by Dean Hughes
“I’ll tell you what I’ve learned about these sisters in our mission—because I sit and talk to ’em all day this time of year when not many come ’round for our tours. Ever’ single one of ’em has had her heartaches. And when they hear about your little guy, they want to do something. That’s the sisterhood of the Church, Abby.”
“I’m learning that, Sister Caldwell.”
“This life has a way of schoolin’ people. And when school is about out—the way it is for us older folks—we remember what it was like to make it through the hard times. So we want to help. I know I talk too much, but ever’ time I think about you, I jist want to say, ‘It’s all worth it, Abby dear. It’s a good life, even if it’s hard, and someday you’ll look back and be thankful for ever’ single thing—even all the hard things.”
“Thanks, Sister Caldwell. I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.”
But Abby couldn’t say all she wanted to say; she was too touched. Just once she wished her mother would call her and sound as kind and caring as Sister Caldwell.
Abby set the phone down and looked across the kitchen at Jeff, who had been dishing out the ham and cheesy potatoes he had taken from the oven. She knew that he was wondering about her tears, so she said, “She’s such a dear soul. I don’t know how I’d go through something like this if I didn’t have the Church—and the sisters.”
Jeff nodded. Abby was struck by how tired he looked, and it occurred to her how lonely he must be. She walked to the table, where he had set two plates. She held his hand while he said a blessing, and then, after they had eaten, she told him to forget the dishes for now, and she led him to the couch in the living room. They sat down together, and he tucked her tightly to him with his arm around her, and for a long time they didn’t say a word. She liked that. It was what she needed.
• • •
The days since William’s birth had been tough for Jeff. He called Abby at the hospital several times each day, and always, he hoped that she would have good news—just some indication that William’s heart was beginning to function more efficiently. But every morning the nurses administered an echocardiogram and a blood saturation test, and nothing seemed to change. William’s left ventricle had to expand, but so far that apparently hadn’t happened. Dr. Hunt said that he wasn’t too surprised, that it might take time, but Jeff just wanted to hear something positive after all this waiting.
Jeff wanted life to return to some sort of normality. He wanted the baby to come home, and he wanted Abby to be there, too. He had felt cut off from her for such a long time now. He knew he had disappointed her—hadn’t given her the comfort she needed at crucial times. He had wanted to tell her that he knew everything would be all right, but he hadn’t known—still didn’t know—and he was sure that faking something like that could only do damage in the long run.
Now she had cuddled up under his arm and was holding him around the middle. He had some things he wanted to tell her, but he didn’t want to break the mood. He just wanted to cling to her the way she was clinging to him and feel that the two of them were all right with one another—and that if something happened to little William, they could get each other through the experience.
After a time, Abby asked, “What happened at work today?”
He liked that she was remembering that his life was still going on, that he had things to do each day, but it wasn’t what he wanted to talk about. “Nothing much,” he said, and then he realized that he needed to let her into his life a little. “Everyone needs me at the same time—or no one does. One of the engineers had his hard drive crash today and he almost came unglued. I finally recovered a file he thought he’d lost, and I swear, I was afraid he was going to kiss me.”
“It’s great that you can help people.”
Jeff had felt a little of that. But mostly it seemed that he was doing nothing at all. So much of his work seemed mechanical. And he could guess what that engineer’s reaction would have been had he not been able to find the file. But he also knew it was the wrong time to complain about his job. He only said, “It did feel good to get the guy back up and running. I gave him my little talk about backing up his files, and he said he would do that. Maybe he learned his lesson.”
Jeff heard the furnace fan kick on and realized it was running almost all the time now. He really needed to add insulation in the attic and ask Brother Robertson whether he wanted to put in double-pane windows. He had hardly thought about the house lately, and Abby hadn’t done anything about redecorating. He really wondered whether they were earning their free rent.
“Are you okay, Abby?” Jeff finally asked.
“I don’t know what I am, Jeff. My whole world seems wrapped up in little William right now. At first I was scared every minute. Now I just sit there and wait—and worry. I tell myself that lots of people have lost babies, or they’ve had older children die. I keep trying to believe I can handle it if I have to, but then I think about coming home without him and I go into a sort of panic.”
“This whole thing is frustrating for me too,” Jeff said. “I feel like I’m on edge every second.”
“But you don’t fly off the handle the way I do.”
“I think you’ve been really steady, Ab. Sometimes I can tell you’re right on the edge of falling apart, but you’ve never done it. You’ve been tough. I just wish I could respond better to what you need from me.”
“No. Don’t say that. I know I get mad at you for being logical—but one of us has to be.”
Jeff had always wanted to believe that logic and faith could work together, even strengthen one another, but he was not so sure anymore. He felt as though two parts of himself were warring inside. He had learned, though, that he couldn’t be so open about his struggle, especially right now. Abby needed strength, not confusion.
Jeff’s mind went back to the life history he had received from his Aunt Mary that day. He had wanted to mention it on the drive from Quincy, but it had seemed trivial compared to all the weighty matters she was worrying about. Still, what he had read had felt significant—something he wanted to share with Abby. “I wanted to tell you, Ab, my aunt emailed me something interesting today. It’s the first part of that life history of my Grandpa William Lewis—the one my dad told me about.”
Abby actually didn’t sound terribly interested when she asked, “What did you learn about him?”
“It was interesting how he came to join the Church. He grew up in this beautiful valley—Wellington Heath. He was in that group called the United Brethren who all joined the Church together—the ones that Wilford Woodruff converted. Do you know about that?”
“No.”
“There were about six hundred people, all waiting for what they called ‘light and truth,’ and Woodruff pretty much converted all of them. But Grandpa only went to church because his dad made him go. He thought the people were crazy—ranting and raving and falling down on the floor. He believed in God, but he didn’t think much of religion.”
“What changed his mind?”
“Actually, I think it started with Grandma. She must have been a real knockout. He said she was the prettiest girl he ever saw.” Jeff squeezed Abby a little tighter. “Of course, he never saw you.”
“That’s true. And just look how gorgeous I am right now.”
Jeff knew how self-conscious she was about the weight she had gained during the pregnancy. Jeff didn’t care about that, but he did hate to see her look so tired. “Well, she was apparently very pretty, and her dad was a solicitor—which is a kind of lower-level lawyer—and Grandpa was just a tenant farmer. He wanted to raise his station in life, so he went up to Manchester to look for work in the factories, but he ended up on a crew that was building a railroad line. He was working in a tunnel when it collapsed and his right hand was smashed. Then he got an infection from that and almost died. He was in really bad shape when he heard a vo
ice telling him to go home. So that’s what he did, even though—”
“What do you mean, a voice?” Abby turned a little more toward him, and he could tell that she was getting more interested.
“It was like his own voice in his mind. But it kept saying ‘Go home,’ so he walked all the way back to his farm, and that brought him in contact with Wilford Woodruff and the Book of Mormon. But he felt like he wouldn’t have been ready for it if he hadn’t gotten injured and was facing death. But the story gets even more amazing from that point. He and Grandma were on a ship coming here to Nauvoo and a big storm came up. It was so bad he thought the ship was going to sink. But Grandma told him to get out of bed and command the winds to cease. So he did. He raised up his arm and rebuked the storm—and when he did, the winds calmed down and the she ship was saved.”
“Wow. Those pioneers had so much faith.”
“I guess. But that’s not how he told it. He said that when Grandma told him to stop the storm, he didn’t think he could do it. He said it was her faith, not his, that made him say the words.”
“Still, the winds stopped.”
“I know. But it’s interesting to hear him talk about it. My dad always says that he was this great stalwart, and in a way he was, but he struggled with doubt all the time, even after he joined the Church—especially when he was a young guy. What I kept feeling was that he was a lot like me. I know I disappoint you sometimes—because faith is so hard for me—but when I read about him today, I kept thinking that I’m not a hopeless case.”
Jeff felt the awkwardness when Abby didn’t say anything for a time. She was looking across the room, not at him, when she said, “Maybe things have always been the same. Women want their husbands to be the strong ones.”
“I don’t know. Grandma was the one who sounds strong. She went through some hard things herself and never lost her faith. She’d had a nice house in England, but when she got to Nauvoo she had to live in a little log cabin. It was a huge comedown for her.”
Abby remained silent for a time again. Then she asked, “If your grandpa doubted so much, how could he command a storm to cease?”
“If you don’t know the Lord’s will, I guess you just ask for what’s best. But if you know, you have a right to command. So I don’t know—maybe he didn’t know, but he trusted that Grandma knew. Does that make sense?”
“I guess. But would the Lord let the ship sink when his people were on their way to Zion?”
“That’s the question I was thinking about today. But ships do sink. It’s not like Mormons are protected from bad things that happen.” Immediately Jeff realized that he had said the wrong thing, so he added, “Of all the ships that crossed the Atlantic with LDS immigrants on board, though, not one ever went down. It wasn’t that uncommon for ships to sink, but none of the Mormon ships did.”
“But some of the people died on the ships, didn’t they? Especially babies.”
“Sure. In fact, almost every ship lost some people—because of all the seasickness and diseases. My grandma was pregnant on the ship. She got really sick and almost died, and Grandpa contracted cholera on the riverboat coming up the Mississippi. Both of them came close to dying.”
“But they made it.”
“They did. My aunt said she’d send me some more of the story when she gets it transcribed. I don’t know too much more about what happened to them, but I do know that they both lived fairly long lives.”
“Can I read the part you have?”
“Sure. You can take it down to the hospital tomorrow.” But Jeff worried what conclusion Abby might draw from all this. He felt he needed to tell her the other part of what he’d learned. “Abby, I looked something up today. I got wondering about that baby—the one Grandma was pregnant with on the ship. So I looked at Family Tree online.”
“Did she miscarry?”
“No. But the baby only lived about two weeks.”
Jeff saw the change in Abby. She slid away from him and turned to look at him more directly. “Why did you want to tell me that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the rest of that story. Grandpa Lewis did learn to trust in God—but that doesn’t mean he never had to face any more hardships.”
“So what are you trying to say to me?”
Jeff realized the trap he had worked himself into. He had intended his story as a little lesson, but he didn’t want to say what that lesson was. “It’s not exactly a parallel, Abby. I don’t mean to say that it is. Things are very different now.”
“Babies still die.”
“But not nearly so many. Look what the doctors have been doing for William. In Grandpa’s age, there would have been no way to—”
“Doctors can’t change God’s will.”
“They’ve changed the death rate tremendously. Mothers rarely die in childbirth now. That used to happen a lot.”
“So what are you saying? That’s where we have to put our trust?”
“Partly, but ...”
“Jeff, let’s not do this again. We always come back to the same conclusion. We just have to wait and see what God wants to do.” Abby got up. “I accept that. You don’t have to tell me again. William may not live, and that’s the reality you want me to learn to live with. I appreciate your reminding me.” She walked toward the hallway, and there were tears in her voice when she said, “I’m going to bed. I’m really tired.”
“Abby, don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I believe in blessings. And I believe in miracles.”
Abby turned back and looked at Jeff for a few seconds. Tears were running down her cheeks. “Maybe it’s wrong of me,” she said, “but I want to be like your grandma. I just want to say, ‘Jeff, command the winds to stop.’ I know that makes you feel bad, and I’m sorry, but it’s what I feel.”
Jeff, still sitting on the couch, watched her go. He couldn’t think what to say to her. He thought of praying, even thought of raising his hand in the air and commanding his baby to be healed. But his own story didn’t really make sense to him. It was true that the waves had calmed, but after his ancestors had gone through all that, their baby had still died. Why?
Finally, Jeff got up, and, without retrieving his coat, he walked out through the kitchen door and closed it softly so Abby wouldn’t know he was gone. He walked across the street. There was some packed-down snow on the nature trail in the state park, and the temperature was biting, but Jeff needed to do something, and this was the only thing that had come to mind.
He left the trail at the spot where he always had before. He pushed through the dead grass and ferns and made his way to the little clearing. He thought of kneeling down, but he wasn’t sure he had come to pray. “Grandpa,” he said out loud, “what am I supposed to do? I want to command little William to live, but I can’t get myself to do it. I don’t even know why.”
There was nothing. No sound of wings. Not even any stars in the sky. It was a black night, no moon, and not a sound in the trees. The air was so cold it hurt.
He waited, but he soon knew that this wasn’t his answer. Grandpa was dead, and maybe at times there was some solace in ruminating out loud, here on this spot. But Grandpa Lewis wasn’t going to say anything to him, and if he did, what could he say?
Jeff suddenly felt not only cold but foolish. Abby loved him, but she didn’t respect him, and he understood that completely. He had done nothing so far to earn her confidence.
• • •
Abby knew she had said the wrong thing—again—but why had he told her that story? She already knew that bad things happened to people, even to people who kept the faith. She didn’t need to study Jeff’s family history to understand that.
What Abby wanted was to trust the Lord and the gospel and live accordingly—the way she had promised to do in joining this Church—but maybe it wasn’t in her. Maybe other people accepted the will of the Lord better than
she did. During all these days in the hospital she had sat and prayed, but there was little William all the while, full of tubes. She could not think of one good thing that could come from her losing him. What kind of design was it, to create life and then take it back? Sometimes she wanted to scream at the Lord that He had no right to steal her baby away from her.
But Abby didn’t like herself when she let those kinds of thoughts pass through her mind. She needed to tell the Lord she was sorry, and then she needed to apologize to Jeff. And she would, when she was ready, but she wasn’t in control just yet.
Jeff was making no sound out there in the living room. Finally, she heard the kitchen door close, and she thought he was going out to the garage. But she heard him sit down on the recliner, which squeaked a little, and she knew he had actually just come back. She knew where he must have been. He liked to walk across the street to the spot where his grandparents had lived. He had even admitted to her that he sometimes talked out loud to Grandpa Lewis. She couldn’t imagine what good it did to go out in the cold and confer with someone who had been dead for a hundred years.
She let more time pass, and gradually—very gradually—she began to think more about Jeff and what he was feeling. Talking to Grandpa was probably a joy after trying to talk to her. She knew she had to go back to him, but she also knew she had to say something that would bring them together, and she would have to change her mood to do that. So she slid off the bed onto her knees, and she told the Lord how sorry she was.
She wasn’t prepared for what happened.
She felt no consolation at all—the way she usually did when she prayed. What she felt was only that life was ever so much harder than she had expected. There were nasty things to survive, and they seemed to come without any reason. Maybe God didn’t send hardships. Maybe they just came. Maybe it was merely the law of averages. It was her turn, apparently, to go through a trial, and she had to prove she could do it.