He felt Bess’s presence behind him even before her whispered admonition. “Luke, this isn’t proper.”
She wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know. “I just want to hear Matty say she’s okay.”
Bess moved to stand between him and the door to Corrie’s room. “I can’t let you disturb—”
Before she finished the sentence, the door opened and a haggard Matty appeared. Locks of her normally tidy blond hair hung around her face. Worry lines radiated from her red-rimmed eyes. She shook her head. “Luke, I can’t let you in.”
“I’m not asking for that,” he assured her though he wished with all his heart he had the right to ask. “I just want to know how she is.”
Bess shook her head as though to indicate Matty should say nothing, but Matty just laid one hand on Bess’s arm and another on Luke’s. “We need a miracle,” she said frankly. “The baby is still moving, which is a good sign, but the longer the labor continues, the more dangerous it is for both Corrie and the baby.”
“How long has she been laboring?” Luke asked. He knew from working with animals how a long labor exhausted both mother and offspring.
Bess’s mouth tightened, but Matty answered. “We don’t know for sure. She hasn’t been feeling well for a couple of days, but she didn’t tell us how bad it was. Last night it got serious enough for her to tell me the details.”
As long as she was willing to talk, he had one more question. “It’s too early for the baby, isn’t it?”
The shadows in Matty’s eyes deepened as she nodded. “Yes, by at least a couple of weeks. That’s why I’m worried. Pray, please, Luke. That’s all you can do right now, but it’s what we need more than anything.”
“Ma–a–atty!”
The pained cry from the bedroom sent Matty scurrying back inside, and it made Luke’s heart feel as if it were breaking. Bess steered him toward the stairs, though without reproof. He felt somewhat better for having heard directly from Matty, even though the information was not reassuring.
Jim looked up from the kitchen table when they returned. Luke explained, since Bess didn’t seem ready to say anything. “Matty says things don’t look good right now, but there’s still time for a miracle.”
“Maybe we should fetch Doc Mitchel.” Jim looked from Luke to Bess and back again.
Bess’s face brightened as soon as she heard the word “Doc.” When Luke growled, “No,” she whirled on him. “Why not? Corrie needs all the help we can get her.”
“Doc Mitchel would be more trouble than help.” Luke tried to keep his voice calm, even though he wanted to strangle his brother for opening the subject. “Jim, you know the doc is barely adequate for basic stitching and bandaging. I don’t want his grubby soldier hands within a mile of Corrie.” He stalked out of the kitchen and reached for his boots. Hanging around here would only get him in trouble.
Bertie still sat hunched on the steps. She turned at the sound of his steps, her hopeful eyes shining in the light that spilled from the doorway. “Is everything okay?”
“I wish I could say yes.” Though every muscle in his body screamed for movement, some kind of action to distract him from the fear in his soul, he forced himself to sit once again on the step beside Bertie. “There’s no way to know how things will work out.”
Even in the dusk, fear shone vividly in the young woman’s eyes. “Is Corrie dying?”
Luke draped his arm over her shoulders and drew her close. Propriety didn’t matter nearly as much as giving what comfort he could. “I don’t know as much as I’d like, Bertie. There are some things that just aren’t appropriate for us to know.” He felt her stiffen beside him. “I know it’s not fair, but it’s the way things are. Right now, what matters is Corrie. Even though we don’t know details, we can be sure that God does. All we can do is trust Him to take care of her and ask Him to give Matty all the wisdom she needs.”
“God didn’t keep my parents alive.”
Luke hadn’t given much thought to the amount of loss Bertie had already experienced in her short life. How could Ellis have sent this child-woman away from the only home she’d ever known? On the other hand, getting away from him was probably the best thing to have happened to her. He knew of nothing he could say that would remove her fear or make up for the losses she’d already endured. He chose his words carefully. “Bertie, I can’t explain why God let your parents die, just like I can’t explain why He let my dad die. He’s too big for us to understand all His ways. But no matter what heartache He allows, we do know for sure that He loves us with a love that’s far beyond our ability to comprehend. No matter how big the heartache, His love is even bigger. He loves Corrie more than we do; I can promise you that.”
Bertie sat in silence, appearing to ponder his words. Finally, she spoke. “Do you love Corrie, Luke?”
In all his thinking about Corrie, he’d carefully avoided that particular word. Hearing it spoken aloud gave him a jolt, even while it felt exactly right. Yet he didn’t know how to answer the question. His feelings shouldn’t be put into words until Corrie was ready to hear them. He sent up a quick prayer for guidance. Then before he could form a reply, Bertie spoke again.
“You don’t have to say it. I can tell you love her. I hope she says yes when you ask her.”
It surprised him how quickly her mind changed directions. At least she was no longer contemplating the possibility of Corrie’s death. She apparently didn’t realize the danger to the baby as well, and he had no intention of alerting her. “I need to ask you a favor, Bertie.”
“Sure.” The customary lilt was back in her voice.
“Corrie isn’t ready to hear how I feel about her just yet. Can I trust you to keep it a secret?”
She studied him with an expression of womanly wisdom, which seemed to imply she knew more than he did. “She wouldn’t believe me even if I did tell her.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Luke made his tone firm. “Corrie trusts me right now, and that’s very important to me. If she discovers my feelings too soon, it could destroy her trust. That would hurt more than if she never is able to love me back. I need your promise, Bertie.”
“Okay, I promise.”
He still didn’t feel comfortable with her knowledge, but the matter had been wrested out of his control. In some ways, she might have not yet matured into womanhood, but her intuition was obviously full-grown. One of these days some besotted young man was going to take young Bertie for granted and end up with the surprise of his life. Luke grinned. Men liked to think of women as the weaker sex, but the more time he spent around women, the less he thought of that theory. They might be physically less strong, but in matters of the heart and soul, they had more going for them than most men could ever hope for. “Are you ready to go inside yet, little sister?”
“No.”
“It’s probably not a good idea for you to sit out here alone, and I need to go down to the barn.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I wish you could, but young ladies don’t hang out with men in barns.” She giggled. “Now you sound like Bess.”
Her lightning-swift changes between womanhood and girlhood made him smile. “Your sister is right more often than we’d like her to be.” He mentally debated for a moment as to whether his next thoughts should be spoken, then he surrendered to the impulse. “I’ll tell you what, Bertie. If you go up to your room, Bess will probably just be relieved you’re inside where it’s safe. Stay quiet, and you might hear Matty out in the hall. When you do, slip out and ask her about Corrie. She might be able to help you feel better.”
Bertie grinned and disappeared indoors.
Luke trudged down to the barn. There wasn’t much he could do in the dark, but he couldn’t tolerate being in the house and unable to do anything to alleviate Corrie’s suffering. In the corner by the workshop, he once again dropped to his knees. “Almighty God,” he whispered into the hay-scented night, “Your Scripture tells us that You know the plans You h
ave for us. While I want Your plan for me to include Corrie, at this hour what I want even more is for her to live and for You to spare the life of her little one. You know Matty is doing all that can be done humanly. With Your mercy, do more than we can do.” His words ceased, but his heart remained focused on his heavenly Father. Peace enveloped him. He continued in wordless prayer, even as his legs cramped. The burden in his soul made his physical discomfort negligible by comparison. He couldn’t have said how long he knelt before the burden eased, but when he stood, his legs shook. Lighting a lantern, he made his way into the workshop, where an idea began to take shape. Work on the ranch had kept him away from the woodworking he loved. He knew sleep wouldn’t come readily tonight, so he might as well do something he enjoyed. The pile of fine-grained, smooth wood under the bench would make a fine cradle. Through the rest of the night, his hands shaped and smoothed the wood while his soul sent prayers heavenward.
Chapter 6
Corrie woke to daylight streaming through the window. She felt sticky, achy, and still tired. She stretched, feeling the baby kick at the same time her leg cramped up so severely she let out a quiet cry. Instantly, Matty was by her side.
“Another contraction, Sweetie?”
Corrie could barely speak but managed to shake her head while straining to reach around her swollen belly to rub the cramped muscle. Matty read her body language and rubbed Corrie’s leg with firm, experienced strokes.
“Ah, that’s so much better.” Corrie sighed as the pain abated. “I keep forgetting I can’t tighten those muscles without penalty.”
Matty massaged for a few more minutes then lightly stroked Corrie’s belly. “How’s the baby?”
Corrie grinned. “Busy as ever.”
“That’s a good sign. Any cramping?”
Corrie pondered. “I don’t think so. I feel sore but not crampy.”
Matty’s eyes shone with delight. “That’s good news. You fell asleep around midnight and seemed to sleep peacefully, which tells me the contractions may have stopped.”
“When can I have a bath?”
“I’ll have Bess bring up some warm water, and I’ll give you a sponge bath.”
“I can do it.”
“No, you can’t.” Matty’s voice rarely took such a firm note with Corrie. “Sweetie, you’re not moving out of this bed except to use a chamber pot.”
“Matty!” Corrie heard the whine in her own voice and hated it even while she felt powerless to get rid of it. “I’ll die of boredom up here!”
“No, my dear one, you won’t. You’ll save your baby’s life.”
The bald statement jolted Corrie. She felt the shock widen her eyes.
“I’m not exaggerating, Corrie. If the contractions hadn’t stopped, if your baby had been born today, he or she wouldn’t have had a chance. You need to do everything you can to keep that little one happy inside you for at least another month. That means you need to stay relaxed and quiet. The slightest bit of exertion could start your labor again, and it might not stop.”
Corrie felt despicable tears fill her eyes. She turned her head toward the wall so Matty wouldn’t see. If she lost this baby, her own life might as well end. But a month of being cooped up in this little room?
The first few days weren’t as difficult as she’d expected. Her body seemed to crave sleep. Now there was no reason for her to resist the urge. Her naps frequently broke with the baby’s activity or by her own bodily discomfort, but a change of position usually allowed her to drift back into slumber.
By the end of the week, however, her need for sleep became less acute. She had time to miss the rhythm of family life. Matty came in every morning with her breakfast and a sponge bath. Either Bess or Matty brought lunch and dinner. Matty usually stayed to chat while Corrie ate. Bess always inquired as to how Corrie felt, but she didn’t linger.
In those hours of aloneness, Corrie couldn’t help but contemplate the difference between her life as it was and the life she’d anticipated when she’d married Brian. He’d been a charming, jovial man. In fact, it had been Matty who had introduced him to the family. Corrie fully expected the two of them to make a match of it. But after only two visits, Brian started singling out Corrie. Thinking back, she shook her head at her own naïveté. She’d thought he was just being polite. Though she felt attracted to him, she’d kept her feelings out of sight, in deference to her sister. The night Brian had asked her permission to court her, she’d felt as though someone had tipped her world sideways. She’d refused to give him an answer until she’d talked with Matty.
Matty had assured her there was nothing romantic between her and Brian. “He views me like a sister,” she’d said. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see courting my other half.”
Six months later, Corrie and Brian were married, Corrie wearing a gown stitched by Matty. Their marriage was better than anything Corrie could have dreamed. Occasionally, she wondered if she’d stolen happiness from Matty. She knew now that wasn’t the case. Brian had never put the sparkle in Matty’s eyes that Jim Collingswood had created almost from the first moment he and Matty met.
The only flaw in Brian and Corrie’s marriage had been the lack of children. Corrie had so wanted to start a family right away, but month after month passed with no pregnancy. At long last, two years after their wedding day, Corrie knew her prayers had been answered. Three days after she’d told Brian their good news, an Atlantic storm swept him off the fishing boat and out of her life. A scant two months later, she was on the train with her sisters, history’s most reluctant mail-order bride.
Tears flooded her eyes again and ran down her cheeks. She hadn’t wept much over her loss. The pain had been too deep for tears, and the future too frightening. Now as she lay in a warm bed, surrounded by her sisters’ tenderness and without the distraction of work, her pent-up grief began to flow freely. She couldn’t lay facedown to weep into her pillow, so she pulled the blanket up to her face and stifled her sobs in the scratchy wool. She allowed herself to weep until it felt as if every drop of moisture had been wrung from her body. Matty would probably say she shouldn’t cry so hard, for the baby’s sake, but her sorrow refused to be denied its rightful release.
When the storm abated, she carefully eased herself out of bed. Matty had left the washbasin on the bureau. Corrie dipped a cloth in the now-tepid water, wrung it out, and then buried her face in the soothing coolness. The raw knot in the vicinity of her heart felt less tangled, less stabbing in its pain. Tears still ran but less intensely. It likely wasn’t the last time she’d weep over the loss of her mate, but she felt a small measure of healing. Returning to bed lest Matty catch her upright, Corrie snuggled down into the covers and let a peaceful sleep claim her. She didn’t wake until Matty brought her lunch.
The days passed, and Corrie came to relish her imposed solitude. She remembered, she wept, and she felt herself become stronger. One afternoon as she reminisced over her wedding, she recalled a private moment with Mama.
“I decided years ago I’d give this to whichever one of you girls married first,” Mama had said, placing her big black Bible in Corrie’s hands. “May it give you as much wisdom in raising your family as it’s given me.”
Corrie had treasured the link with her mother, especially after Mama’s death a mere three months later. Still she’d spent little time reading the Book itself. Her life had been too full of Brian and new love. Yet, when gathering her meager belongings for the trip west, Mama’s Bible had been the first thing she’d put in her trunk.
Devoutly hoping Matty wouldn’t make a surprise visit, Corrie waddled to the trunk, which sat under the window. After just a few moments of digging, her fingers encountered the smooth, hard outlines of a book. She closed the trunk and carried the Bible back to her bed. She had no idea how long she lay there, tracing the edges of the Bible with her fingertips, remembering Mama. This had been one of her most treasured possessions. Though Mama had worked long hours every day, helping Papa in the dairy a
nd raising her five daughters, each morning and each evening found her cradling the Book in her lap as she sat in her rocking chair. From an early age, her daughters knew not to disturb Mama when her Bible lay open before her.
Corrie had made her own profession of faith at ten years of age, mostly in response to Mama’s strong, yet quiet, faith. Corrie wanted to be like Mama in every way, and faith was part of the package. But it had been an inherited faith, not her own. When her parents had been killed and then when news of Brian’s death had come, faith wasn’t where she turned first. It had been Matty who had bolstered them both, whose faith had kept them going.
Now Corrie felt a longing for a personal faith. She opened the Bible, not sure where she should start reading. One passage, then another, caught her attention, the words familiar from the many times Mama had read Scripture aloud. But nothing made her linger until some underlined words in John’s Gospel beckoned. “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.”
She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t had an abstract belief in God. But Jesus Himself was saying it wasn’t enough. She scanned the surrounding verses and realized He was talking with His disciples, and yet it felt like a message designed for her personally. The verses that followed talked about keeping His commandments and then about Him sending the Comforter to be with them.
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