by Dean Hughes
“It might be, LaRue. She’s lost the baby already, and now the doctors can’t get the bleeding stopped.”
“She couldn’t die, could she?” Beverly asked.
“I don’t know.” Wally kept walking, fast, heading into the house. “Richard said they might have to operate, and if they do, she might not be able to have children.”
Beverly had started to cry, and LaRue turned to her. “Don’t do that, Bev. That’s stupid. Think about Bobbi, not yourself.”
“I am thinking about Bobbi,” Beverly sobbed.
LaRue hated it when Beverly acted like a little girl, but she felt some of the same panic. “We’ll go with you,” LaRue said. “We can sit with Mom. She’s going to be scared. But can’t you find Dad?”
Wally had reached the front door. He looked back as he pushed his way in. “I put a couple of calls in and left word for him to call his secretary. I don’t know what else to do for now.” He disappeared into the house.
LaRue thought about grabbing her homework and then decided she wouldn’t. She would stay up late if she had to, but she didn’t want to carry her books to the hospital. She couldn’t concentrate anyway, not with Bobbi in trouble.
Wally was back quickly, and the three got into the car. Beverly had stopped crying now, but she continued to ask questions, virtually all of them questions that Wally had no answer for. “Let’s say a prayer,” she finally said.
“That’s a good idea,” Wally told her. “You say it.”
Instantly Beverly began to pray, and the words came out easily, as though she had already been repeating them in her head. “Heavenly Father,” she said, “please take care of our dear Bobbi. Don’t let her die. And make her well, so she can have a baby someday.” She closed in the name of Jesus Christ. And then, only a few seconds later, as though she had hesitated long enough to get her answer, she said, “She’ll be all right.”
LaRue was touched. She didn’t know whether that was true, but she had no doubt at all that Beverly believed it. The three were close to one another, all in the front seat, and now LaRue put her arm around Bev and pulled her even closer. But Wally was driving much too fast, and that frightened LaRue, seemed to cancel Beverly’s words, seemed to say that Wally wasn’t nearly so sure.
At the hospital, Wally stopped at the information desk, asked some quick questions, and then told the girls they would have to wait downstairs while he went up to see Bobbi. “I’ll come back down and let you know what’s happening just as soon as I can. But they don’t want a lot of people in the room. They’re only letting me in long enough to give her the blessing.”
Wally walked to the elevator and disappeared, and LaRue and Beverly sat on a little couch in the waiting area. An elderly man was sitting in an upholstered chair across from them, but he was leaning back, breathing deeply, seeming asleep except for his eyes, which were not quite shut. No one else was around. Beverly wasn’t talking now, but she seemed under control. LaRue suspected that she was repeating her little prayer. LaRue picked up a Look magazine from the table in front of them, but she didn’t open it. She was trying to think what this could mean—for Richard, for everyone.
Before long the elevator door opened and Mom got off. As she began to look around, LaRue stood up. “Mom,” she said, and then she walked toward her mother. “Is she all right?”
Mom met LaRue halfway and then waited until Beverly came to them as well. “I don’t think her life is in danger,” she said. “She lost a lot of blood, but they’ve got that pretty well stopped, and they’re giving her a transfusion right now. I just don’t know what’s happened to her, inside. The doctor doesn’t know either. He’s trying to get her stabilized and get her blood pressure back up. Then he might have to operate.”
“Wally and Richard will bless her. She’ll be all right,” Beverly said.
“Well, that’s what we’re all praying for, Bev. But things happen sometimes, no matter what we ask for.” Mom sounded a little irritated, as though Beverly’s confidence felt a little too naive, too trusting, at such a difficult moment.
And LaRue let her old question run through her head, the one she had thought of so many times before: why ask God if he was just going to do whatever he wanted to anyway?
But Beverly whispered, as if to herself, “I know she’ll be all right.”
The three of them walked back to the couch and sat down. Bea said that she had left while the men gave the blessing, to avoid having too many in the room at once, but she planned to go back up as soon as Wally came down. “I thought our worries would all be over when the war ended,” she told the girls, “but I guess there are always problems in life.”
“How’s Richard doing?” LaRue asked.
“He’s upset. When I first got here, she was still hemorrhaging. They’d made him stay outside. I found him in a corner, crying, and I know he was praying. He’s feeling a lot better now, since the doctor told him Bobbi was out of serious
danger.”
“How did Bobbi get here?”
“In an ambulance. She was home when the pain hit
her, and then she started to bleed really hard. She called Richard, but he didn’t take any chances. He called for an ambulance. When he got home, they were already taking her away. By then she had passed out, so it’s good he didn’t try to run home first.”
“God won’t let any more of us die,” Beverly said. “He just won’t.”
“Beverly, you don’t know that,” Mom said, and now her voice was taut, almost angry.
LaRue looked at Beverly, who didn’t say a word, didn’t react, but LaRue could see that Bev’s confidence hadn’t cracked. She nodded, ever so slightly, as though she were offering reassurance to herself. Whatever whispers she had heard, she wasn’t doubting.
In a few minutes Wally came down. “She’s awake,” he said. “Her color is coming back. She feels bad about the baby, and I think she’s worried about what’s happened to her—but she was smiling, even joking with us.”
“That’s good,” Mom said, but the idea of it seemed a little much for her. She bent forward and put her face in her hands, gathering herself for a few seconds. “I’m going back up to see her,” she said, but she didn’t get up.
“The doctor wants us all to stay out so she’ll sleep for a while,” Wally said. “Richard is going to sit in her room with her, and the doctor said that was all right as long as he didn’t talk to her and keep her awake.”
“Will they let the girls go up to see her after a while?”
“I think so. I’m not sure.”
“Well, let’s wait for a while. I want to be close . . . you know, if something should go wrong.”
LaRue could hardly stand to hear those words. She wanted this all to be over. She stood up. “I think I’ll walk outside and get some air for a few minutes. It’s hot in here.”
“I’ve got to get back to the office,” Wally said. “I’m going to see what I can do to find Dad.”
So Bea and Beverly stayed in the waiting area, and LaRue walked outside with Wally. As they reached the car, she asked him, “How did you feel when you gave the blessing, Wally? Did you feel like everything would be all right?”
“Yes, I did,” he said. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and nodded a couple of times. “I anointed her, and Richard gave her the blessing. He put those scarred hands on her head, and he told her how much he loved her.” Wally stopped and cleared his throat. “It was heartbreaking, LaRue. He told her how sorry he was that he didn’t have all the qualities she wanted in a husband. He cried so hard he couldn’t even talk for a while, but when he got his voice back, he told Bobbi that she was a ‘pure vessel’ and he knew God loved her. He promised her that the Lord would grant her another chance to bear a child.”
“Did you believe it? I mean, do you think it was just what Richard wanted, or was that what the Spirit told him?”
“LaRue, you’re asking the same kinds of questions I’ve always asked. But that’s good. There’s not
one thing wrong with asking.”
“So answer me.” She pulled her coat around her face. The wind was blowing in gusts, cutting through her clothes.
“I did feel the Spirit, LaRue. And I’ve gotten so I trust my feelings about things like that.”
“How?”
“LaRue, you and I have talked about that a lot of times. I told you what happened to me when I finally humbled myself and really prayed.”
LaRue was trying to think, trying to sort out what she felt. “Wally, I talked to my friend Cecil this afternoon. He says that it’s stupid to think that one church—one little church—has the corner on all truth.”
“Obviously, we don’t.”
“But don’t we believe that Joseph Smith brought back the whole truth?”
“Not exactly. God gave him the authority to reestablish Christ’s church, but Joseph kept learning more all his life. We have to do the same thing.”
LaRue stamped her feet and shivered. “Cecil says we shouldn’t be trying to tell the rest of the world how to think—that it’s like a little tribe off in some corner of the world telling everyone else what’s what.”
“But LaRue, we do have something. Chuck and I didn’t do a lot of preaching in our camps, but guys came to us, and when they heard what we believed, it rang true to them. And that was really helpful to me, to tell a man what I had been taught and see him begin to grow because of what I could give him. We really do know things that the world needs to hear.”
“I told him that Christ’s followers, when he was on earth, were just a small group too.”
“That’s right. That’s a good answer. But now you need your own answer. You need to read about that little group. I doubt you’ve ever read the New Testament all the way through.”
“No. I haven’t.”
“I hadn’t either when I left home. But you need to do that, LaRue. You’re asking hard questions. You need to humble yourself and really look for the answers.”
“Beverly doesn’t have to. She just believes.”
“That’s good for her. And don’t make fun of her for it. But you’re going to have to work harder.” Wally finally pulled his coat shut. His cheeks were red, and his nose.
“Would it be a mistake for me to go away to college? Will I lose what faith I have?”
“That’s another answer you’re going to have to get for yourself.”
LaRue nodded, thankful in a way that Wally thought so. She had expected him to tell her to stay home and play it safe. “I’m freezing,” she said.
“I know. I am too. Go back in. But talk to me again. I can’t give you all the answers, but I can tell you what I’ve thought about some of the same questions.”
“Okay. I will.” She turned to walk away and then twisted back and said, “If I find out anything new about Bobbi, I’ll call you at your office.”
“Great. I’ll see you later.” But then he reached out and took her into his arms. That wasn’t something he had done very often in their lives, and LaRue was touched by the closeness she felt. She liked the spirit about him—liked it so much more than the one she had felt from Cecil.
She walked back inside to Mom and Beverly. There, in the waiting area, she found Richard, looking pale and tired. He got up and hugged her. “Thanks for coming over,” he said. “I told Bobbi that you were here, and she joked about it, but I know it meant a lot to her.”
“Do you feel bad about the baby?”
“Sure I do. But as long as Bobbi is all right, we’ll be okay.”
“If I stay for a while, can I go up and see Bobbi?”
“I don’t know, LaRue. Maybe.”
But LaRue wanted to do that, and so she waited, and later that evening, after Dad had come and Bobbi had rested quite some time, the doctor said that each family member could come in for a minute, one at a time, and say goodnight. When LaRue got her turn, she found Bobbi looking weary, her hair loose and messy, her lips still almost blue. “You don’t look so hot,” she told Bobbi, and she bent and kissed her cheek.
“Thanks a lot,” Bobbi said.
“I love you, Bobbi.”
“Really? I don’t think you’ve ever told me that, not since you were a little girl.”
“I know. I don’t say things I ought to say. I’m too busy saying all the things I shouldn’t. But all this time, down in the lobby, I’ve been thinking how much I love you.”
“LaRue, don’t start being sweet. I couldn’t take it. I’d be crying all the time.” She was crying now.
“Don’t worry. You’ve seen the last of it.” But LaRue took her hand and said, “Are you worried, Bobbi?”
“Not right now. I just feel so blessed. Richard was wonderful to me, and Wally, and now all of you. I think things will be okay. I’m just glad all of us are together now.”
“Bobbi, did you feel the Spirit when they blessed you?”
“I don’t know. I felt comfortable—and the fear left me. I guess that’s the Spirit.”
“But aren’t you sure?”
“LaRue, I don’t think life allows us many chances to be sure.”
LaRue nodded. It was such a terrible answer, not at all what she wanted. But it was also the perfect answer because it rang with such honesty. Bobbi was someone LaRue could trust. So was Wally. And so were Mom and Dad. Even Beverly, as much as anyone. LaRue had to remember that.
Chapter 27
Alex arrived at work after his morning classes at the university. It was a cold February day. He wished that he didn’t have to come in on a day like this, when he had a test coming up in a biology class and a paper in Early American History. But he needed the money. Dad refused to take any rent for the house he and Anna lived in, but there were still plenty of bills to pay. For one thing, Gene had been sick a number of times that winter, and Anna was rather quick to run to the doctor, or at least it seemed so to Alex. In fact, he and Anna had quarreled about that, had quarreled a good deal lately. He loved her so much, but she was not feeling all that well, with the new baby coming, and she seemed exhausted every day when he got home from work. He sometimes blamed their problems on that, but Alex knew the truth: he was grouchy much of the time and not easy to get along with. He told himself every day that he had to be more patient with Gene, kinder to Anna—the way he always thought he would be if he ever got back to them—but the nervousness that plagued him hadn’t abated at all. Going to school—having a new goal—was supposed to help, but in fact, the intensity of his life, working and studying, coming home to a noisy toddler when he needed to study, seemed to keep him on edge almost all the time. He felt a malaise, a discouragement, that he didn’t know how to deal with. He knew how tired Anna was of his moods, his caustic remarks, his advice about Gene, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Alex sat at his desk and tried to think what he needed to do today. He opened a file that was in front of him, wondered for a moment what it was, but then realized why he had left it out. He needed to get a letter off to a supplier. He would work on that now. But as he read through the file, he couldn’t think what it was that he needed to say in the letter. His eyes were taking in the words, but his mind wasn’t letting them register. This kept happening lately—this confusion, this lack of concentration. He decided to walk down and see what was happening on the line. After he did that, he would come back, settle down, and get to work.
He strode through the hall and down the stairs. When he reached the floor, he saw Oscar, the foreman, talking to a machinist. Alex started toward him and was walking along the conveyor belt when something flashed, some spark of light—bright, intense. At the same instant, he heard a crash.
Alex dove flat on his chest onto the hard concrete, but he saw no cover, no foxhole. He rolled under something, tried to hide . . . but he knew where he was. He couldn’t do this. “Take cover!” he screamed. “Take cover!” And even as he shouted, he knew he had to stop. He was acting crazy. People would think he was crazy.
But the sound cracked through the build
ing again, and he pulled his legs up against his chest and grabbed his knees. “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot,” he yelled. He wasn’t in the war. He knew that. But someone was shooting. Why were they shooting?
By then, someone was on the floor with him. Oscar. “Alex, you’re okay,” he was saying. “You’re okay.”
“I know. I know,” Alex screamed into his face. “But make them stop shooting.”
When Alex awoke the next morning, most of the previous day was a muddle to him. He knew he was at the veterans’
hospital in a ward for the mentally ill, and in all the initial confusion, he had let others make decisions for him. His father had come to the plant and told Alex, “I’m taking you to a hospital. You’ve got to talk to someone about this,” and Alex had let himself be driven there. But he told his father, told the doctor, that he understood what had happened. Even when he had heard the sounds and had lunged to the floor, he had realized that no one was shooting—no matter what he had been shouting. He had only reacted to the sound; he hadn’t gone crazy. This had happened to him before, once long ago in London, at the train station. It had happened to lots of soldiers. “I’m okay now,” he told the doctor, and he tried to explain to Anna when she got there. “I’m not losing my mind. You know how noises do that to me sometimes.”
“It was worse this time,” she told him, and she cupped her hand behind his head and kissed his eyes, as though he were wounded in some way.
But it hadn’t been worse, not much anyway. He was all right. Alex needed to get out of this ward and get back to work. If he accepted everyone’s idea of him, assumed that he really was going crazy, then he wasn’t far away. People should understand that. Being crazy wasn’t as hard as most people thought; it was mostly a matter of accepting.
At least the doctor seemed to understand more than the others did. He came in after breakfast and told Alex he could get dressed and go home. But he wanted to see Alex later that week, and every week for a while. His name was Kowallis. He was a rough-looking guy with dark teeth, a day’s growth of beard, and hair that was matted on one side, as though he had slept at the hospital and had just gotten up. “Look, Thomas,” he said, and he sounded like the officers Alex had known in the army, “I was in England during the war. I worked with the boys they brought back from the front, the ones with battle fatigue. You’ve been keeping your finger in the dyke for a long time, but if you don’t work some things out—and I mean right away—you’re going to get caught in the flood you’ve been holding back. I can guarantee that.”
