Moments In Time

by Mariah Stewart

  “Well, Maggie, looks as if my talk on birth control fell on deaf ears,” Dr. Bernard said following his examination. “All kidding aside, you really should slow down.”

  She laughed. “I feel fine.”

  “You always ‘feel fine,’ ” he said, a serious tone in his voice, “but let’s face it, Maggie, your body is not what it was ten years ago, you know.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not that I can see. But five pregnancies back to back will take a toll. And now this one…”

  “As long as the baby’s all right, I’m all right. I’m tired, as usual, and my appetite’s off, as it always is. But I’ll skate through this like I always do.”

  And for the most part, she did, up until the beginning of the seventh month, when backaches and leg pain kept her almost completely inactive. She’d insisted that they keep to their summer schedule, and although her doctor hadn’t been supportive of her decision to travel, she assured him she’d be back in a month with a month to spare before delivery.

  They’d been at Luke’s for three weeks when she’d awakened one night drenched with perspiration, her heart pounding, an odd, excruciating pain in her side. She lay quietly, afraid to move, until it subsided. An hour later, it returned, and she was frightened. She shook her husband.

  “Jamey. Jamey,” she whispered. “Please wake up. Wake up.”

  “What?” he mumbled.

  “I said wake up.”

  “Why?” he made a halfhearted attempt to open his eyes.

  “Because… because…” she sputtered uncertainly. The pain was gone.

  “What is it?” He turned over sleepily.

  “I don’t know,” she replied hesitantly. “I had a pain. Two sharp pains. But they’re gone now.”

  “Come here, Mags. Lay back down now. Do you feel all right? Want me to call Judith’s doctor? I can call her and get his number.”

  “No. No, I guess maybe it’s okay. I feel a little shaky inside, but the pain is gone.”

  “Maybe it was just a cramp. Remember how you used to get those cramps sometimes with Emma?”

  “This was different. Sharper. And in my abdomen… but it’s gone.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Jude? She won’t mind.”

  “No. But if it happens again, maybe we should. Maybe it was just a cramp.” She lay back and took a deep breath and tried to relax. She lay awake long after J.D.’s even breathing told her he’d fallen back to sleep.

  Several evenings later she’d been about to start down the steps after having tucked the children in when she experienced the same pain, sharper, more insistent, and she began to bleed. She stared dumbly at the bright scarlet river that flowed with horrific speed down her leg and onto the floor. Within minutes, J.D. was speeding to the hospital, eighteen miles away, where Judith’s doctor would be waiting for them. Thirty minutes later, bleeding profusely and in severe pain, Maggie was helped onto an examining table.

  Her previous experiences with childbirth had all been relatively easy, uneventful experiences, labor and delivery of short duration. This time the contractions were erratic and hard and had lasted for hours. She knew it was too soon for the baby to be born, and she was terrified. They’d offered her sedatives repeatedly, and repeatedly she’d refused. Ashen and shaken, J.D. bent over her bed, kissed her face, and brushed back her hair minutes before the decision was made to move her into the delivery room.

  There seemed to be an inordinate number of nurses waiting in the harshly lit room. Another doctor came in, then a third. She began to panic. Over her protests, she was given a shot ‘to calm her down,’ J.D. was told. The medication hadn’t had time to take effect before the baby’s birth.

  “Oh, no.” The nurse’s whisper cut to Maggie’s heart, and she tried to sit up, tried to see J.D.’s face.

  “Quickly,” the doctor said, “see if we can bring her around.”

  There was a flurry of activity as a tiny form was wrapped hastily in a blanket and shuttled to another table.

  “What’s wrong?” Maggie cried. “What is it? Let me see her…”

  She was attempting to rise but could not, strong arms sheathed in white holding her down. She knew J.D. was speaking to her, but she couldn’t comprehend his words through the fog of fear and confusion surrounding her. A nurse appeared with a syringe and injected something into her arm.

  “No!” she screamed. “No! Let me up! Jamey, please. Please. Make them let go,” she pleaded wildly. “Don’t let them put me out. Don’t let them. I want to see my baby…” She felt her body begin to relax involuntarily, and though she tried to fight against it, her will failed her, and she faded away as she was wheeled from the room.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Borders. There’s nothing we can do for her,” the doctor said somberly. “The cord was wrapped around her neck. She was stillborn. I’m so sorry.”

  Burning tears filled his eyes and streamed down his face. He walked to the table where the tiny girl lay, half covered by a white blanket. The nurse was preparing to take her as he approached and pushed her firmly out of the way. She looked quickly to the doctor for direction, and when he nodded, she stepped back.

  J.D. reached down and wrapped the perfect little girl in the blanket, folding it over her motionless chest. The nurses stood stunned as he gently lifted her to his shoulder and held her close, whispering words they could not hear as he nuzzled the still bundle. Finally, the doctor put his hand on J.D.’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Borders, you need to hand her over now.”

  J.D. nodded and lowered the baby to look at her face, studying her carefully, noting the blond hair, the blond lashes, the tiny ears. Maggie will want to know, he thought. He passed the bundle into the hands of the nurse and asked, “Where’s my wife?”

  “Room 316.”

  He walked out into the hall and located the room several doors down. He sat on the bed while she slept.

  Several hours later, Maggie awoke and was sedated again quickly, over J.D.’s protests, when she became hysterical. The same scene was almost repeated when she woke up the second time, but J.D. refused to permit another sedative.

  “You can’t keep doing this to her,” he said quietly. “She has to know, and she has to be given a chance to deal with it. Leave us alone, please. She’ll be all right.”

  He knew perfectly well she wouldn’t be all right. He knew her heart would break, but he also knew that no amount of medication could prevent the inevitable. And so he sat and held her for the rest of the night while she cried quietly for the baby she hadn’t been permitted to hold. The baby’s death devastated her, but the fact that Maggie had not been allowed to see her, to hold her, would haunt her forever.

  Maggie could not face the trip back home with the tiny coffin on the plane and so reluctantly agreed to J.D.’s suggestion that they bury Hallie, as Maggie had planned to name the baby, along side his father in the peaceful churchyard down the road from Luke’s house.

  Maggie recovered slowly from the loss and in the after-math seemed to retreat into a deep depression. It was close to the beginning of the school year, and J.D. was mindful that they would have to get back to the States before the first week in September. Maggie was avoiding the trip and kept putting off their departure.

  “We’ll go next Tuesday,” she’d say on Thursday, then on Monday morning, she’d ask, “Could we please stay until Saturday?”

  Finally, they were out of time.

  “No, Maggie. We can’t stay till Friday. The children have to start school Tuesday. It’s time to go back. We have to leave, sweetheart,” he told her gently.

  Her eyes filled with tears, and J.D. held her tightly, hoping she’d finally cry it out. He’d become alarmed by her long silences, her solitary walks, her distance. He did not know how to help her.

  “Jamey, I can’t leave here. I can’t leave my baby alone…” she told him.

  “She’s not alone, sweetheart. My mom’s here. And Judith. She’s not alone.�
�� He tried his best to comfort her. “But we have to go home.”

  He cradled her and whispered reassurances, but even when the tears had subsided, he doubted he’d reached her, and he worried.

  Even the frantic scurry of school activities did little to distract her. He grew increasingly concerned and suggested to her one night that they both go for counseling. She’d declined, telling him she had to work it out herself. He disagreed but could not change her mind. And so he watched her as she grew more distant, more distracted, slipping more frequently into a silence even he could not pierce.

  One day in late October he looked out a back window and saw her seated on the ground in the garden. He walked outside and sat next to her. The trowel she was using to dig in the dirt was in her right hand, and he watched as she stabbed fiercely into the soil.

  “What are you planting?” he asked casually.

  “Daffodils.”

  “Isn’t it late to plant them? It’ll be cold soon.”

  “You plant spring bulbs in the fall,” she explained with a flat voice. “Daffodils bloom in the spring.”

  “Oh,” he said. She did not look up at him.

  “Maggie,” he said after a few minutes had passed.

  “What?”

  “We have to put it behind us, Maggie.”

  “I can’t.” She dug another hole.

  “You have to. I have to—”

  “You already have,” she spoke harshly, pulling away from his attempt to touch her. “I can’t understand how you could so easily forget—”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I never will. But we have to get on with living, sweetheart.” She did not reply, and he continued, “Maggie, we can’t change what happened. Please, Maggie, talk to me…”

  She shook her head as the tears welled and flooded her face. He moved closer and took the trowel from her hand, holding her as the tears gave way to heartbreaking sobs.

  “I never saw her face, Jamey, I never held her. They took her from me and put me to sleep and the next thing I knew, they were putting her in the ground,” her voice broke I harshly. “I wanted to hold her, Jamey.”

  He rocked her shaking form gently, letting her cry, hoping i that by voicing her pain, she would be released of its grip on her soul. “I wanted that baby, Jamey,” she said quietly, “and maybe if I’d stayed home, maybe if I’d gone to the hospital the first night I had that pain, if I’d gotten to the hospital sooner—”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Maggie. Nothing would have made a difference,” he told her. “I spoke with the doctor. The cord had been wrapped around her neck. There was no heartbeat when you first got to the hospital, Maggie. It was already too late.”

  “Why didn’t they tell me? Why did they let me go through that?”

  “Maggie, stillborn or not, you had to deliver her. Would it have helped you to have known?”

  “Did you know? Did they tell you?” she demanded in an accusatory tone.

  “They told me there were serious complications,” he admitted. “I do know that nothing that you did or didn’t do was responsible for what happened, Maggie. It’s not your fault or the doctor’s or anyone else’s. It happens sometimes. This time it happened to us. I know it hurts you terribly, sweetheart; it hurts me, too. But we have to put it behind us and go on, do you understand?”

  She nodded her head slowly, a reluctant acknowledgment that she did. “There’s been so much sadness these past few years, Jamey. There’s been so much pain. Lindy. The baby.”

  “Lindy is finally at peace, sweetheart. And we have six beautiful, healthy, wonderful children. Be grateful for them. They need you, Maggie, and so do I,” he told her as he dried her face. “Please come back to us. Put Hallie to rest, sweetheart.”

  They sat close together in the fading sunlight, and watched the shadows stretch across the grass. She remained wrapped in his arms, and he knew she was far away, lost in her thoughts. An occasional tear slid from her face, but she did not speak. Dusk began to close in, and she turned to him.

  “I guess we should see about dinner,” she said, and he stood up, helping her to her feet.

  They walked hand in hand to the house, and he wondered if he’d gotten through to her. He couldn’t tell for sure. But later that night when he got into bed as quietly as possible, thinking that she was asleep, she had nudged into his arms, kissing him with her old passion very much in evidence. As he fell asleep hours later, he knew that his wife had come back to him.

  J.D. went on tour for two months the following spring, and when it was over, he and Maggie packed up the family and traveled for three weeks as soon as school was out, taking all six children to France and Germany for a family holiday. They spent the rest of the summer in England. Every morning Maggie took a walk to the churchyard to visit the tiny grave. Sometimes he accompanied her, sometimes she preferred to be alone. He feared she’d become depressed again, but when it was time to leave, she did not resist the trip home and had asked him to walk with her that last morning.

  They entered the quiet cemetery, and he studied her face carefully, trying to read her thoughts as she placed a handful of flowers near the white headstone that bore the simple inscription Margaret Hallie Borders, August 1, 1986.

  “I’ve come to the conclusion that the saddest thing in this life is burying a child, Jamey. There simply couldn’t be any pain like it. I can’t imagine anything that could do greater damage to your soul,” she told him as they turned to leave. “It’s a hurt that never goes away. And no other child can make up for one you’ve lost. I love each of our children so deeply, Jamey, but I’ll never stop wanting her.”

  A lump had grown in his throat and he could not speak, and so he just nodded and took her hand as they walked back down the road to his mother’s home. Once there, they rushed to get all the bags and all the children into the car and to the airport on time. The flight was chaotic, as always, the children restless and bored at first, then tired and cranky as they neared their destination. After they’d arrived home and the last child had been kissed good night, Maggie climbed wearily into their bed and turned to him.

  “It was a good trip. I’m glad we stayed the summer. I was scared at first—scared I’d get crazy again and not want to leave. But your mom goes down to the cemetery several times a week, and that’s a comfort to me. I know that Hallie will always be with us, inside. It took me a whole year to understand that, but I can live with it now.”

  24

  “THANK YOU,” MAGGIE WHISPERED AS SHE TURNED to face him, not looking away when he looked into her eyes. “I’m all right.”

  J.D. followed her as she walked to the sofa and quietly seated herself.

  “Maggie, I’m so sorry.” Hilary was acutely aware that her audience, while loving her when she made people crazy with her innuendoes, would not look kindly upon her for flaunting a dead child in its mother’s face. “It was absolutely thoughtless of me…”

  “Life goes on,” Maggie said quietly, raising her chin slightly. Life always goes on. People die and pieces of us die with them, but it all still goes on. Days pass and we build our lives around the void.

  It can all be so unfair sometimes, Maggie thought darkly. And yet it goes on. Always a new crisis or a new joy. Since Hallie, we’ve survived my dad’s open-heart surgery, my mother’s mastectomy. The nightmare of Anjjoli and dealing with its aftermath. Caroline’s been divorced and Colleen’s been married and Kevin and Jenny have had a child. And of course, there’s Spencer. Blessed Spencer…

  * * * * *

  It had been a hectic year, another album for J.D., another baby on the way, much to Dr. Bernard’s concern.

  “Maggie, I’m very worried about you, and I think you should give some consideration to, well, maybe you should think twice this time,” he told her. “It could be risky for both of you.”

  “Then tell me how to minimize the risks,” she replied, “and I’ll do whatever I have to do. But I will have this baby, and we will both be fine.”

&nbs
p; She spent most of her time in bed for the following months, much to her frustration, but she was determined that nothing would go wrong. She tearfully acknowledged to J.D. that this would be the last one, and when he offered to have a vasectomy, she agreed it would probably be a good idea.

  Spencer Thomas Borders was born the following spring— the last of their children.

  On a lazy midsummer day shortly after their arrival at Luke’s for their annual visit, the entire family packed into the car and headed toward Rick’s to spend the afternoon.

  “Sophie’s growing so tall, Rick,” Maggie observed as she watched the lanky blond girl run across the grass, concentrating on the soccer game she was playing with Emma and Lucy and Judith’s daughter Pamela.

  They sat on the veranda, overlooking the huge expanse of lawn behind Rick’s palatial home.

  “Didn’t call her mom Legs for nothing,” he said. “She’s a pretty thing, don’t you think?”

  “A true natural beauty,” Maggie readily agreed, “she looks so much like Lindy.”

  “Gratefully, she lacks her mother’s moodiness, her melancholy.”

  “That’s your influence on her.” Maggie smiled.

  “Well, I certainly didn’t have such a great influence on her mother, that’s for certain,” he said grimly, watching his daughter as she ran to retrieve the ball, which had blasted through the hedge following a hard kick by Lucy.

  “You still harboring some guilt?” Maggie asked.

  “Always. I took her life.”

  “You did what she asked you to do. As you always did.”

  “Do you think I did the right thing?” He looked at her with eyes that were still haunted.

  “I don’t know.” Maggie sighed deeply. “You did what she thought was right for her. Would she be better off had she lived these past years, flat on her back? The decision was hers, Rick.”

  “I got her into the drug thing. That’s what did her in,” he said flatly.