Tomorrow's Dream
Page 4
“I may not be very religious,” Abigail went on determinedly, “but what little I have managed to attain has brought me face-to-face with how I failed him during his hour of greatest need. He needed me to give him strength. He needed me to give him love.” Her voice cracked over the words, “And I gave him nothing but demands.”
Kenneth waited, marveling that they could be seated there in the same cluttered office where he had once served as her husband’s assistant. The woman who had tried with all her might to block his marriage to Kyle, who had treated him from the very first day as an enemy. Yet here they were, talking with an openness that left no room for hiding behind shadows of the past. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, Abigail.”
“Well, I am. I’m a society matron who places far too much importance on what other people think. But there’s nothing I can do about the past, and that’s not what we’re talking about now.” She drew herself up by strength of will and continued, “I failed my husband, Kenneth. I do not want to fail my daughter. Or my son-in-law. I have seen how hard it is for a strong man to face defeat. I’ve learned that the worst suffering is the kind that goes on day in and day out, with no answer and no end in sight.”
Kenneth nodded slowly, the power of her understanding almost overwhelming him. “I feel like it’s tearing me apart inside.”
“I’ve seen how hard it is for a strong man to turn and look for help. To ask for help.” Her chin trembled slightly, but she lifted her head and forced herself to remain in control. “I want you to know that I am here to support and encourage you, Kenneth. Day or night. As a friend should be. As family.”
She saved him from having to respond immediately by pulling back her cuff to examine her gold watch. “Now we really must be going. If I know my daughter, she will be anxiously watching for us to come.”
6
“IT’S NOT JUST THE PROBLEMS with the baby,” Kenneth confessed as he turned down Connecticut Avenue and joined the heavy morning traffic. “It’s everything.”
“All the weight of the world has landed on your shoulders,” Abigail sympathized.
The gift of being understood opened the door further, freeing him to say what before had escaped words. “Everything’s become so confusing, Abigail. On the one hand there’s my relationship with God. At this time when He could seem very far away, He is so close to me. Even in the worst moments, I feel His presence. So I pray for baby Charles, I pray for Kyle, I pray for us. But on the other hand, I don’t hear anything in reply. Nothing. And that really scares me. How can God be so close and yet so silent?”
“I can’t answer you,” Abigail sighed. “To be perfectly frank, God has never seemed close to me at all. I’m far too inadequate to offer you anything except a listening ear.”
Washington traffic was growing slower every day, or so it seemed to Kenneth. Especially now, when there was so much pressing him to hurry. More cars, more people, more noise in the urgency of one crisis pushing hard on the feet of the last one. In the past he had made it a point of staying on top of the Washington political scene. Now it was just too difficult. His mind seemed to move at the pace of these overcrowded roads. And every thought was about his wife and his precious little baby.
Kenneth stopped for a traffic light and looked at her. “It’s hard to believe we’re having this conversation.”
Abigail turned her face toward the windshield. Her lovely features tightened and aged. “I have spent a great deal of time watching you since your wedding. I’ve seen how you are at the company, diligent in your responsibilities and accepting a subordinate position. Anyone else in your place would be demanding a raise and a seat on the board.”
“That’s simple enough. I’ve just been so happy with my life, I didn’t need to grasp at anything further.”
“Wait, let me finish.” Abigail continued her inspection of the outside world as Kenneth pulled through the crossroads. “I have also seen you with my daughter. And I have seen you in your worship. You are a good man, Kenneth. You deserve far more than I have been willing to give.” Abigail sighed and smiled weakly. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that you are not the only one who needs to apologize.”
They drove on in companionable silence as Kenneth entered the tree-lined streets of Georgetown. The car drummed over the rounded cobblestones, passing one quiet residential street after another. Kenneth finally said, “Do you think this doctor will really have anything new to offer us?”
Abigail hesitated as they turned down Kenneth’s street. As soon as their house came into view, the door sprang open and Kyle rushed down the stairs, her impatience evident. Abigail said quietly, “To be frank, I am beginning to feel like anything at all would be better for my daughter than more of this uncertainty.”
In the hospital ward, Kenneth stepped back so that he could watch his wife watch the baby. Kyle’s face was so drawn she looked older than her mother. It was no longer possible to fool himself. Abigail was right. This uncertainty was killing her.
“Mr. Adams? I’m Dr. Hearly.” The beefy man was tall and solid and carried with him an air of confidence. He turned to Abigail. “You must be Mrs. Rothmore.”
“I can’t thank you enough for seeing us, doctor.”
“Yes, well, your friends made quite a case on your behalf.” He glanced toward the glass-fronted hospital bassinet. “And now that I have seen the baby, I can well understand why.”
He stepped forward to where Kyle stood by the crib, her fingers curled around the top corner of the glass cover. He inspected her face for a moment, his eyes and voice gentling. “And you must be Mrs. Adams.”
“He just opened his eyes and looked at me. He can see me through the glass, can’t he?” Kyle flashed a frantic glance toward the doctor, then turned back to the crib. “He’s getting better. I know it.”
But the baby did not look well to Kenneth. Not at all. His own heart ached as he watched the helpless little infant trapped there on the other side of the glass.
The baby’s entire body was a faint blue. The eyes were clenched so tight his whole face was twisted and furrowed. Every once in a while the body gave a convulsive shiver, then went still. The little mouth was opened up wide, as though baby Charles wanted to scream and cry. Only there was no noise coming from the crib. None at all.
Kyle’s fingers seemed ready to claw through the glass. “Can I hold him?” were the words from her lips, but it was the desperation in her tone and expression that tore at Kenneth’s heart.
The doctor continued his careful inspection of Kyle for a moment longer, then turned to the nurse hovering on the bassinet’s other side. “Let Mrs. Adams have the baby.”
“But, doctor—”
“Give her the baby, nurse.” He waited until the nurse had turned off the oxygen and begun unfastening the catches before turning to Kenneth and Abigail. In a low voice he said, “Why don’t you both join me in the conference room.”
Kenneth turned to his wife. “We won’t be long, honey.”
But Kyle did not reply. Kenneth wondered if she had even heard him. Her whole being was reaching out along with her arms to accept the tiny bundle.
The doctor waved them into chairs on the table’s opposite side. Two thick folders lay open before his own place, along with a pair of empty coffee cups. He glanced at his watch, then at the closed door, and gave a sigh.
Dr. Hearly’s gaze was dark and probing. Kenneth sensed he was a man with both intelligence and integrity. This was confirmed to Kenneth when he said, “Long ago I designed a lecture for distraught parents. Most doctors come up with something or other to handle such situations. But I am reluctant to give it here. You both strike me as astute, able to accept the truth.”
“The uncertainty—the waiting—has nearly done us all in,” Kenneth replied. “I simply can’t understand why it has taken so long for the doctors to decide what the matter is.”
“They know what the matter is,” Dr. Hearly replied. His voice was deep, strong, and had the ch
aracteristic of being both direct and gentle at the same time. “The only question is how much hope they can offer you.”
Again he glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Excuse me.” He reached for the phone and dialed a number. His fingers seemed almost too large for the holes. “This is Dr. Hearly up in Conference Room . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know what number . . . oh, you do. Good. Listen, I’ve been waiting for Dr. Pearce and the pediatric surgeon . . . wait, I have his name here.” He inspected the open file. “Yes. Saunders, that’s right.” He listened a moment, shook his head a second time, and said, “No, that’s all right. Thank you for checking.”
He placed the receiver back in its cradle and went on. “It seems that Dr. Saunders had to perform an emergency operation and Dr. Pearce is delivering a baby at another hospital. I would have preferred for at least one of them to be present. But I have a conference to get to, and I’m afraid I really can’t wait much longer.”
“We understand.” Abigail glanced at Kenneth to make sure it was all right for her to speak. “You’re the expert in this field.”
“We’d really like to have your opinion,” Kenneth agreed. “Your unvarnished conclusion.”
The man gave each of them another swift inspection, then nodded once. “Very well. Mr. Adams, I am sorry to tell you that your son has what we call a shunting across his heart.”
My son. The words were enough to stab him deeply. While Kyle was pregnant he often had dreamed of hearing those words. He had never mentioned it—one of the few secrets he had ever kept from her. He had not wanted to say it and then have her feel disappointment for him if the child turned out to be a girl. He knew he would have been delighted with a daughter. But in his heart of hearts he had yearned for a son. Yet now when he heard those longed-for words, they threatened to tear his world apart.
When he was unable to respond, Abigail said for them both, “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
The doctor thumbed through pages in the first file. “I understand from your wife’s history that her brother suffers from a heart condition.”
“Yes,” Kenneth managed. “But her parents are both in excellent health.”
“I don’t suppose you know her grandparents’ medical histories?”
Kenneth started to rise. “No, but I could call and—”
“Later. See to that later and inform Dr. Saunders if any of them suffered from a heart problem.” He closed the file. “Infant cardiology represents an entirely new field. But we are beginning to wonder if there is a genetic basis to some of these ailments.”
Abigail reached across the void that seemed to be gathering around Kenneth and took his hand.
“Blood is meant to flow through the heart’s valves, you see, moving from one chamber to the next in very careful steps. First blood travels from the heart to the lungs, where it gathers oxygen. Then it returns to the heart and is sent out to the body, carrying oxygen and nourishment.” He paused a moment, gathering himself. “At least, that is how it should work. In your son’s case, there is a hole. A very large one, I’m sorry to say, which means that the blood is bypassing the system of valves and chambers.”
Kenneth felt the void grow and expand until he was lost in the darkness. Helpless and terrified. He clutched at Abigail’s hand, yet did not even feel her reach across and place a second hand upon his. He wanted to shout at the doctor, tell him to stop. As if halting the words would make it all untrue. But he could not open his mouth. He was imprisoned. Lost.
“This defect in your son’s heart, this hole, means his body is forced to work impossibly hard. Rather than correctly sending the blood into the lungs for nourishment, oxygen-starved blood is being shunted back into his oxygen-starved body. The blueness—you must have noticed the bluish tint to his skin.”
“We’ve noticed,” Abigail said, her voice barely a whisper.
“This is caused by a lack of oxygen.” He sighed again, flipping through pages to a second file. “Your son is showing all the classic symptoms, I’m afraid. He won’t feed and takes all his nourishment from the drip. He has difficulty drawing breath, so we are keeping him on straight oxygen. And there seems to be some fluid buildup in his lungs.”
Abigail demanded, “Can’t you operate—repair the hole?”
“Not yet.” His eyes took on a distant, professorial look. “Some very good work is being done down in Dallas by a certain Dr. Yacoub. But they have never treated someone so young, or someone so seriously affected as your son, I’m afraid. The problem is not the surgical technique but the anesthesia. The risk to newborns is extremely high. We need a new, gentler anesthetic in order to start working with these very young children.”
Kenneth clung desperately to the hope enclosed within the first two words. Not yet. “How long will we have to wait?”
The dark eyes lifted to Kenneth’s and gave him another deep inspection. “If your baby were to survive another ninety days, I would say that it would be worth contacting Dallas.”
There he stopped. The silence hung so heavy that Kenneth felt his own lungs were being robbed of air. Finally he managed, “What are you saying?”
Dr. Hearly leaned across the table, closing the space between them. “Mr. Adams, your son’s heart is working impossibly hard. A newborn baby simply cannot cope with this strain.”
He waited through another long moment, then continued. “It is so hard to know what is correct for a situation like this. But I can see what you must be going through right now, and your wife . . .” He paused and looked at the files as if searching for the next words. “I heard what Dr. Pearce and Dr. Saunders think about the situation before I did my own examination. That is why I decided to speak with you as I have.
“Mr. Adams, all three of us believe your baby’s life is unsustainable.”
“No,” Kenneth moaned. “It can’t be. . . .”
“We are doing everything in our power to keep your baby alive,” the doctor continued. His voice had the soft, deep rumble of a coming storm. “But his shunt is so large, this defect to his heart so severe, that your baby is not able to help us win.”
Abigail recovered enough to whisper, “How long?”
Dr. Hearly’s gaze did not waver from Kenneth’s face. “You must prepare your wife for the worst, Mr. Adams. Do so without delay.”
7
JOEL WAS AS HAPPY AS he had been in months.
He had always loved trains. As a boy, he watched them thunder by and yearned for faraway places. Now he loved being able to sit back and watch from inside as the world whipped away beyond the window.
He felt Ruthie squeeze his hand and looked into his beloved wife’s face. She had returned to her traditional Mennonite dress for their visit home to the farm, putting aside the denim skirt and simple blouses she wore around the mission. Joel had repeatedly told her that she was welcome to wear her Mennonite bonnet and attire, but she explained it could alienate some of the young people who drifted into their mission hall. He had finally stopped bringing up the subject, recognizing the truth in her observation.
But he was very glad to see Ruthie now back in the dress of her heritage. He loved her for who she was, and he loved the family and the tradition which had shaped her. Now that she did not wear Mennonite clothing all the time, seeing her in it brought back many wonderful memories.
Joel’s own childhood with Martha and Harry had not been happy. His father had been critically injured in the war and given up for dead. His mother, faced with raising a child alone and without support, had chosen to give up her newborn girl for adoption. Then when his father had finally come home, the joy of their reunion had been darkened by the loss of their daughter. The wounds left on their spirits refused to heal. Joel had been born and raised in a house filled with silent shadows of a past he did not understand. It was the Miller family’s arrival in the neighborhood that had begun the transformation, introducing Joel to both a happy family and, eventually, helping to unite his own family in faith.
“I am.” He hesitated, not wanting to taint the day but needing to share it all with her. “But I’m also feeling guilty.”
“It’s only natural.” She reached over and laced her other hand into his. “Still, it is not wrong for us to be happy, even when Kyle and Kenneth are suffering.”
Joel glanced back out the window, feeling all the conflicting emotions fading with the distance. Not even the very difficult telephone conversation he had with his sister before leaving for the station could keep up with him and the quietly rattling train. “I don’t know how we’re going to tell them our own news.”
She did not ask what he was speaking about. Instead, she lifted his hand with both of hers and held it firmly to her middle. “We will just let God show us the way, my Joel.”
A couple passing down the train’s central aisle stared at Ruthie in her homespun black dress and long-sleeved blouse and sturdy shoes and little white cap. Joel pulled Ruth’s hands back to the central armrest and wished he had his wife’s ability to ignore the stares of strangers. “You’re losing your accent. You don’t say Choel anymore,” he commented with a teasing smile.
She laughed. “Give me three minutes with my family, and you will have all the accent you ever want to hear.”
Upon their arrival at Lansdale, Pennsylvania, Joel was glad Simon was there to greet them. He was feeling very weary and weak. He tried to hide it from everyone, but he knew Ruthie had noticed what he himself had seen in the train station’s mirror—his tightened features, the furrows across his forehead, the sunken eyes. He knew too that his lips were compressing with the effort of holding back the pain in his chest.
Simon embraced his brother-in-law, gave him one long look, and declared, “To home a taxi we must take.”