A Place in the Sun

by Michael Phillips

  Almeda left the bedside and wrung out a towel that had been soaking in a bowl of hot water. She pulled back the sheet and laid it over Katie’s stomach just below where the baby was.

  “Corrie,” she said, “we need some more hot water. Go in the other room and fill this bowl from the kettle on the stove.”

  “That feels good,” I heard Katie murmur as I left the room. “Thank you, Almeda,” she added, and then all was quiet.

  I got the hot water and went back into the bedroom. Katie was resting peacefully for the moment. Almeda sat by the bedside holding her hand. The look on my face must have been one of anxiety, because Almeda spoke to me as if she were answering a question I hadn’t voiced.

  “Don’t worry, Corrie. This is just going to take some time, and Katie’s not done hurting and crying out. She needs us to be strong for her.”

  Just then another contraction came. Katie winced and held her breath for a minute, then suddenly let it out in a long wail of pain. She lurched forward, holding her breath. I hurried over to the other side of the bed and took her hand. She grabbed on to it for dear life until the pain began to subside a minute or two later.

  It went on like this for a while. In between contractions Almeda changed the hot towel while I wiped off Katie’s face with a cool cloth, went to get water, or did whatever else Almeda said. It must have been a half an hour or forty minutes before we heard the outside door open.

  “It’s Doc Shoemaker,” a voice called out. Doc walked into the room, carrying his black leather case. “How is she?” he asked.

  “The contractions are coming about every two or three minutes now, Doctor,” Almeda replied.

  “She’s getting close then,” he said with a sigh that didn’t sound too enthusiastic. “Three weeks early,” he mumbled to himself as he approached the bed. “Hmm . . . don’t suppose that’s too worrisome in itself.”

  I stood aside and the Doc spoke softly to Katie, then put his hand on her stomach where the baby was. He held it there a long time with a real serious expression on his face. He didn’t say anything.

  Another contraction came. Katie winced and cried out. The doctor kept one hand on the baby and with the other took hers. I stood on the other side of the room watching. The Doc’s face was expressionless.

  When the contraction finished and Katie fell back on her pillow, the Doc let go of her hand and again felt the baby, this time with both hands. Still I couldn’t tell a thing from his face. Almeda, too had her eyes fixed on him, looking for any sign that might betray what he was thinking.

  He looked over at Almeda, then back down at Katie, then glanced up in my direction.

  “Corrie, do you mind if I have a few words with Almeda,” he said, “alone?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll go put some more water on the stove.”

  I left the bedroom, wondering what the matter was. I scooped out some water from the big bucket Uncle Nick had pumped up from the stream and added it to the kettle sitting steaming on the stove. Just as I was putting another log or two on the fire, I heard Katie cry out again. It wasn’t quite as loud as before, but the tone sounded so painful, more like a wail than a scream. It shot straight into my heart and a shiver went through me. I heard the Doc’s voice too, though I couldn’t make out anything being said. I hurried and shoved the wood into the stove. Then I tried to find something else to keep me busy, but there wasn’t anything to do but pace around the floor.

  Another scream came from the bedroom. It had been less than a minute since the last one! I was getting worried, and I wished they’d call me back in instead of making me wait outside.

  Almost the instant the cries and sounds stopped, the bedroom door opened. It was Almeda. Her face was pale.

  “Corrie, go get your uncle.”

  “Is everything—”

  “Just get Nick, Corrie,” she said. “Get him now!”

  I didn’t wait for any more explanations. I turned around and ran from the house, hearing another mournful cry from Katie just as I shut the door. I was halfway back to our place and stumbling along the path beside the stream before I realized I’d forgotten both a lantern and my coat. I would have known the way blindfolded—and I might as well have been because of the dark! The wind was still howling. Finally I saw the faint glimmer of light from one of our windows. I crossed the bridge, still running, and ran straight up to the house, tore the door open, and ran inside.

  “They want you, Uncle Nick!” I said, all out of breath.

  “Is the baby born?” he asked, jumping up and throwing on his coat.

  “I don’t know. They just said to get you quick.”

  He was already out the door at a run.

  “What is it, Corrie?” Pa asked.

  “I don’t know, Pa. They made me leave the bedroom, then Almeda told me to go fetch Uncle Nick.”

  He had his coat on now too, then grabbed the lantern and headed out the door after Uncle Nick. I followed, running after him, although the bobbing light ahead of me got farther and farther away as we made our way up the trail along the creek.

  By the time I reached Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie’s place, I was breathing hard. The door to the cabin was open, and Doc Shoemaker was standing in the doorway. Nick was trying to get by into the house but the Doc was holding on to him trying to talk to him.

  “Not yet, Nick!” he said. “Give her a few minutes.”

  I didn’t see Almeda. Pa was standing beside Uncle Nick. He saw me coming and stretched out his arm to put around me. I came up close and he drew me to him tight, but just kept looking at Uncle Nick.

  “I gotta go to her!” said Uncle Nick frantically. “I gotta know if she’s—”

  “She’s fine, I tell you, Nick. But she’s just been through something awful, and you must let her—”

  “Get outta my way, Doc!”

  “Please, Nick, just wait for two or three minutes until you calm—”

  “I ain’t waiting for nothing!” said Uncle Nick. He pushed the doctor aside and ran inside.

  “Nick, please!” Doc Shoemaker called after him. But it was too late. Uncle Nick was through the door and the tromping of his heavy boots thudded across the floor toward the bedroom.

  The doctor sighed, looked at Pa with a helpless expression, then followed slowly after Uncle Nick.

  “What is it, Pa?” I said finally, feeling a great fear rising up inside me.

  “The baby’s dead, Corrie,” he answered. I’d never heard such a sound of grief in his voice in my life. He squeezed me tight with his arm again. I felt the sobs tugging at my breast even before the tears came to my eyes. Pa knew what I was feeling. I knew he had tears in his eyes too, even in the darkness, even without looking up into his face. I just knew.

  Slowly we walked inside. Pa closed the door. The next moment Almeda emerged from the bedroom. Before she got the door shut behind her, I heard the sound of the doctor’s voice again, and Nick’s. Uncle Nick was crying.

  Almeda walked toward us. She was very pale, her face covered with sweat, with splotches of blood on her robe. Her eyes met Pa’s and they looked at each other for a few seconds, almost as if they were wondering in the silence whether something like this was in store for them in the near future.

  Then Almeda glanced at me, and gave me a thin smile. Pa put his arm around her and Almeda embraced us both. The three of us held on to each other for a long time. I knew Almeda was crying, too.

  “God, oh God!” Pa said after about a minute. “They need your help now more than they ever have. Be a strength to them.”

  “Yes, Lord!” Almeda breathed in barely more than a whisper.

  Again they were silent. Slowly Pa released me and led Almeda to a chair and made her sit down. He turned toward the kitchen and found a towel, dipped it in the bucket of cold water, then gently began wiping Almeda’s face and forehead with it.

  She sat back, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply.

  In another minute Doc Shoemaker came back from the bedroom.
He walked over to Pa.

  “Drum,” he said softly. “You’ve got yourself a mighty brave woman there. But she’s in no condition for all this. This has taxed her more than I like. You get her home and into some fresh things and to bed.”

  “Yes, Doc.”

  “Then you send one of your kids—Zack or Corrie, or if you want you can go yourself—but one of you go into town and get Mrs. Gianini. You’ll have to rouse her, but she’ll come right out when you tell her I need her. She’ll spend the night with Katie and help me clean up and get the baby ready for burying.”

  “You need any more help, Doc?” Pa asked.

  “She’ll know what we need, Drummond. Don’t you worry about anything but that wife of yours. She’s put in a hard night’s work. If we need anything, I’ll get one of your girls. As soon as things are in order here, I’ll come down and check on Almeda.”

  “I’ll be fine, Doc Shoemaker,” said Almeda softly.

  “I will check on you anyway. And, Drummond,” he added, again to Pa, “fix me some place to spend the night. The barn will be fine. I want to stay close.”

  “You can have my bed,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” replied the Doc. “I appreciate it, Corrie. But I’m sure I’ll be able to catch a little sleep anywhere!”

  Pa helped Almeda get slowly to her feet. Then we began our way home, both of us helping her so she wouldn’t stumble in the dark. It was a slow walk, but within half an hour Almeda was in her own bed and sleeping peacefully.

  Chapter 44

  Bitter Words

  Almeda was tired the next day, but otherwise fine. She stayed in bed the whole day except for about an hour when we had the funeral for Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie’s little stillborn daughter.

  Mrs. Gianini helped get everything cleaned up and tended to Katie through the night. Then in the morning she got the baby ready. Once the new day came Uncle Nick showed what a strong man he had become. His tears were now past and he did everything he could for Katie, being tender and serving her when he could, being brave and in charge when that was necessary too.

  Doc had spent the night getting what sleep he could, but checking on both Katie and Almeda every hour or two to make sure they were all right. Katie was weak and stayed in bed all the next day, although Doc Shoemaker said she would recover and be fine in a week or two. She didn’t even get out of bed for the burial.

  A few people came out to pay their respects to Nick and to stand with him at the graveside—the Shaws and Miss Stansberry and a few others. Rev. Rutledge, of course, took care of things, read from the Bible, and prayed before the tiny box was lowered into the ground. Pa had dug a grave not far from the apple trees Katie had planted from Virginia. The little cross marker on the grave, so near the trees that were a symbol of hope and new life, became a poignant reminder that things don’t always go the way we expect or want them to, and that frontier life in this new state sometimes brought hardship along with it.

  I cried. So did the other women—Becky, Emily, Almeda, and the others. Pa and Uncle Nick were pretty straight-faced and serious. Afterward people shook Uncle Nick’s hand and tried to say encouraging things to him. They wanted to go in and pay their respects to Katie too, but she wouldn’t see anybody.

  Doctor Shoemaker went home after the funeral, got some fresh clothes, and came right back out. He wanted to spend the rest of the day near both ladies. They were all right, so he managed to get a good bit of sleep during the afternoon. After checking on them early in the evening, he went home. He kept coming out every day for a while.

  Almeda stayed in bed for another day or so. She said she felt fine, but the doctor had told her to rest, and she complied with his wishes. Katie hardly got out of bed except when she had to for two weeks. We all admired the way Uncle Nick tended her. But through it all Katie was sullen and cross, hardly speaking, even to him. She just lay there in her bed, either sleeping or staring straight ahead across the room, not even noticing when people came and went.

  Pa and I tried to help Uncle Nick, and after a few days Almeda went up to visit Katie. I went with her. We took a pot of soup and some bread we’d made. Little Erich was glad to see us, but the look on Uncle Nick’s face made it clear he was feeling awkward about Katie’s moodiness. We went in to see her. Almeda tried to be as cheerful as she could, but sensitive too.

  “I’m so sorry, Katie,” she said, sitting down beside the bed and taking Katie’s hand. Katie continued to stare straight ahead. Her hand just lay limp in Almeda’s. She didn’t act as if she was even aware that anyone was in the room. She didn’t move a muscle to acknowledge us.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” Almeda asked. “Anything you need or would like to eat or drink?”

  Katie said nothing. There was a long silence.

  “Would you mind if I prayed for you?” Almeda asked at length. Suddenly Katie’s eyes shot wide open and her nostril’s flared. She yanked her hand from Almeda’s and turned on her with red face.

  “How dare you talk to me about prayer!” she shouted angrily, as loud as her condition would allow. “After God’s just taken my baby, and you want to pray to him?”

  “It’s impossible for us to understand his ways,” said Almeda softly, smiling sadly down on Katie.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me next that I ought to thank him for what he’s done!”

  “We just can’t know what’s in God’s heart, Katie. All we can know is that he loves us more than we can imagine, and that everything he does can work for good if we allow it.”

  “Good! Ha!” she shot back, seething now. “I suppose if he takes your baby, you will smile and give him thanks—is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I would try to have a heart of gratitude, in spite of the pain I’m sure I would feel.”

  “Well, you’re a foolish woman, Almeda!” said Katie bitingly. “You’re more of a dimwit than I took you for! Don’t you even know what it’s like to feel a woman’s worst grief? I don’t think you have any feelings at all, Almeda!”

  Almeda turned away. The words stung her to the heart. Her cheeks reddened, and hot tears rose to her eyes.

  “Katie,” she said, looking back toward the bed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound unfeeling. I understand the pain you must feel, and I want you to know—”

  “Understand! What could you understand about what I feel? Spare me your sympathy, Almeda. I don’t need you feeling sorry for me any more than I need your idiotic prayers! Just leave me alone!”

  “Oh, Katie, please let us—”

  “Get out, Almeda! You and Corrie just go. I don’t want to see you . . . or anybody!”

  Again Almeda turned quickly away, fighting back emotion. Slowly she rose and without any further words the two of us left the room.

  We closed the door behind us. I think Uncle Nick had heard everything because he was standing close by. The look that passed between him and Almeda was enough. They both seemed to understand what the other was thinking and feeling.

  “You come get us if there’s anything any of us can do, Nick,” said Almeda. “Fixing something to eat, cleaning up, taking Erich for a while . . . anything.”

  Uncle Nick nodded, then went into the bedroom. We left and started the walk home in silence, going slowly on account of Almeda’s condition. I kept hold of her arm. We were barely out of the clearing toward the creek when we heard Uncle Nick running up from behind. We stopped.

  “She’s crying,” he said. “She won’t say a word, she’s just sobbing.”

  “Did she ask for us?” said Almeda.

  “Not exactly,” replied Uncle Nick. “But I can tell she’s sorry for how she treated you. Won’t you come back and try to talk to her?”

  “It’s got to be in her time, Nick.”

  “But she’s hurtin’ something terrible, Almeda.”

  “I know. Anybody can see that, Nick. But she’s so angry and bitter toward God that she can’t hear anything we try to say, and
she can’t receive any love we try to offer her.”

  “But won’t you just try?” His voice sounded almost desperate.

  “Of course we’ll try. We’ll be back every day. We’ll do all we can. And yes, I’ll come back and try to talk to her. But right now, Nick, I just don’t think she’s open to anything I have to give or to say. Come down this evening and let us know how she is. If you think she would like to see me, you know I’ll be on my way that very minute. Corrie too—any of us. We’ll stand with you through this, Nick, whatever comes.”

  “But what do I do for her in the meantime?”

  “Pray for her, Nick. She is fighting against some things that have been with her for a long time. God is moving closer and closer to her heart, but she is resisting him. She needs your prayers now more than ever.”

  “I’ll try,” sighed Uncle Nick, turning back toward his cabin.

  “You pray, and then you serve her and love her every minute,” added Almeda. “When she finally breaks, it will be your love that will see her across that unknown gulf she’s so afraid of.”

  “I’ll try,” repeated Uncle Nick. He walked back to the cabin, frustration showing in the slump of his shoulders. We turned and continued our way back down the slope toward the creek.

  Chapter 45

  Remorse and Confusion

  Almeda was quiet the rest of the day. It was hard to hear the kinds of things Katie had said to her. She had done so much for Katie, only to be spoken to so rudely because of it. I have to admit, as sorry as I was about the baby and for the grief Katie was feeling, her angry words toward Almeda got me more than a little riled. But Almeda kept saying, “It’s not me she’s angry at, Corrie. She needs our patience and our love now more than ever. The Lord is pushing aside her outer shell, and she needs us to stand with her until he breaks through to her.”