Elizabeth hesitated. He’d been trying to change the subject. Instead, he’d hit on a different guilty secret. She might not have been honest with her family, but she decided to be truthful with Luke.
“I told my parents”—she clenched her hands in her lap—“I was invited to Owen’s family dinner. That much was true.”
Luke waited, as if sensing her need to unburden herself.
“Except I thanked Owen’s parents for their invitation but said my parents wanted me to come home for the holiday. That’s true, but I didn’t tell them or my parents I don’t plan to go to either house.” Her hands grew more agitated.
“You’re spending Christmas alone?”
Elizabeth hung her head. “I can’t sit across the table from my family and try to act cheerful, and I don’t want to drag down their day. And being with Owen’s family would remind me—and them—of all we’ve lost.”
* * *
Luke longed to clench his own hands, but he forced himself to listen. Hearing the pain underlying Elizabeth’s words stabbed his already-bloodied heart. But she needed comfort.
He pushed aside his own hurt to concentrate on hers. She’d been through much more than he’d endured. At least Elizabeth was alive and he could see her, even if her heart still belonged to another man.
When she started talking again, her words were so quiet Luke could barely hear them. “The accident took away something precious. Precious and irreplaceable. I’ve been struggling to accept it ever since.”
“It’s not easy losing someone you love.” Luke should know. He’d been through that heartbreak. But his loss didn’t compare with knowing you’d never see the person you loved. Not ever again.
Unless they both went to heaven, he corrected himself.
But sometimes that felt so far away when you needed and wanted that person in your life, experiencing the day-to-day activities. Talking, touching, connecting . . . Comforting, embracing. . .
All things he wanted to do with Elizabeth.
To keep from reaching out, he clutched his suspenders.
* * *
“Everywhere I go, I’m reminded of . . .” Elizabeth stumbled to a stop. She couldn’t tell Luke. It wouldn’t be proper.
But the past few weeks at the Christmas shop had been hard. First Melva with her New Beginnings flyers, then Yolanda with her baby news.
Melva had collected the flyers on the door last Saturday after the auction, so Elizabeth didn’t have to face them, but she couldn’t escape Yolanda’s baby joy. Every day, Yolanda bubbled over with excitement as she shopped for presents for her new granddaughter.
“Look at this.” Yolanda held up a miniature Santa suit along with a hat that matched the one she always wore. “Isn’t this the cutest sleeper? I ordered some for the store.”
A wave of sadness engulfed Elizabeth. Her own baby wouldn’t have worn an outfit like that, but each reminder of babies hurt. Perhaps she should explain her deep ache to her boss. If Yolanda understood, maybe she’d stop bringing in baby toys, clothes, and accessories. But Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to dim Yolanda’s exhilaration over reuniting with her daughter or meeting her first grandchild.
“I decided we should do a Santa baby corner,” Yolanda said. “You’re so good at decorating, I’ll put you in charge.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t think—”
Yolanda interrupted her. “I know you worry about that pride stuff, but you do have a talent, and you should use it.” Her face fell. “I wish I’d thought of it earlier, though. It’s too late to stock up for Christmas, but we can plan a baby special for our Christmas-in-July sale.”
Maybe by then Elizabeth would have come to terms with her grief. If she ever did.
* * *
“Elizabeth?” Luke said gently.
She looked so sad and far away. He didn’t want to startle her or bother her, but he wanted to console her.
“The first Christmas after my parents died,” Luke said, “I didn’t feel like going anywhere either. It was my hardest holiday ever.”
Elizabeth focused on him as if his story had become a lifeline. If it helped, he’d keep talking.
“I refused to spend the holiday with my brothers in Indiana. I stayed home alone, walking through the house, touching special things that belonged to Mamm or Daed, reliving memories.”
Her sharp indrawn breath told him she’d felt the same. “I didn’t know you went through that.” A look of guilt crossed her face. “We should have invited you over.”
Luke shook his head. The last place he would have wanted to be that Christmas—or any Christmas—was at the newlyweds’ dinner table. “I didn’t want to be with anyone, so I understand why you don’t want to go to your family dinners.”
“Danke for saying that.” Elizabeth looked relieved. “I’ve felt terrible about not wanting to be with my parents. But how did you get over it?”
“I’m not sure you ever do. You learn to live with the loss, and the ache lessens over time. I also remembered something Mamm always said: ‘When you’re lonely, focus on others rather than yourself.’ I took her advice, and it did help.”
So that’s why he was always so generous. Elizabeth bit her lip. She’d been so busy feeling sorry for herself, she’d closed off her heart.
Forgive me for my selfishness, Lord. Please show me someone in need.
Then a still, small voice inside answered her prayer. You already know who to help.
Elizabeth shook her head. No, she screamed inside. Please, Lord, anything but that.
God had been nudging her to do this for months. He’d even brought the perfect person into her life a few weeks ago. But she’d turned away.
Luke sat silent while she fought an internal battle. Across from her, he’d bowed his head and laced his fingers together as if in prayer. Was he praying for her? If so, he needed to pray harder and longer, because God had asked her to do the impossible.
Chapter 9
Elizabeth’s face revealed his words had made an impact. She sat rigid and tense as if fighting a war within. Unsure what to do, Luke kept praying.
He entrusted her to God. And at the same time, he surrendered his own human desires and will.
Lord, please help and comfort her. I’m willing to do whatever You ask, even if it means staying out of her life forever.
After his surrender, peace flooded his soul. If God wanted him to walk away and not come back, it would be the hardest thing he’d ever been asked to do, but Luke meant every word. Even so, he’d never stop loving her or praying for her.
When he opened his eyes, Elizabeth had scrunched up her face and she’d squeezed her eyes shut. Her head twisted back and forth as if she were saying no.
Luke kept praying. He couldn’t bear to see her suffering. Please, Lord, help her to surrender to Your will.
Then he prayed for her peace and comfort. He still had his head bowed when Elizabeth’s soft voice called his name.
“Luke?” she said again, hesitantly.
He looked up.
“I-I have something I need to do, but I can’t do it alone. Would you be willing to help?”
“Of course.” He’d do anything she asked.
“It means climbing the stairs, and I’m really slow.”
Luke wanted to offer to carry her, but he sensed she’d want to get upstairs on her own. “We can go as slowly as you need to.”
Elizabeth bowed her head, and her reply came out muffled. “It might . . . take time . . . upstairs too.”
“I have all day. Whatever you need.”
Elizabeth stayed seated for so long Luke wondered if she’d given up on her idea. Then with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, she clutched her crutches and pulled herself shakily to her feet.
Luke inched along behind her, careful not to get too close. He only stayed near enough to catch her if she fell.
She stopped at the first door at the top of the stairs. “In here,” she said, her voi
ce barely above a whisper.
He stepped to the side and pushed open the door to let her enter first, but she wobbled on her crutches, her face drained of color. He stepped forward to catch her if she fell. Or fainted.
She squeezed her eyes shut as if in unbearable pain.
“Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. Only stared past him into the room beyond. Luke turned to see what had caused her distress.
Behind them lay a nursery. A hand-carved wooden cradle rocked ever so slightly from the vibrations of the old reclaimed wooden floorboards they’d stepped on. A low dresser topped with a plastic pad held stacks of diapers along with an assortment of creams and ointments. A rocking chair, also disturbed by his heavy footfalls, creaked back and forth.
Shell-shocked, Luke tried to wrap his mind around this. She’d been expecting a baby? He’d never known.
That wasn’t surprising. Amish women never talked about their pregnancies in front of men. But he and Owen had been close. Closer even than brothers. Owen might have hinted at having his firstborn.
“Ach, Elizabeth,” Luke breathed. He hadn’t known she’d lost her husband and a child.
“I-I want to give all of this away. New Beginnings needs baby”—the word dripped with agony—“items.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep some of it?” Perhaps she’d marry again. Have more children.
Luke wished he could be that lucky man, but most of all, he wanted her to be happy. That’s why he’d backed away when she’d chosen Owen. And now he’d just made a promise to give Elizabeth up if God willed.
She buried her face in her hands. “Neh. Everything has to go. I want to clear out the room.”
“But—”
“You don’t understand,” she said almost savagely. Then she softened her voice until he could barely hear it and choked out, “I may . . . never have . . . children.”
Although she wasn’t looking at him, his cheeks heated to hear her talk about something so intimate, so personal. But her grief overshadowed his uneasiness. She needed comfort. How would she ever get over her losses? No wonder she’d been in such agony. She’d lost her husband, her child, and her future.
Luke wished he could wrap his arms around her, pull her close, reassure her everything would be all right. Even if he gave in to temptation and did the forbidden, he could never make up for all she’d lost. Never.
* * *
Powerless to stop the tears trickling down her cheeks, Elizabeth turned her back to Luke. She’d just let him see into the most private part of her life, the deep source of her grief. She’d not only lost Owen; she’d also lost her unborn child.
This Christmas she should have been holding a baby in her arms. A tiny little one. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, but nothing could lessen her loss.
Why, God, why?
Downstairs, she’d asked for God’s forgiveness for her selfishness. But standing in this room surrounded by her baby’s things, the agony pierced her, fresh and intense.
Until the accident, she’d always believed in God’s perfect will and accepted both blessings and hardships. Whatever had come her way, she’d trusted He had sent it. But this? This she struggled to accept. Her heart and spirit rebelled. Everything in her railed against this tragedy.
Why did You take my baby? My little one?
No answer.
A huge, thick wall blocked her words from flowing upward. No healing or peace flowed downward. Trapped in a cage, bound by bars of grief, anguish pressing in from all sides, Elizabeth struggled to follow through with her decision.
If she let go of all these baby things, it would mean this loss was real.
But it already was real. Hanging on to all these things would only bring more grief.
Elizabeth steeled herself. New Beginnings had teens who could use these things. She’d been raised to be giving. To donate to charity. To help others. But clearing out this room would be a constant reminder of her empty arms.
Please give me the strength to do this, Lord.
Did she have any right to call on God for miracles when she raged at Him inside?
* * *
Luke stood nearby as Elizabeth’s gaze moved from item to item in the room. Her eyes revealed she was conflicted. He wanted to suggest she give herself more time to heal.
But this was between her and God. So, he waited. And asked the Lord to help her make her decision.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments and heaved a huge sigh. When she opened them, tears sparkled on her eyelashes, but her face appeared calm. “I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?” Luke didn’t want her to do something she’d later regret.
Elizabeth hesitated only a second before nodding. “Would you be able to take these to New Beginnings today?”
All thoughts of finishing the other cradle fled. Elizabeth needed him, and he wanted to be here for her. “I can go and get the farm wagon. We should be able to fit everything in there.”
She headed for the wooden dresser that would have served as a changing table and leaned down to open the bottom drawer.
Luke rushed over to assist her so she didn’t fall. “I can get that.” He waited until she’d stepped back to pull open the drawer. It was empty.
“I-I thought I’d put everything up here”—she fluttered a hand toward the diapers and baby products—“in the drawer.”
He removed the drawer and packed everything neatly inside. Elizabeth bit her lip as he took out and stacked several filled drawers. “I’ll carry these down first.”
“Wait!” Elizabeth’s heartrending cry stopped him as he reached the top of the stairs.
Had she changed her mind?
He set the drawers down on the landing.
Her face ashen, she clicked her crutches on the wooden floor and shuffled forward, making her way toward him. “I . . . there’s something in that top drawer I want to, need to, keep.”
Hoping to save her some steps, he asked, “What is it?”
She stopped and kept her eyes shut for a long moment. “Under the blankets,” she whispered.
Luke lifted the small stack of blankets and extracted a large padded book. A scrapbook.
His sisters kept scrapbooks for their miscarriages and stillborns. They filled the pages with footprints and keepsakes. Sometimes, if they’d been close to delivery, they had a viewing and funeral, so the book was filled with cards and pressed flowers from sympathy bouquets.
He’d thought it a bit macabre. But his mamm gently explained that each child God brought into the world should be honored. No matter how brief the life.
Aching for Elizabeth, he handed over the scrapbook. Unlike his sisters’ thick books, this one had few pages. She must not have been far along when she lost the baby. But the fancy script on the cover read: Matthew James. So, she’d known she’d have had a son.
Wobbling on her crutches, Elizabeth clutched the scrapbook with one hand. Shifting her weight onto her good leg, she cradled the book close. A cold, empty substitute for the baby who should have been in her arms.
What could he say to help, to comfort? Words failed him.
Lord, please wrap Your arms around her. Comfort her. Give her peace.
He sent her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.” His words came out husky but heartfelt.
She tipped her head up and down in a barely perceptible nod. Then she turned and, shoulders slumped, leaned on the crutches, not moving.
“Do you still want to”—Luke waved a hand uncertainly toward the dresser drawers even though she couldn’t see him—“move all these things?”
In the silence that followed, she rocked back and forth as if she were rocking a baby. Luke couldn’t bear to watch. He longed to hug her, hold her. But he had no right.
* * *
Elizabeth had to do this. If she didn’t, she’d never again find the strength. If she sent Luke away now, she wouldn’t feel right asking him to come back another time. It had b
een hard enough showing him the room, watching his reaction, seeing the pity in his eyes.
Besides, how could she be so selfish? Keeping all these baby things when many young girls at New Beginnings had nothing.
The scrapbook burned against her chest. God had taken Matthew James before she’d had a chance to mother him, but she should be an example of the mother she’d prayed to be. A mother who put a child’s needs ahead of her own. A mother who opened her heart, no matter how painful. A mother who shared God’s love.
He gave His only Son. The least she could do was give up a few worldly possessions.
After a long period of deliberating, one word exploded from Elizabeth’s lips, “Jah.” The answer had been torn from the depths of her soul.
She stayed frozen in place until Luke’s soft grunt indicated he’d picked up the dresser drawers. As much as she yearned to stare as he carted them downstairs, she forced herself to hobble to the nursery.
By the time Luke returned, Elizabeth had put the scrapbook on the closet shelf and started packing the contents of the closet into the diaper pail and hamper. He gave her a gentle, caring smile that thawed the ice around her heart.
“I can set that in the cradle”—he pointed to the almost-full diaper pail—“and take both of them down.”
Elizabeth managed a nod. She set one more pack of diapers inside and handed him the lid. The rest of the diapers and most of the clothing fit into the hamper. She waited until Luke had gone downstairs before struggling to her feet, using the doorjamb for support.
Balancing precariously on one leg, she lifted the two cross-stitch wall hangings of Bible verses and tucked them into the hamper. She barely had time to steady herself before Luke bounded up the stairs.
“Is that everything?” He indicated the hamper.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “The rocker too.”
“You sure?” Luke studied her.
She stared at the rocker where she’d dreamed of rocking her little one. The baby she’d never have. Her jah came out hesitant, uncertain.
“I could move it somewhere else if you’d like.”
Elizabeth tore her gaze from his questioning eyes. “You can take it,” she said in a tear-clogged voice.
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