Ruthie took a breath that seemed to go on forever, then she announced, “We are going to have a baby.”
“A grandpa!” Joseph fairly shouted the words. “You are to be making of me a grandpa!”
Mother and daughter were already up and moving toward each other. They stood by the table and hugged fiercely while all the others shouted and cheered the news. Joel accepted the handshakes and the backslaps and thought he could never be happier than this moment. Not even his wedding day had compared with this overflowing of shared joy, of shared future.
For the rest of that morning and throughout the afternoon, the entire farm was electric with laughter and chatter about names, about boys versus girls, about family legacies. Joel found enough strength so that he could walk with Simon through the day’s work. That afternoon, Simon invited him to go along to the Brueder farm. Simon had been calling on the middle daughter, a lovely young woman named Patience. She carried her name with grace, a quiet, steady girl who reminded Joel of Simon’s mother. She had been Ruthie’s friend all their lives, and her joy over Joel’s news was something to behold.
The Brueders made them both welcome with buoyant noise, full of jokes and plannings and heavily accented English. The two men returned home with the sunset, the horse-drawn cart full of boisterous laughter and shared memories.
But when they pulled into the Miller farm, they were greeted with silence and lengthening shadows. Even the farm animals seemed subdued. Simon exchanged a puzzled glance with Joel, then frowned, and instantly Joel knew Simon feared for his father.
They leaped from the cart and raced up the stairs and through the front door. Relieved to see Joseph seated at the table, they were slowed by the sound of quiet weeping.
Joel looked from one tearstained face to the other before saying, “It’s Charles Kenneth, isn’t it?”
“Yah, yah,” Joseph Miller sadly rumbled. “The little baby, he has gone home.”
10
THE SUMMER HEAT HUNG AS HEAVY as the clouds, thick and cloying. The day begged for rain, but none fell. The air was still and hot and hard to breathe. The somber group that had gathered for Charles Kenneth’s funeral took their cues from the day.
Kyle sat in the church’s front row. Kenneth was there beside her, weeping softly. Abigail was on her other side, alternating between stubborn stoicism and heaving sobs. Beside her sat Martha and Harry Grimes, both of them far beyond the power of speech. Throughout the service, Kyle remained so quiet and still her black veil did not even move with her breath. She had no more tears to weep.
She had shed the last tear back in the hospital, when she had appeared in time to see the frantic activity surrounding her baby’s crib. So many people had gathered and reached in and pulled over equipment and prepared syringes and shouted in panic-stricken voices that she could not even see her child.
Her scream was so loud it had felt as though her throat had split. Her cry had shocked the entire tableau into stillness. Two of the nurses had hurried forward to catch and hold her away from the crib. But the young doctor had been there and called to them in a sharp voice of his own.
They had formed an aisle of mourners, those doctors and nurses. She flew through them and collapsed there before the small bed. She threw her arms around the tiny baby boy and emptied her heart of everything that was left. All feeling, all hope, all life of her own. All had flowed out to spill upon the baby she had lost.
After the church service, Kyle felt a moment’s overwhelming anguish when the people rose to watch them leave. It came and went too quickly for her to speak, even if she had had the strength to utter a word. Then she slipped back into the shell that had enveloped her ever since leaving the hospital that day. She was glad for this shell. It was her preservation. It kept her from going insane—not from grief, but from emptiness. The rebellion passed, and Kyle managed to stand on her own strength. She felt Kenneth grasp one arm and Abigail the other. Together they turned and followed the tiny coffin, borne in the arms of one pallbearer, down the aisle and out of the church.
The drive to the cemetery took forever, yet was over in minutes. Kyle allowed hands to guide her into a chair at the side of the grave. The void at the center of her being filtered everything. The moment lacked color. It was as gray and featureless as the sky. Still, she managed to hear the weeping which surrounded her. Across the grave from where she sat, the Miller family stood and keened with grief. Numbly she wondered why they should cry now. Charles Kenneth was gone. It was too late to cry. Too late to hope, to pray, to beg for help of any kind. Nothing mattered anymore.
One conviction surfaced during the time she sat there at the graveside. Just as the pastor stopped speaking and the impossible moment loomed as great and dark as the mouth of the grave, Kyle thought, It should be me. Her baby should be alive. She should be the one they lowered into the earth. For though she was living and seated between Kenneth and Abigail, still she was going down into the grave with her child. Her life was totally meaningless.
11
“MISS KYLE, I BELIEVE YOU PROMISED that charity shop over on Seventh Street some clothes or somethin’.”
Kyle raised her head to look at the young woman who spoke through the open door. Abigail had promptly sent one of her maids over soon after the funeral, and she had been with them since. But for the life of her Kyle could not remember the young woman’s name, despite the fact that Kyle had previously seen her at Abigail’s any number of times. Kyle fleetingly wished it could be Maggie standing there, the housekeeper from her childhood and a treasured friend. But Maggie was ill, so sick she had not even been able to travel for the baby’s funeral.
Kyle looked back down at the Bible in her lap. She had been attempting to read a Scripture portion, or at least she had been going through the motions. She could not remember a single word from the passage. Certainly nothing had touched her heart. How could it when her heart felt like a rock in the middle of her chest?
“Miss Kyle?”
She looked up again and nodded her head. The charity on Seventh Street? Yes, she vaguely remembered their call. It had been back in her previous life when she was rushing to get to the hospital. It seemed like an eternity ago. Everything did, before that last day. . . .
When Kyle made no effort to stir from her chair, the maid said that someone was waiting downstairs and asked Kyle what she would like her to do.
Kyle laid aside her Bible and rose to her feet. The exertion cost her a deep, weary sigh. Even living and breathing was a heavy strain.
“Tell them I’ll be right down,” she instructed. She brushed listless hands over the dark skirt that seemed a reflection of her feelings.
The maid turned and was gone. Kyle could hear the brisk footsteps echo through the hall. Kyle found such purposefulness, such liveliness, irritating and out of place. And at the same time she knew her attitude was unreasonable and also out of place.
She sighed again and turned to the door.
Where did I put those clothes I gathered? Kyle wondered vaguely as she left her room and started down the hall. For a moment she could not even remember what lay behind the other doors of her own upstairs. She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to concentrate. Her room? No. She had wanted the things out of her closet so she had room to sort out and put away garments prone to picking up lint from the baby’s blankets. Her baby. The unbidden thought rocked Kyle. She stopped in midstep, then forced herself onward.
The closet in their guest bedroom. She remembered now. She had placed them on the shelf in the large closet. . . .
Kyle pushed open the door before her, and momentum carried her into the room.
But it was not the guest room. In her confusion she had opened the door to the nursery.
The room was just as she had last seen it, the day of her last visit to the hospital, the day she last . . . She took in the entire room in a single glance. The baby bed, hung with soft draping tapestries. The blue-and-white teddy there beside the pillow, waiting patiently with
its big soulful eyes. The chest of drawers, its top arrayed with baby bath needs, including a pile of tiny diapers. A pair of bottles on the windowsill caught the light and reflected it into the room.
Kyle stepped back, her shoulder bumping hard into the solid oak doorframe as she pushed her way out of the room. She frantically fumbled about, reaching with numb fingers and finally gripping the door handle, then slamming it with both hands. The noise echoed up and down the hallway.
From behind the closed door came the tinkling music of the small merry-go-round on the baby’s bedside table.
Kyle lurched back down the hall, her hands curled into tight fists. She had not meant to enter that room. She was not sure if she would ever be able to. She certainly could not face it yet.
She stopped and gripped the banister at the top of the stairs, fighting for control. Her baby was gone. There was nothing to be done about it. She would not think about it. She would not cry anymore. She would push all thoughts and all feelings far down, away from her aching, empty heart.
Slowly her shoulders straightened. She took a steadier breath. Yes. That was the answer. It was the only solution. She would keep all of it locked down tight. She would not let any of it out. Not ever again.
The solid wood banister felt cold and hard under her grip. She found security in its solidity.
The charity. They were waiting downstairs. The sound of voices from the hall below gave her the courage to straighten her skirt and walk to the correct bedroom.
As she gathered the items hurriedly into her arms, her resolve strengthened. She must guard herself. She must by force of will preserve this facade and never permit anything to shatter it again.
With a lifted chin and a steady gait, she began her descent of the stairs with the bundle of clothes. She would tell them to return for another donation the following week. The maid could prepare everything in the nursery. Yes. And she could go for a long walk until everything was gone.
When Kenneth opened their front door, Joel’s first thought was how the man had aged. Looking at his face, it would be easier to believe years had passed, and not just weeks since the baby’s funeral.
Kenneth worked the muscles of his face into the semblance of a smile. “Hello, everyone,” he said to the group on their doorstep.
Martha brushed by Joel, arms outstretched. “How are you, dear?” Her genuine care and concern gave the common greeting deep meaning.
“Surviving.” He closed his eyes as she held him close, and Joel reflected that he had never seen a man look so weary. “Taking it one day at a time.”
“Not much else you can do,” Harry said, reaching forward to grip Kenneth’s arm. “We’re right here for you, son.”
“Thanks, Harry.” But the voice sounded empty. He turned and gave Ruthie a hug, shook Joel’s hand, then motioned everyone inside. He shut the door behind them and called, “Honey, look who’s here.”
Kyle’s appearance at the top of the stairs shocked them all to silence. She descended and entered the front hallway without any effort to greet them. Her eyes, cold and utterly blank, made no contact with any of them. Joel searched for words he could offer that might bridge the barriers around his sister.
Finally Martha forced her way forward and reached out her arms. Kyle’s stiff shoulders and unresponsive demeanor showed she did not wish to be embraced. So Martha settled hands upon her shoulders and leaned forward. Kyle closed her eyes and held herself absolutely still as Martha kissed her cheek.
Joel watched how Kenneth gazed in deep concern at his wife. The way Kyle endured the greetings from her family clearly pained him. Finally Kenneth said, “Let’s go sit down in the living room.”
Kyle moved silently in with the others and yet was not there with them. Her face remained blank, her eyes expressionless. Kenneth stood in the doorway and watched as Martha settled down beside her daughter.
“How are you, dear?” Martha asked, her voice low and full of love.
“I’m fine, thank you.” The words came out as meaningless sounds. “How are you?”
“We’re all very worried about you.” Martha’s hand reached up to stroke Kyle’s hair. There was a flinching move away. Martha’s hand fell back to her lap. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Nobody can do anything anymore. It’s too late.”
Kenneth sighed and shook his head. “Can I get anybody anything?”
Ruthie’s stricken look and tear-filled eyes gave Joel the fleeting impression that she was feeling everything Kyle was not permitting herself to feel. Ruthie silently gazed at Kyle, then her eyes dropped to her folded hands, and Joel knew she was praying.
Harry looked at Kenneth and said, “I’ll have a soda if you’ve got one.”
“Sure.”
Joel followed Kenneth into the kitchen. “What’s happening?”
“You can see for yourself,” Kenneth replied wearily. “She’s been like this since the funeral. Nothing reaches her. Nothing gets through.”
“She must not isolate herself from us,” Joel said. “She has to allow herself to grieve.”
“That’s exactly what the doctor says.” Kenneth pried off the bottle top and started back to the living room. “Until she opens up and lets it out, she can’t begin to find peace. It wrenches my insides to see her isolating herself even from God.”
Joel followed him back down the hall and entered the parlor in time to hear Kyle tell Martha, “I’m coping, Martha. Isn’t that what everybody wants me to do? Cope.”
“I want you to get better,” Martha said, her voice wobbly. Harry accepted the glass from Kenneth, his eyes reflecting his wife’s pain. Martha went on, “I want you to recover.”
Kyle did not respond for a long moment. When she did speak, it was in a voice that sounded as though it had traveled a thousand miles. “I’m not the one who needed to recover. The battle is over now. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does.”
Ruthie looked up, the tears filling her eyes and spilling over. She gave Joel a pleading look. He stepped over to where he could look into Kyle’s face. “We miss you down at the mission, sister.”
She raised her head, and for an instant something flickered deep within her gaze. It came and went so swiftly that Joel could not be certain what it was he had seen. A cold rage? Perhaps. Whatever it was, it left his heart thumping painfully.
Kyle dropped her gaze to the floor at her feet. Her voice remained flat, empty. “What good would I do there? I’d just be in the way.”
“That’s not true,” Ruthie pleaded softly. “Please, Kyle, come down and keep me company. I miss you so.”
To this Kyle did not reply at all. The silence continued until Harry drained his glass, set it down, and rose to his feet, a single motion that was enough to lift the others. He bent down and gave Kyle a one-armed hug, so unexpected that she did not have time to flinch away. “We’ll see you soon, honey.”
Martha followed his lead, her embrace as fierce as it was fleeting. “Let us know if there’s anything at all we can do for you.”
Ruthie bent over and hugged her then. Kyle closed her eyes as the embrace continued, but at least she did not pull away. Ruthie rose up, leaving a wet spot on Kyle’s cheek where their faces had touched. “You stay in my prayers, Kyle, daily.”
Harry patted Kenneth’s shoulder as he passed, then left his hand in place, turning Kenneth around and pulling him down the hall and through the door. Joel followed them out into the open air and heard Harry ask, “How are you holding up, Kenneth?”
Kenneth seemed about to fall, held aloft only by Harry’s hand and his own grim resolve. “Oh, Harry, I don’t know how much more of this I can stand. I’ve lost both of them.”
“Why don’t you and I get together and do a little walking,” Harry suggested, his tone tinged by shared sorrow. “See if I can’t help you share this load.”
Joel felt something rise from his chest, closing his throat and burning his eyes. He stood there and remembered those other times, when bitt
erness and unspoken rage turned the atmosphere in his childhood home acrid and smoky. Now Joel stood and watched his father give Kenneth a one-armed hug, and he felt the Lord reach out through the man. “Yes, I have forgiven him,” Joel whispered to the Lord. “And I thank you that you can now love Kenneth through my father.”
Joel heard Kenneth murmur, “There’s no need to burden you with this, Harry.”
“I’ve got a lifetime’s experience dealing with impossible situations and impossible people, especially myself.” Harry drew him close a second time. “Give me a call, why don’t you? We’ll wear out some shoe leather and have ourselves a good talk.” When Kenneth did not reply, Harry asked, “Do you have anyone else to talk with?”
That brought out a smile. “You won’t believe this, but Abigail and I have had a couple of amazing chats.”
Martha descended the stairs to stand beside Joel and say, “Abigail Rothmore?”
“Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,” Harry said. “Beneath that frosty exterior the Lord is thawing out a frozen heart.”
“Abigail doesn’t think she really knows God,” Kenneth replied slowly.
Harry gave the morning’s first genuine smile. “That may be so—at present. But believe me, God knows Abigail.”
Martha moved up and took her husband’s free hand, and shook her head. “You should hear yourself talk,” she said, her voice warm.
“If the Lord can make a change in me,” Harry replied, “He can do it in anyone.”
Harry looked up at the silent house, then turned back to Kenneth and said softly, “You just remember that.”
12
KYLE WAS BARELY AWARE of the table in front of her. She merely knew that she and Kenneth were going through the motions of sharing another meal together in their cherry-paneled dining room.
There was stirring about her as dishes were placed on the table. Kenneth thanked the maid and told her she was free to go. He made polite conversation with Kyle, mentioning something about a new movie that had opened downtown called Dr. Zhivago. He asked if she would like to go. Kyle’s headshake was so small it might have been mistaken for a shiver.
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