The Choice

by Robert Whitlow

  “I’m not sure what sort of shape I’m going to have after this is over. Most men aren’t attracted to girls who look like an overripe pear.”

  “Most of your weight is on the inside. You’ll bounce back. But I didn’t realize how fast the baby would grow. It makes me wonder if you might be having twins.”

  Jessica was inspecting her freshly painted fingernails while she talked. She looked up and saw Sandy staring at her.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked.

  “Uh, no.”

  It was Jessica’s turn to stare at Sandy.

  “Don’t tell me. You think you might be having twins?”

  Sandy nodded. Jessica screamed, then immediately clamped her hand over her mouth.

  “Have you talked to your doctor about it? Isn’t it too early to know that sort of thing? Can they take X-rays without risking damage to the baby, or babies, and find out?”

  “Yes and yes and no,” Sandy replied.

  Jessica looked at Sandy’s stomach with increased respect.

  “How long have you known?”

  Sandy studied Jessica for a moment.

  “What is it?” Jessica asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Sandy spoke slowly. “If I ask you to keep a secret, do you promise not to tell anyone?”

  “Not even my mother?”

  “My mother doesn’t know about this.”

  “Wow.” Jessica let out a sharp breath. “You and I have only had secrets about little stuff that didn’t matter.”

  “It’s something I haven’t felt right talking about with anyone,” Sandy replied. “But I believe I can trust you.”

  “I’ll always be your best friend,” Jessica said, crossing her heart with the fingers on her right hand. “And I promise to keep what you tell me secret from anyone. Forever.”

  Sandy told her about her encounter with the old woman at the gas station.

  “I’m getting goose bumps,” Jessica said, rubbing her arms. “Were you freaked out of your mind when the old woman was talking to you?”

  “It happened so fast, but at the very end I thought I was about to faint. I wanted to ask her some more questions, but when I checked in the parking lot and along the road, there was no sign of her.”

  “Maybe it was an angel,” Jessica said in a hushed voice. “I mean, she mentioned Rebekah in the Bible.”

  “I don’t think so.” Sandy shook her head. “She didn’t have any wings, and she was looking at cans of snuff before I ran into her.”

  Sandy then told Jessica about her recent appointment with Dr. Berman.

  “Will you know for sure about the twins before you go into labor?”

  “We didn’t get into that.”

  Jessica thought for a moment, then her eyes got big.

  “If what the old woman said is true, your babies can’t be adopted by the same family. They’ll have to be separated at birth.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I just hope they’re not identical like the Bergeson twins. That would make it tougher than if they’re fraternal.” Jessica paused. “How does that happen?”

  “Linda has a book with pictures that explains how it happens. Two fertilized eggs produce fraternal twins. A single egg that splits causes identical twins. There are a lot more fraternal twins born than identical twins.”

  “Does Linda know you might have twins?”

  “She heard me ask the caseworker at the adoption agency about it, but she didn’t take me seriously.”

  After Jessica went home, Sandy hummed quietly while folding her clean clothes. All Jessica had done was listen, but it had felt good to unburden her heart. And if it turned out Sandy wasn’t having twins, Jessica wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. Their conversation would fit neatly inside the folder of fantasies the girls had shared since they were little.

  Linda arrived in Rutland midafternoon on Christmas Eve. Sandy met her at the door and gave her a big hug.

  “I see everything is in its place,” Linda said, pointing to rows of perfectly wrapped gifts that lay in a semicircle beneath a tree decorated by scores of handmade ornaments.

  “Yes. Always.”

  Sandy’s mother came into the foyer from the kitchen and greeted her sister.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Let’s hope that’s how you feel when it’s time for me to leave,” Linda replied. “Where’s Bob? I expected him to greet me at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a box of chocolates.”

  “He’s scrambling around doing last-minute shopping and took Jack with him. Ben is over at a friend’s house and won’t be home until suppertime.”

  “The house looks nice,” Linda said, glancing around. “I love the candles on the mantel.”

  “We’re going to the candlelight service at the church later this evening. I hope you’ll join us.”

  “Can I stay home?” Sandy asked.

  The two women looked at her. Sandy put her hands over her stomach.

  “You can’t hide it with your hands,” Linda said.

  “Let’s see what your daddy has to say about church,” her mother suggested.

  “I won’t enjoy it,” Sandy said, her lips pouty. “All I’ll be able to think about will be the people staring at me and judging me.”

  “Shame on them,” Linda said. “But I’m not surprised. The church your mother and I went to as girls was so full of hypocrites it should have been written on the sign out front. Most people’s sins are hidden. Your problem just happens to be on display.”

  Sandy led Linda to the guest room on the main floor of the house.

  “How are you doing?” Linda asked with tenderness in her voice as soon as they were alone.

  “Except for getting fatter and fatter, I’m okay.”

  “I’ve missed you. And the cats haven’t stopped roaming around the house meowing and looking for you since you left.”

  Linda put her suitcase on the rack at the foot of the high poster bed. Sandy started to leave the room but stopped at the door.

  “Please be sweet to Daddy,” Sandy said. “He’s the one who asked Mama to invite you for the holidays.”

  “I’m not naive. I know this wouldn’t have happened if His Highness hadn’t extended his scepter in my direction. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Sandy had doubts that Linda would make good on her promise.

  Christmas Eve supper at the Lincoln house was a light but elaborate meal. The big holiday feast was reserved for a late lunch on Christmas Day. Sandy liked the variety of heavy hors d’oeuvres offered at the evening meal more than the massive ham that always occupied the center of the dining room table the following day. Ben and Jack were picky eaters who focused their attention on boiled shrimp with red cocktail sauce. As they gorged on shrimp, Sandy thought about all the time she’d spent peeling and deveining each one. She glanced over at Linda, who was nibbling a pastry filled with avocado and shredded chicken seasoned with Mexican spices. So far, her aunt had limited her conversation to the delicious food.

  “Julie, this is divine,” she said, holding up a tiny piece of the pastry before popping the final bite into her mouth. “Where did you get the idea for it?”

  “I started looking up Mexican dishes after Sandy told me about her friend at school.”

  “Have you heard from Angelica recently?” Linda asked Sandy.

  “Not since the letter that came while I was staying with you. But she sounded happy to be home. She’s trying to put what happened in Atlanta behind her.”

  “What happened in Atlanta?” Ben asked as he inspected another shrimp.

  “Her boyfriend dumped her,” Sandy said, quickly glancing at her mother and Linda.

  “When you get interested in girls,” Linda said to Ben, “you’d better get your hands on a good book that will tell you how you should act. If your mother doesn’t have one, I’ll research it and find one for you.”

  “He talked to Mary Beth Wilkins on the phone the other night for thirty minutes,”
Jack cut in. “He sneaked into Sandy’s room and used her pink phone.”

  Ben turned and punched Jack so hard in the arm that his little brother cried out in pain.

  “Boys!” Sandy’s father called out. “None of that at the table. And if either of you needs to know how you should treat a girl, you don’t need a book to teach you. Ask me.”

  Sandy lowered her head and braced herself for a salvo from Linda that would sting twice as hard as the blow Ben landed on Jack’s arm. Her father’s reaction would then cause the plates in the china cabinet to rattle. Sandy glanced at her mother, who pretended to be preoccupied with a lettuce wrap.

  “Your father is the first and best place to get information about girls,” Linda said casually. “But you might want to talk to your mother too. Believe it or not, she used to be a girl and can give you good advice. A book would be your third option.”

  The rest of supper passed without a close call. Toward the end of the meal, Sandy’s attendance at the candlelight church service came up. She begged to be excused and gave her father her most plaintive, pitiful, pleading look. She could tell he was wavering. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Jack spoke up.

  “I want you to come,” he said. “We’ve always gone as a family. I don’t care what other people think.”

  “And I’ve told my friends at school that you’re doing the right thing letting your baby be adopted,” Ben added. “The other day Jimmy Caldwell smarted off, and I—”

  “What?” Sandy’s mother asked sharply.

  “Got him to stop,” Ben finished.

  Sandy looked at her brothers. She’d not thought much about what they’d faced because of the pregnancy. She felt ashamed at her self-centeredness.

  “If you two want me to go, I will,” she said.

  Both boys nodded their heads.

  It was a cold evening, and Sandy put on one of her mother’s heavy winter coats. It wouldn’t completely button in the front, but it helped mask Sandy’s bulging abdomen.

  “Can we sit in the back and leave as soon as the service is over?” she asked her father as they pulled into the church parking lot. “I don’t want to go to the fellowship hall for hot chocolate and cookies.”

  “I’ll fix a snack and make hot chocolate at home that will be better than anything the church has to offer,” her mother said before the boys could protest.

  Linda had driven her car and parked beside them. She came over to Sandy and linked arms with her.

  “We’re going to walk into that church together. Pretend that I’m old and weak and need a strong young woman to lean on.”

  The pressure from Linda’s arm helped hold Sandy up, not the other way around. A cold wind was blowing, and people were hurrying into the sanctuary. Sandy saw several women look in their direction and whisper to their husbands. Her mother walked in front of the family with her head held high. Sandy knew she had endured a steady stream of gossip as the perfectionistic mother of the picture-perfect daughter who had turned up pregnant without being married.

  Inside the church the two back rows were already filled, but there was room in the third row to squeeze in the family. Linda sat next to the aisle like a guard on duty. She helped Sandy slip out of her coat. Sandy didn’t recognize the other people on the pew.

  “Who’s that?” she asked her mother, motioning to their left.

  “The Morrows. They moved here a couple of months ago from Nebraska.”

  Sandy tried to get comfortable. The pew was padded, but it wasn’t designed to support the unique weight distribution needed by a pregnant woman. The Christmas Eve candlelight celebration was one of the best-attended services of the year. Many familiar faces passed by on their way toward the front of the church. Fortunately, few glanced in their direction. The church filled to capacity.

  The choir, cloaked in gold and red robes, entered from the back of the church singing “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” They walked slowly down the aisle and into the choir loft behind the pulpit. The pageantry was both comforting and majestic. Sandy loved the combination of green wreaths, red bows, and gold and silver decorations. Her mother always helped prepare the church for the holiday season. Surrounded by family and warm feelings, Sandy began to relax. A small white candle that would be lit at the end of the service lay in her lap.

  The service followed the usual format. Congregational singing of Christmas carols alternated with special music from the choir, including a powerful version of “O Holy Night” sung by Mr. Sanderson, the choral director at the high school. When he reached the song’s triumphant declaration, Sandy felt her own heart soar.

  Reverend Frost, wearing a white robe with gold trim, took his place behind the pulpit. The minister was in his early thirties and a rising star in the denomination. Sandy’s father didn’t think he’d stay very long in Rutland before moving on to a bigger church.

  The minister opened the Bible and announced his text. Instead of the familiar Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, he began in Matthew chapter 1:

  Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost. Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a public example, was minded to put her away privily. But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for he shall save his people from their sins.

  While the minister read, Sandy’s imagination went on a two-thousand-year journey back in time to the events recorded in the ancient book. She saw Mary, pregnant and subject to ridicule. Mary’s conception was without sin. Sandy’s wasn’t. But they shared a common bond of community shame. Sandy could guess the reaction of Mary’s parents, her friends, the neighbors who’d known her since she was a baby, and the leaders of the synagogue. Electricity, automobiles, and running water didn’t change what people thought and said. Mary would have suffered as much or more as a pregnant, unmarried woman in a small Jewish town than Sandy had in Rutland. Sandy’s shame was justified. The reproach that fell on Mary was not. But their mutual humiliation touched Sandy in a deep, personal way. Her heart ached for Mary; it broke for herself. Never before had something in the Bible seemed so intensely personal. Sandy wiped a tear from the corner of her right eye.

  Reverend Frost finished reading the scripture and began his sermon. Sandy stayed with Mary. She slipped a Bible from the rack on the back of the pew in front of her and turned to Matthew. As she read the passage again, she realized something she’d never noticed. Mary voluntarily accepted the humiliation of being an unmarried pregnant woman because of the importance of the baby she would carry. Her public reproach had a higher purpose, one that would affect all humanity.

  Sandy had known that Jesus was the Savior of the world ever since she’d attended Mrs. Hartman’s kindergarten class as a five-year-old. But in that moment, on Christmas Eve, in the beautifully decorated church, it became more than a well-known religious truth—it became relevant to her.

  “Oh my,” she whispered. “It’s real.”

  Her mother glanced sideways, but Sandy ignored her. Jesus was not just the Savior of the world; he was her Savior. She’d done wrong, in many more ways than a one-night stand with Brad Donnelly. But Jesus made forgiveness possible. For that sin. For every sin. Something deep inside Sandy reached up to grasp the opportunity of forgiveness. And when she did, a huge weight rolled off her heart. She looked around the church and realized she wouldn’t care if everyone in the sanctuary turned around at that moment and stared at her. Her shame was gone; she was forgiven by God. And that was all that really mattered.

  A different kind of tears trickled from Sandy’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. These tears were tokens of the guilt being washed from her heart. She wiped them away with the back of her ha
nd.

  “Are you all right?” her mother asked.

  Sandy nodded and kept looking straight ahead. She returned her attention to the sermon as Reverend Frost said, “In a few moments, we will light our candles, because the light of Christ has driven the darkness from our lives. Never forget—the blackest darkness must retreat before the light of the smallest candle. Go forth from this place and let your light shine before men, not just within the walls of the church, but wherever you are. Amen.”

  Ushers came down the aisles and lit the candle of the person sitting at the end of each pew. Linda passed her light to Sandy, who shared her light with her mother. After the last candle was lit, the electric lights in the sanctuary were turned off. The congregation stood and sang “Silent Night.” For Sandy, the familiar phrases were filled with fresh meaning. Holy infant . . . Jesus, Lord, at thy birth . . . dawn of redeeming grace. Sandy’s lower lip trembled as she sang. She had a nice singing voice, but tonight she had to sing softly. When the hymn was over, the congregation blew out their candles, leaving a single candle, the Christ candle, burning in the center of the Advent wreath at the front of the sanctuary. Sandy stared at the candle with deep gratitude. Reverend Frost pronounced the benediction.

  The sanctuary lights were turned on, and the hubbub of conversation immediately broke out across the room as people talked and moved toward the aisles.

  “That was a beautiful service,” Sandy’s mother said to her. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too,” Sandy said, her eyes glistening. “This is the best Christmas Eve of my life.”

  TWELVE

  In late January Sandy sat at the table in Linda’s kitchen after supper with papers spread out in front of her. She’d read so many summaries of prospective couples who wanted to adopt a baby that the stories were running together. Reviewing the information impacted Sandy in one unexpected way—she was overwhelmed by the intense longing the anonymous people had for a baby. The way women, in particular, expressed their desire for a child deeply touched Sandy’s heart. It made her wish there were enough babies for everyone who wanted one. Linda came into the kitchen.