he does it.”
“That’s easy,” Martha Grimes responded. “Harry has had a lifetime’s experience with dark moods. He’s now found a way to put them to good use.”
Kenneth nodded slowly. “That proves just how much better a man Harry is than me.”
“Oh, you—it isn’t that hard.” But Kyle had to smile. The day was just too wonderful, the miracles too abundant. All her family were gathered and happy, friendly and chatting, as families were supposed to be. “Where’s Sarah?”
“She’s coming with the rest of the Millers.” Ruthie’s younger sister was to be the other bridesmaid. Kenneth glanced at his watch. “I sure hope they get here before the bride.”
“Joel’s gone to fetch them,” Martha said. “He insisted. Said he wanted to be the one to host them here. All but Mother Ruth. She’s coming with her daughter.”
The pastor slipped in through the side door. He shared a smile with everyone and a handshake with Kenneth. “Everything all right?”
“It will be,” Kenneth replied. “Just as soon as the bride and groom arrive.”
“Always helps to have them around for a wedding,” the pastor agreed. Patrick Langdon was more than the pastor of their church. He was a friend. He had accepted Joel’s mission idea and presented it to the church, then helped arrange for the project to be housed in a derelict warehouse owned by a parishioner. Joel and Ruthie had been busy for months turning the top floor into an apartment. Patrick smiled at Kyle. “You look happy enough for it to be your own wedding day.”
“I’m so glad for Joel and Ruthie,” Kyle replied.
He glanced at his watch. “Well, let’s hope they get here in time.”
“They’ll be here.”
“Then I suppose I’d better get myself ready.” He smiled at the next group of people coming in through the doors, patted Kenneth’s arm, and moved off.
Kyle listened to the talk swirl, watching one person after another climb the stairs and exchange greetings and be shown to their seat. All these people from church, new friends and old, sponsors of the mission fellowship, even some of the young people Joel and Ruthie had helped bring off the streets. So much joy, it seemed to Kyle, that the church roof would have to lift off just to hold it all.
She glanced down at her dress. She had indeed gone to Abigail’s dressmaker. But she had ordered the seamstress to use a delicate chintz for her bridesmaid’s dress, not silk. Kyle wanted a dress that would help her fit into the background. This was to be Ruthie’s day. Ruthie’s and Joel’s.
Kyle recalled the concern the couple had felt over their decision to be married in Washington. Ruthie was not giving up her Mennonite heritage. But she was working with street people, the flower children who were flooding the nation’s capital. Dropping out—that was a term they heard more often each day, some of them dropping until they hit rock bottom. For some at least the mission was becoming a lifeline, a last hope.
“Morning Glory” was the name of Joel’s project in the Adams-Morgan district of Washington, D.C. The mission was growing bigger all the time, with more young people arriving every day. Joel remained a gentle beacon, while his name and that of the center were passed by word of mouth all over the eastern seaboard.
Joel and Ruthie had made a wonderful team even before the decision to marry. Her personal warmth and caring nature created an atmosphere of trust for the frightened and often suspicious teenagers who found their way to the mission.
It had been hard for Ruthie to go home and tell her parents they would not see their eldest daughter married in traditional Mennonite fashion. But Ruthie and Joel had found a genuine home in this Georgetown church, and Ruthie had wanted it to be the place where she was wed. Kyle had joined Joel in praying for peace and understanding the entire time Ruthie was home. To their surprise there had been no arguments, no quarrels. Instead, Mrs. Miller had risen as soon as her daughter had finished her explanation and had given her a fierce hug. Then she had said that perhaps it would be nice if they made a wedding dress together—a design that would incorporate the simple lines of their traditional dress but with a fabric that would be in keeping with her new life.
Martha’s cry of, “Joel is here!” caused a rush from the vestibule to the front doorway and outside as the mission van’s doors sprang open. Kyle felt a moment’s pang as she stood there watching the Miller family pile out. The past two years had been very hard for them, as it had for the entire Mennonite farming community. Every conversation with Joel and Ruthie seemed to bring with it more bad news. Recently there had even been some talk about selling a tract of farmland that had been in the Miller household for five generations. Kyle hurriedly pushed those thoughts and concerns away. Today was intended for nothing except joy.
Sarah, Ruthie’s younger sister, wore a lovely frock whose homespun simplicity softened and adorned the strong farm girl in a way that no store-bought dress ever could. Her head was covered by a small ivory-colored veil, as was Kyle’s, both hand stitched by Mrs. Miller and representing many hours of work.
The boys came tumbling out, Simon and Garth and young Jacob, all in their best dark suits and work boots polished until they gleamed. Last of all, Mr. Miller eased his way from the front seat, settling his crutch in place and turning to the church to give them all a smile and a wave.
Mr. Miller made his way up the stairs, pausing halfway to point at Kyle and proclaim, “Look at her, is she not beautiful as the day?”
“Shah, Papa, not so loud.” But Simon’s eyes were on Kyle as well. “A good morning to you, Missus. It is grand to see you so happy.”
“Yah, yah, what I say.” Mr. Miller climbed the remaining stairs, his crutch and missing limb not slowing him at all. He stopped to tower over Kyle, his beard more silver than black now, but his voice was as strong as the hand that settled on her shoulder. “I am thinking maybe the sun is rising in your eyes.”
Kyle blushed as she put her own hand on top of his. “Today I am so full of two happinesses, I think I can’t hold them both. I was so afraid this day would never come.”
“You and all the family.” He turned to where Joel had parked the van and was now making his way up the stairs toward them. “Yah, that Choel, he run from the altar like a deer from—”
“Papa,” Sarah chided, coming up alongside them. “Better we sit ourselves down and pray for the wedding couple.”
“A good idea, my daughter has.” The hand rose and fell again on Kyle’s shoulder. “Health and happiness, f
ull measures of both, pressed down and flowing over.”
Kyle turned back to watch her brother come bounding up the church stairs. There was no indication of ill health that day, not in his beaming face or in the excited energy which filled his spare frame. My brother. Two years ago she had first learned of his existence, and still the very word sent a thrill of joy through her.
Kyle drew back inside the church entryway with a little shiver. The morning frost had been melted away by the brilliant sunlight, but she could still feel the fresh winter chill.
Joel entered the church’s outer doors, walked straight over and gave Kyle a hug. She had to laugh. Simple gestures still came hard between them, but today there was no room for either confusion or reserve.
Joel leaned back. “Sorry, did I squeeze too hard, little mother?”
“The baby’s fine and so am I.” She pulled him back for a second hug before releasing him with another laugh. “Blessings on you and on this day, my brother.”
The Millers’ arrival was causing quite a stir among the gathering. Kyle watched the big man proudly lead his boys down to the second row. Simon waited until his father was seated, then placed his wide-brimmed hat on the pew and went over to sit alongside Joel on the front row.
Only Sarah remained behind with Kyle in the vestibule. “All night I spent,” she whispered. “All night long I prayed for Ruthie and Joel. I am so glad for them and their new life together.”
“Ruthie has been the happiest person in the whole world since Joel agreed to the marriage,” Kyle replied.
“You too, you are happy this day.”
“Happy for all of us.” And then, “Oh-h.”
Kenneth was instantly by her side. “Are you all right?”
She managed a wobbly smile for her husband. “I’m . . . I’m fine. Maybe the baby just kicked a nerve or something—”
“Here they are now!” Sarah pointed out to where a car had pulled up in front of the church.
“I’d better go sit down,” Martha Grimes said, tugging on her husband’s arm. “Stand up straight, now. Make your son proud.”
Kenneth turned back to search Kyle’s face. “Are you all right?” he asked again.
“Oh yes, truly it was nothing. I’m just fine.” She squeezed Kenneth’s hand on her arm and turned to watch the bride coming up the walk.
“Oh, Ruthie, she is so beautiful.” There was a catch in Sarah’s voice. “And so happy.”
Kyle understood what was behind Sarah’s worry. “Be happy for her.”
“Yes, of course, you speak rightly.” Sarah took a shaky breath and straightened her shoulders. “This is her day. I must show joy for her and give the morrow over to our Lord.”
Ruthie’s dress was a work of love. Her sturdy frame was made lithe and delicate by the simple lines and white muslin and organdy folds. The sides and back and veil were embroidered with little cream-colored flowers, and it looked as though the coming spring cascaded and flowed with her every step.
Inside the vestibule there was excited whispering. Kenneth offered Mother Ruth his arm.
Mother and daughter first exchanged a long hug, and unshed tears gathered in all the watching eyes. Such joy, such fear, such hope. The combination of emotions filled the air in the vestibule.
Through a crack in the door, the bridal party watched Kenneth seat Mrs. Miller by her husband. As he hurried back to join the bridal party, the church rustled, full of quiet anticipation, like a forest of trees on tiptoe waiting to catch a coming breeze.
Kenneth paused until the two bridesmaids had straightened the back of Ruthie’s dress and taken up their bouquets, then gave Harry the nod.
Together Harry and Kenneth drew open the double doors. The organist had been waiting for that signal and began with a pair of loud chords to alert the congregation.
Joel and Simon rose from their places at the front and went to stand beside the waiting minister. The wedding march began, and Ruthie took her first step into the sanctuary. She seemed to float down the aisle, held aloft by the power and the joy which beamed from both her own face and from Joel’s. Kyle moved up the aisle behind her, watching the light in Joel’s features grow with each step Ruthie took.
Ruthie handed Kyle her bouquet, then turned to look into the face of her beloved Joel. Joel took her arm and stood in front of the minister.
Then Kyle and all the congregation watched as the light the two of them had brought was joined into one.
3
“KYLE? HONEY?”
She struggled to open her eyes. For some reason, that simple effort cost her dearly. Kyle focused upon Kenneth’s face hovering above her. Worry lines creased his forehead. “How long have I been asleep?” she murmured.
“I don’t know. A while.” He reached down and helped her straighten up. She had slid down the couch until she half sat, half lay with her back twisted unnaturally. “That can’t be comfortable. Let me help you upstairs.”
“All right.” But rising was an effort, even with him there to support her. The baby had grown until her abdomen felt tight as a drum, and the weight seemed to bear down on her. She stifled a groan as her back muscles tightened in complaint over having lain crooked for too long.
“Just lean on me.”
She did. It was the only way to rise. Kyle pressed one hand into the small of her back as she moved with him toward the stairs. “How can I sleep so long and still wake up tired?”
“Did you ask the doctor?”
“Yes. He said it was because I was sleeping for two now.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of an answer.”
“It was just his way of telling me not to worry. And you.” Kyle gave her husband a smile. “It won’t be long now.”
“I hope not. You’re already a week overdue.”
As if she had not been aware of that fact every minute of those seven days. But Kyle did not say it. Kenneth did not need another reason to worry. “I never knew it was possible to get this big,” she said ruefully.
He reached the top of the stairs and paused a moment to let her rest from the climb. “Would you like to take a bath? That always helps you feel better.”
“No, I think . . .”
Kenneth stood and held her arm as she bent over slowly, almost collapsing in on herself. She eased back up in careful stages, taking a series of quick panting breaths. His worry lines had deepened with sudden fear. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
She turned and gave him the bravest smile she could manage. “I think it’s time.”
Kyle stirred restlessly in her sleep, dimly aware that she was in some way not the same person who had opened her eyes to yesterday’s dawn. As consciousness returned she realized what that difference was. She was a mother. A mother. At long last she had been granted the desire of her heart. They had a son. A precious, beautiful baby boy. Born during the long, dark hours of the previous night. Kenneth had laid his cheek against her flushed, damp forehead, and they had cried and prayed together. A son, already bearing a name. Charles Kenneth Adams. She could not wait to see him again. To hold him. To cradle him close to her heart.
Nor could she wait for others to see him. Martha and Harry would be so pleased. And Abigail. This beautiful child was bound to bring a smile even to Abigail’s features. And Joel. His first nephew. He so loved the little ones. He would welcome this baby boy with the overflowing of his love-filled, ailing heart.
“I can’t wait to show him off to Maggie,” Kyle whispered to herself, thinking of the housekeeper who had loved her and raised her since infancy. And Bertrand, her husband. They had retired to a cottage down on the Maryland coast. Kyle smiled at the thought of the straitlaced old gentleman getting down on his hands and knees to play with the baby.
Kyle stirred again. She listened to the tread of nurses in the hall. Soft words of greeting came as they good-naturedly gave news of the night and placed bundled babies into eager arms. “He slept like a top,” or, “She’s been impatient to get to Mommy.”
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Kyle smiled. Soon they would be bringing her little Charles. Soon she would get to hold him. She chafed with anticipation, especially now that the ether which had gentled the birthing process was gradually leaving her system. Soon she would count his toes and fingers and see if he had his daddy’s eyes or his grandfather Harry’s strong chin. She could hardly wait.
But each pair of footsteps continued past her door. Impatience soon had her again stirring restlessly. It was so difficult to lie there and wait, while the soft murmurs of other mothers reached her as they cuddled and nursed their own infants. She would have sprung from the bed and searched down the long hall had she not been given strict orders to stay where she was.
When the waiting was almost unbearable, a nurse appeared at her door. She gave a cheery smile and announced, “Mrs. Adams, I’ve brought your son to say good morning.”
But it was not as Kyle had expected. The woman in her crisp white uniform leaned over the bed but did not offer Kyle the baby. Instead her arms still firmly grasped the blue-blanketed bundle.
As disappointment and confusion swept through her, Kyle reached out a tentative hand and gently eased a finger into the curled fist of her little boy. His small hand felt cold to her touch. His eyes did not open.
“You get some rest now.” The nurse gave another brief smile and moved away from Kyle’s bed.
But I want to hold him, Kyle’s heart cried out. Instead she let the tiny hand slip from her fingers. As she watched the nurse depart with her son, she nearly wept.
Was this the usual hospital procedure? Were babies kept apart from their mothers after delivery? She didn’t know. She had never gone through the experience before. Kyle felt confused and very unsettled, and wondered vaguely if perhaps her medication had not yet worn off. She lay back onto her pillows, eyes searching the empty doorway. She would have to wait. It was not her turn yet. But how could she ever endure more long hours without holding her son?
Her longing was so intense that her eyes burned and her throat filled. Kyle fought against a rising sense of rebellion over the unfairness. She willed herself to relax upon the hard white surface of the unyielding hospital bed.
Tomorrow's Dream Page 2
