The Gathering Place

by Thomas Kinkade

  God, why is this happening? Why have you let this happen to Carolyn? Dear, sweet Carolyn. She doesn’t deserve this.

  Immediately he knew it wasn’t for him to ask the Lord such questions. Hadn’t he counseled families in distress on this very matter, time and time again? But tonight it was his own family, his own wife, caught between life and death. He knew all the soothing, supportive words about accepting God’s will and how it was hardest for those left behind, not for the loved one that God has chosen to take home.

  He knew those words. Yet they sounded dull and empty to him tonight. Meaningless. Is that how he sounded trying to console the men and women in this very same spot? Like a rattling tin can. He bowed his head.

  Don’t let me doubt like this, God. Not tonight. I need to be strong. Strong in my faith and trust in You. I’m scared, God. I don’t know if I can face it if You have to take her. I just don’t know, he repeated dully in his mind.

  Ben wasn’t sure if he sat there for minutes or hours. When he picked his head up, his neck felt stiff. He opened his eyes slowly and sat back. He had to call Mark. He’d promised Carolyn, and he’d forgotten all about it.

  This was going to be hard, but he couldn’t put it off. Carolyn would want Mark to know what was happening; Ben was sure of that much.

  He went to the phone booths in the lobby and got Mark’s phone number again from information, feeling relieved that he remembered the name of the town and the ranch so easily.

  After a moment or two, Mark came on the line. The crew had been at dinner in the main house, and Ben could hear a lot of voices in the background.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Mark asked curiously. “Did Rachel have her baby?”

  “Yes, she did. About an hour or so ago. Everything is fine,” he added, feeling surprised by the question because he was so focused on Carolyn. “But there’s something else going on. Something serious. It’s your mother. . . . She had a stroke on the way to the hospital tonight. She’s in surgery right now, so we don’t know what’s going to happen. . . .”

  “Mom had a stroke?” Mark sounded devastated. “How . . . how is she? Will she make it?” he asked in a rush.

  Ben could tell he was in shock and not really able to take it all in. He felt sorry for Mark, out there all alone and having to deal with this news. But that was Mark’s choice, he reminded himself. He sighed and tried to gather his patience again.

  “That’s just it, Son. We don’t know. The doctor doesn’t even know if she’ll wake up out of the coma after the surgery.” If she survives the surgery, he added silently.

  Mark didn’t say anything. Ben wondered if he was crying.

  “I . . . you have to come back now, Mark,” Ben said in a quiet but emphatic tone. Back to see your mother if she lives . . . or for a funeral, he meant. But, of course, he didn’t put it quite that bluntly. “Do you still have the ticket we sent?”

  “Yes, of course, I do,” Mark said.

  “Well, use it then. How soon do you think you can get here?”

  “I don’t know. . . . I need to get to Billings first. Then catch a flight out of there, I guess, to New York. I don’t think I can fly directly to Boston,” he replied, thinking aloud.

  “All right. You work on it,” Ben said. It sounded as if it was going to take him some time to get back. Not too long, he hoped. He gave Mark the phone number at the hospital. “I’ll be here all night and tomorrow. Stay in touch. Let us know your plans.”

  “I will, Dad,” Mark said in a thick voice. “And if Mom wakes up, tell her I’m coming, okay? Tell her that I love her.”

  Ben felt immensely sad. And angry. Had it come to this? Had such dire circumstance been necessary for his son to send this message?

  “You can tell her yourself when you get here,” he said. He hadn’t meant for the words to come out harshly, but they had. “I’ve got to go now,” he said a little more gently. “There might be some news.”

  “Okay, Dad.” Mark said good-bye and hung up. Ben sat listening to the dial tone a moment longer than normal, as if mesmerized by the sound. Then he finally hung up and stepped out of the phone booth and into the lobby.

  He blinked as he recognized a group from the church, obviously waiting for him; Sam and Jessica Morgan, Sophie and Gus Potter, and Emily Warwick. They walked toward him and, more or less, made a circle around him. He might have felt surrounded or even trapped, he thought, except for the deep concern and affection written on all of their faces. He felt nothing but their warm wishes and caring, radiating out to him like warmth from the sun. Finally, tonight, he felt God’s presence in his life through the love and caring of these good people.

  “Reverend Ben . . . we came as soon as we heard,” Sam said. “How are you holding up?”

  “All right, I guess. Carolyn’s still in surgery. I was just going to check on her progress.”

  “Is Rachel all right?” Jessica asked.

  “Yes, she’s fine. The baby is fine, too, I understand. I haven’t gotten to see him, yet, though—oh, there’s Jack now,” Ben said, noticing his son-in-law walking toward them.

  “Ben, the surgery is almost completed. The doctor sent word that it went well. They need you upstairs now.”

  Ben stared at Jack a moment and gave silent thanks to God for sparing Carolyn’s life.

  “I have to go,” Ben said, gazing around at his friends.

  “Yes, of course, you’d better get up there,” Emily urged him. “I’m going to wait for a while. Just until Carolyn is in the clear.”

  “We will, too,” Jessica said, nodding at Sam.

  “Oh, so will we,” Sophie Potter said, touching her husband’s arm. “We can’t leave before we know Carolyn’s all right. We’re all going to just sit right here and pray,” she stated flatly.

  Ben gazed around and felt lifted by their support. “So be it. I’ll try to let you know what’s going on,” he promised. “And thank you,” he added, as he walked away, following Jack to the elevators.

  “No thanks necessary, Reverend,” Gus Potter called back. “No thanks at all . . .”

  As Jack had told him, Carolyn was soon out of surgery and moved to a post-op recovery area where she was closely monitored. Dr. Whittaker came out to talk with him.

  “The surgery was largely a success,” the surgeon reported in measured tones. “Your wife remains in a coma, however, and in critical condition. She’s fighting for her survival right now. That’s the best way I can describe her condition to you, Reverend. If she lasts the next twenty-four hours, she might make it,” he said somberly.

  Ben nodded. “I understand,” he said. “May I see her now?”

  “Yes, that would be all right. But only for a minute,” the doctor instructed him.

  Ben was led into the post-operative area, and he found Carolyn behind another curtained partition. Her entire head was now covered with white bandages. Her skin was as pale as paper. He had once heard that people in a coma could still hear. He’d heard amazing stories of coma patients waking up when they heard their favorite music or some meaningful words that penetrated their death-like sleep.

  “You’re alive, Carolyn,” Ben whispered. “You lived through the surgery. You have to fight now, the doctor says. This is the fight of your life. We’re all waiting for you to wake up and see your new grandson. He’s just fine. Rachel is fine, too. And I called Mark, like you asked me to. He’s coming to see you, Carolyn. He’s on his way.”

  He paused there, wondering if those were the words that would rouse her. But she lay motionless, barely breathing it seemed to him. Looking as if she had only a little life left. He was afraid to even touch her. Her hand lay palm up outside the blanket, as if frozen there, reaching toward him. He lightly touched his fingertips to hers. Her wedding ring had been removed for the surgery, he noticed, but he saw the slight dent at the bottom of her ring finger clearly.

  She had such fine hands, graceful and fluid, a musician’s hands. That was one of the things he’d first noticed about
her. Her hands had always been such a distinct expression of her entire personality. Would he ever feel her conscious touch again?

  How could he ever live without her?

  BEN SAT OUTSIDE THE POST-OP AREA, PERMITTED TO TAKE A LOOK AT Carolyn for a few minutes every hour. There was no change at all that he could see. He kept telling Jack to go home, but his son-in-law insisted on staying.

  During a break, they went upstairs and managed to sneak a peek at Ben’s new grandson through the nursery window.

  “There he is. That’s the little guy. Isn’t he something?” Jack crooned, pointing out the baby right up front.

  Red faced with a patch of dark hair covered by a tiny baby cap, the newest member of the family lay curled on his side, his tiny fist pressed to his mouth, eyes shut.

  “My word . . . he’s beautiful, Jack.” Ben felt his eyes fill with tears, and he was finally unable to hold them back. “Look at him, an absolute miracle. Have you picked out a name yet?”

  “We’re going to call him William, after my dad,” Jack answered.

  “William. That’s a fine name,” Ben said. “Very fine . . .”

  His voice trailed off, his mind flooded with a thousand thoughts and feelings—the sight of his own two children as newborns, looking so fresh and frail, not nearly strong enough to be out in the world yet. He felt Carolyn’s absence keenly. She should be here with me now, sharing this moment. Dear God, let her wake and see this child, he silently pleaded.

  On the way out of the maternity ward, they looked into Rachel’s room. She had the bed near the door, and Jack looked in first. “She’s not quite asleep,” he said. “I think you can go in for a moment and say hello.”

  Ben walked in softly. Rachel lay with her head on the pillow, her long hair fanning out around her. He felt for a moment as if she were a child again, and he was looking in on her late at night, before he went to bed. Sensing him near, she opened her eyes and held out her hand to him.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I just saw the baby. He’s beautiful. Looks just like you.”

  “Oh, Daddy . . . he looks like a scrunched-up little elf. But he is gorgeous.” She pushed herself up on one arm, clearly an effort. “How’s Mom? Jack said she’s still in a coma.”

  “Her vital signs are strong,” Ben replied, trying to find some positive thought for Rachel to hang on to. “The doctor said the next twenty-four hours are crucial. The blood pressure is the real problem. They can’t seem to get it under control. We just have to hang in and ask for God’s mercy. We just have to have faith,” he added, wishing the words didn’t feel so hollow.

  Rachel nodded, blinking back tears. “I’ve been praying for her. That’s all I’ve been doing up here. I think I’ll be able to come down tomorrow. The nurse said I could.”

  “All right, dear. You get some rest now. You have a baby to take care of,” he reminded her. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, smoothing his hand over her brow.

  “Have you heard from Mark?” Rachel asked suddenly. “Jack said he’s coming back.”

  “All I know is he said he’s on his way. I haven’t heard anything yet. Maybe soon,” he said hopefully.

  They said good night, and Ben left her. Thank heaven for Rachel. She was such a comfort to him, always had been. And to her mother, he thought. He met Jack in the hallway, and they began walking down the hall again.

  “I’m worried about Rachel. She’ll take it hard if anything happens to her mother,” Ben said aloud.

  “Yes, she will. She’s very close to Carolyn,” Jack said somberly. “We’ll all take it hard, don’t you think, Reverend?”

  Ben glanced at him and nodded, his throat tight. There wasn’t more he could say.

  When they got back downstairs, there was a message from Mark. He’d left a phone number, and Ben called it right away.

  “Mark? Where are you?” Ben said, as soon as he heard his son’s voice on the line.

  “I made it to Billings,” he replied. “But looks like I’m stuck here a while. There’s a major storm. How’s Mom doing? The nurse told me she’s in recovery but wouldn’t say more.”

  “The surgery was successful. But her condition is very unstable. We really don’t know what’s going to happen,” Ben said honestly. “How soon do you think you’ll get here?”

  “I don’t know. It’s bad. The airport is shut down,” Mark replied, with a tired sigh. “There’s snow all over the country—between here and the east coast, anyway. All the flights in that direction are canceled. I’m trying to get anything now, even if I have to fly south first, say to Ohio or Texas, and then connect going north again.”

  That would take him forever, Ben thought. He won’t be here until tomorrow—or maybe even Saturday.

  “I see. That’s too bad.” He knew it wasn’t Mark’s fault. How could it be? All the same, he felt an irrational wave of anger and frustration flooding up inside him. Why had Mark waited so long to come back was the question. Why had he waited for a crisis like this, when any minute might be his mother’s last?

  “Dad . . . are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. How are you set for money?” he asked, sounding a bit harsher than he intended.

  “I’m okay. I have plenty and a credit card.” Mark sounded confused at the question. “How are Rachel and the baby?”

  “Rachel is fine. Exhausted, but she’ll be okay. The baby is beautiful—dark hair but you can’t tell anything by that. They often lose that first patch of hair and then something completely different grows in. . . .”

  The same thing had happened to Mark, Ben recalled. Then he caught himself; he was rambling. He felt as if he hadn’t slept for a week.

  “I have to go,” Mark said. “Someone wants the phone. I’ll call when I find a flight out of here, okay?”

  “Okay, do your best. I know you will,” Ben amended.

  They said good-bye, and Ben hung up, still feeling discordant chords of anger at his son, who he felt had somehow brought this drama upon himself. Like he did the whole time he was growing up. It was no different now, only this time the consequence might be that Mark never saw his mother again, Ben thought darkly. He caught himself. She’s not gone yet, thank God. Where there’s life, there’s hope, he reminded himself.

  Finally, at nearly two A.M., the doctor on call reported that Carolyn’s condition had stabilized. Though she was still in danger, he encouraged Ben to go home and get some rest.

  Ben went home with Jack. The snow was too deep to get the car in the driveway, so they parked on the street, which had been partially plowed. They tramped across the lawn up to the house, so tired they were practically unaware of the knee-high drifts. Although the two men were too exhausted to speak, Ben appreciated having his son-in-law’s company. Ben slept in the guest room. The next morning they rose early. Ben borrowed some fresh, ill-fitting clothes from Jack, and the two men returned to the hospital.

  Jack went up to see Rachel, and Ben went straight to Carolyn. In the surgical recovery area he learned Carolyn had just been moved to a room. The nurse wrote the number down on a slip of paper for him, so he wouldn’t forget, and he realized he must look as exhausted and overwhelmed as he felt.

  “Has my son called?” he asked. “Mark Lewis. He’s traveling. He may have left a message for me.”

  “There are no messages for you, Reverend,” the nurse said, checking an in-box. “If he calls, we’ll give him your wife’s new room number.”

  Ben thanked her and headed for the elevator. The doors opened, and Jack stood there, supporting Rachel with his arm. She barely looked able to stand, much less walk around the hospital, but he knew how she felt about seeing Carolyn.

  “They’ve moved her to a room upstairs. The fifth floor,” Ben said, stepping into the elevator with them. “Apparently, she’s still in the coma. We’ll just have to wait.”

  “Then we’ll just wait,” Rachel said, sounding far stronger than she looked. “Any word from Mark?”

 
“No, not today.” Ben glanced at her. “We spoke last night after I saw you. There’s bad weather all over the Midwest. It may take him a while to get here.”

  He heard his voice taking on an irritated edge, and he was glad to see the elevator had come to a stop and the doors were sliding open on the fifth floor. He didn’t quite trust himself to say anything more.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SARA STEPPED OUT OF HER FRONT DOOR ON FRIDAY MORNING and stopped, astounded by the amount of snow that had fallen overnight. It made her think of the morning Luke had come to her door with the toboggan. He wouldn’t be back again with another sledding invitation this time, she realized sadly.

  She glanced at her car—or what she thought was her car—completely buried by the snow. She didn’t feel like digging it out. I can walk into town, Sara thought. It was early and it seemed as if hardly anyone was up yet; the snow-covered lawns on Clover Street still looked fresh and untouched. Maybe she’d stop at the diner and have some breakfast. She had plenty of time.

  As she passed the turn for Providence Street, Sara decided to take a side trip and check on her grandmother. The huge, old house looked quiet and still, the curtains tightly drawn. Suspecting that Lillian was still asleep, she decided it was best not to bother her.

  She was about to head for the diner when she noticed a snow shovel on the porch. Sara tramped up the walk to retrieve it. She shoveled off the steps and made a path on the walk to the street. The snow was light and dry, and the work went quickly. She glanced at the long driveway, knowing she didn’t have time to tackle it. But Lillian didn’t have a car. It was Emily who mostly came to visit, and she could park in the street, Sara thought.

  Sara heard a car approach, the wheels crunching on the snowy street, and she turned to see the very object of her thoughts, as Emily, in her dark blue Jeep Cherokee, pulled up and parked along the sidewalk.

  Emily quickly got out and walked over to her. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Looks like you beat me to it.” Emily smiled at her, looking pleased at the favor.