by Maureen Lang
“Those sound like worries any parent might have,” Rebecca said. She knew she wouldn’t have much to add to this conversation, having so little experience either with children or with the disabled, but the fears Dana listed sounded typical.
“They are,” Talie confirmed, “and not just little kids, either. You worry about all of that with Padgett, too.”
“She’s smart enough to look both ways before crossing a street, not to talk to strangers, not to go swimming unless I’m there. It’s different and you know it. There’s an end to my worries with Padgett, at least worries like that.”
Talie nodded.
“Besides, I have new worries about Padgett, just like you worry about Kipp. They’ll still be here after we’re gone. Are we supposed to saddle them with the responsibility of taking care of their handicapped siblings? Is that the kind of future you want for Kipp?”
“It might not be the kind of future I would have designed.” Talie sighed, looking directly at her sister, eyes steady, brows slightly drawn. “Look, Dana, I’m not going to sugarcoat this, because I live every day with what you fear. Maybe I’ve made it look too hard to handle. This is the life we were given, me and Luke and Ben and Kipp. We can’t change it, but it’s made me realize we can do it, we can handle it.”
“Good for you.” Bitterness accompanied Dana’s words. “There are some who can’t. Remember Rowena? I’d say taking the murder-suicide option isn’t handling it. I’ll bet she’s not the only one who’s ever gone that route or considered it.”
“She missed out on what God would have had her learn. About community and letting others help her and seeing how someone like Ben relates to others—with innocence and a smile. Even without that, there’s something else—something that reminds me every day that God is right smack in the middle of Ben’s diagnosis.”
Dana didn’t reply, even though Talie had set her up for an interested prompting.
“Life is all about servanthood.”
The words didn’t make an obvious impression on Dana, but they spurred something in Rebecca. Maybe twelve generations of valets, head cooks, housemaids, and ladies’ maids had left some remnant in Rebecca’s blood. Maybe it was just because that was how she thought of herself when it came to Quentin.
“Don’t you remember the annual holiday season sermon our pastor gives, Danes? how servanthood is the key to happiness? If you’re lonely during the holidays, serve someone else. If you’re brokenhearted, ease somebody else’s pain. If you’re grieving a lost loved one, help someone who faces the same thing. It’s the way God designed us to be, the way Jesus was. Be comforted through comforting others.”
Rebecca could see the words had no impact on Dana, although Rebecca, who listened with rapt attention, felt her pulse run faster.
“Every day I get a special reminder that Jesus washed His disciples’ feet,” Talie continued. “Whenever I change Ben’s diapers, I’m reminded that we’re supposed to put the needs of others before our own. Ben’s condition forces me to do it, but why should I have to be forced? Maybe because between the two of us—me and Ben—I’m the real slow learner. God put me in a situation that’s all about servanthood. Am I supposed to resist it when His example was so much more extraordinary? I should get down on my knees to thank Him for giving me such a clear picture of what He really wants: for us to serve others.”
Rebecca savored the words, desiring to ponder them, claim them as part of her life. Maybe being the granddaughter of a valet made it easier for her to accept. She wasn’t the only one to be a servant. They were all to be servants. . . .
Her own thoughts scattered as she looked at Dana, seeing nothing had changed. Rather, Dana looked nearer to tears than she had all day.
“Danes, what is it? Do you really doubt you can handle a child like Ben?”
“Of course I do!” Tears transformed her eyes to splotchy pools. “When I thought I could handle someone with a disability, God gave us Padgett, but He made sure she was all right. What has being a parent to her proven, Tal? That I’m fine as long as I have my happy-go-lucky husband and a healthy child.” She scrubbed a tear from her cheek. “She’s taught me nothing, except that I’m selfish enough to want things easy.”
Dana’s voice was filled with rage, her fingertips shook with it as she wiped away more tears.
“Aidan is prepared for whatever’s ahead,” Talie whispered. “He was the one who reminded me he was willing to adopt a handicapped child. He doesn’t get why you’ve changed your mind about that. On the phone he asked me how you could have been willing to adopt someone with special needs and now all of a sudden not be willing to give birth to one?”
A sob ran across Dana’s shoulders. “It’s why we tried to prevent a pregnancy. Bringing in someone new with a disability wasn’t in the plan. Only rescuing someone already here.”
“A noble but obsolete line of thinking. God gave you that baby you’re carrying to love and raise to the best of your ability. Same as He gave you Padgett.”
Dana moaned. “A fine parent I’ve been lately, pushing her into Rebecca and Quentin’s care so I can wallow in my worries. Maybe Padgett was my will all along, not God’s. Me pushing that adoption through when all God really meant was for me to have enough time for whatever needy child He’s going to send my way.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous. There is hope this baby will be fine.”
“Right now . . . I’m not so sure.”
Talie laughed, but it was more an indictment of Dana’s statement than any resemblance to enjoyment. “There’s always hope, Danes. You know that. So God allows bad things to happen to everyone—that’s true, but we’re supposed to learn from the bad stuff and grow and comfort others. And always, always, know that in the end, the final act is one of hope. This life isn’t all there is, you know.”
Rebecca sat forward. She hadn’t planned to say a word, yet here she was, clearing her throat to jump in again. “When my mother died, I felt like hope had let me down. I’d hoped she would be all right, but she wasn’t. My father once told me that the sweetest surrender is to God, after sorrow, when we learn to trust that God’s hope is enough.”
She hadn’t meant to think of Quentin just then, but he came to mind along with Berrie and Cosima and even Talie, from what little she knew of her. “Do you know, Dana, that hope has been my enemy again lately? Maybe it was that way for Cosima, when she hoped for a marriage she thought she had no right to dream of, and for Berrie when she founded her school and nearly lost everything—a marriage she told herself she didn’t want, a mission she was sure God designed her for. And your sister. I’m sure she had the same kind of dreams you have for Padgett. It’s all about hope. But sometimes we have to bring it to the throne of God and see what He has in store instead of what we expected.”
“What if I don’t want what He has in store?” Dana’s gaze shot from Rebecca to Talie and back to Rebecca. “I suppose that sounds rebellious. That’s how I feel. I thought I could handle it if Padgett had limitations all her life; I thought I was prepared for that when I signed those adoption papers. Then she turned out to be fine, no problems at all. I was relieved; I’m still relieved, every day of my life, because I get to dream about all the things she might do someday. No limits.”
“She’ll still have limits,” Rebecca said. “We all do.”
“None of us gets to choose everything in life. We get what we get.” Talie looked at her sister. “You should thank God Padgett is okay. We all do. But just because God let you have one healthy child doesn’t mean He didn’t make you strong enough to deal with one who isn’t.”
New tears balanced on the brim of Dana’s red eyes, overflowing on each cheek.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Talie said, leaning forward again, nearly whispering. “I don’t want this baby to have a single problem. There’s still a possibility he or she won’t, you know. Let me bring a little clarity here. I’ve been living with Ben for a few years now, so maybe I’ve learned a thing or
two. I’ll give you the best and worst of it right here, right now. You want to know?”
The smile on Talie’s face was hard to resist, and Rebecca found her own smile easier when Dana fell for it as well.
“Okay, the best: Ben doesn’t talk back. Don’t laugh. God gave you Padgett, a pleaser if ever there was one. But there will come a day, because she’s only human, when she’ll stop doing everything to please her favorite person, Mommy. Maybe she won’t even use words to talk back; she’ll just go her own way, and there you’ll be, left behind to watch her go. It’s going to happen. I’ve never met a parent who hasn’t had their child—even the good ones—go through it to some degree. But Ben? His rebellion only goes as far as getting up in the middle of the night. And he doesn’t do that to bug me; he just can’t sleep.”
“And the worst?”
Talie shook her head. “Don’t rush me. Think about the best a moment; don’t miss its importance. You’ll get to live with someone who will remind you every day of what’s important: a smile.”
“I usually ask for the bad news first, Talie. You can give it to me now.”
Talie shook her head, pausing despite her sister’s impatience. “Okay. It’s the loss of freedom. And I’m afraid it’s permanent unless I make some radical changes. Other parents can do so much with kids who can go anywhere. But being Ben’s mom, I’m either stuck in the handicapped row—if there is one—hoping he won’t make too much noise, or I just stay home. Staying home is easier, more convenient. It’s not best. The isolation can become too comfortable, I suppose.”
Dana wiped her face one more time, folded her arms tight. “I know how you used to be before, Talie. How you valued privacy, so maybe you’re bent toward isolation anyway.”
Rebecca eyed Talie, wondering if they had more in common than she knew. How much more isolated could Rebecca have been in the past three years, living out here alone except for Helen and William?
“There’s a difference between being isolated and private,” Talie said. “I know you like your privacy just as much as I do. Then I got a diagnosis that brought in a bunch of professionals—doctors and specialists, therapists coming and going, not to mention the whole world being able to tell right away that something is wrong with Ben. You can throw privacy right out the window with a diagnosis like that.”
You can also throw privacy out the window if you marry someone in the public eye, Rebecca thought.
Talie eyed her sister again. “You’re going to be all right, Danes. No matter what. You have Aidan; you have Luke and me. The future is in God’s hands. Padgett and Kipp were placed in our families for a reason, you know. God gave them to us as blessings. We shouldn’t underestimate what they can live up to—with God’s help. And we shouldn’t underestimate ourselves. I heard an old saying once, about the verse in Genesis that we’re all made in God’s image. It’s both a blessing and a caution. Knowing we’re made in His image reminds us of His love for us and our potential. But we need to be careful, too, and remember that we’re only an image. We’re not perfect like Him, not one of us. The best we can do is put our lives in His hands like the Bible says. Living sacrifices, you know?”
Rebecca watched Dana nod, knowing the words were what Dana needed to hear. Only Rebecca hadn’t realized they were the words she needed to hear, too. When had she taken back the reins in her life? It was time to put them back in God’s hands.
Just then the door to her office squeaked. It only did that when it was moved too slowly. Rebecca looked, along with Talie and Dana, to see Padgett standing there clutching Emma, her eyes wider than ever, her face in contrast looking tinier than ever.
“You sad again, Mommy? ’Cause of me? I heard you cry when you said my name.”
Dana slipped out of her seat in one fluid movement, scooping up her daughter. “Of course not, honey. Not because of you. I’m okay now.”
Rebecca moved out from behind her desk. “I’ll take her back to bed, if you like. I can tell her another story.” A happy one. A silly, ridiculous one that would be sure to erase all the worries that were far too big for her at the moment.
But Dana shook her head. “No, I’ll go to bed too. We’ll be fine.” She kissed Padgett’s cheek. “Won’t we?”
Padgett clung to her, nearly dropping the stuffed replica of Emma in the process.
Rebecca watched them go, her heart twisting in worries of her own.
52
* * *
I used to regard women who swooned as the greatest actresses, whose only goal was to call attention to themselves. The only exception to that were silly young ones who let their maids cinch their corsets too tightly. Never in my life had I considered someone might faint because of hunger and angst, but I have been entirely convinced.
When I awoke, I was in a bedroom. Moira was there with a fresh cup of tea and what looked like the same sandwich I had almost been offered earlier. . . .
“There you are, now,” the hovering servant said with a wrinkly smile. “I’d say you need a bit to eat and more rest, and you’ll be fit as ever. Have you ever fainted before, miss?”
Berrie shook her head, still feeling strange. She reached for the tea, taking a sip, then a bite of the sandwich. It could have been made by the Queen’s own chef or scraps meant for the poor, and Berrie wouldn’t have known the difference. She didn’t eat so much for taste as for need; her stomach, and her head, demanded to be fed.
“Just hungry, then, miss?”
She nodded, her mouth too full to speak.
“That’s good,” said Moira with a laugh. “I was afraid we had a waif on our hands, a miss such as yourself in a bit of a family circumstance, if you know what I mean.”
Berrie should have been shocked, but her mind was still in a fog, and the sandwich was beginning to taste good, very good indeed. She finished it as quickly as Royboy might have done with his penchant for stuffing his mouth.
She wished there were another, but only the tea remained. She sipped it, noting a bitter taste of cloves and chamomile. Her stomach demanded more no matter the flavor. She glanced around the room. Like the hall she’d passed on her way to the parlor, this room was in need of fresh paint. But the bed was solid, the mattress and covers beneath her soft. Though the room had no artwork, there were a chiffonier, two lamp tables, a writing desk and chaise longue, far more furniture than the parlor boasted.
“Where is Finola?”
“I’ll be sure to tell her all’s well. It’s late now, and you’re tired. She’ll see you in the morning.”
Berrie set the tea on the tray next to the bed and struggled to rise, moving her legs to the edge. Moira reached out, placing a hand on one of Berrie’s shoulders, another to prevent her limbs from reaching the floor.
“Hush now, miss. There’s nothing to be done tonight. Besides, I’ve put a little something in your tea to help you sleep. Nothing to worry over. Now sleep.”
“But I must speak to Finola. . . . Really, I must speak to her now.”
Even to Berrie, her pleas sounded halfhearted. But inside she railed against the fatigue, the weakness, the confusion. She must find Finola and make her take back her lies, or the school would surely be lost. . . .
* * *
Berrie opened her eyes, though even her lids felt heavy. A shard of light came through an opening in the drapes, giving away the morning. Pulling herself up to sit, she noticed Moira sleeping on the chaise. Watching over Berrie . . . or standing guard?
Quietly, Berrie stood, testing her footing. She was groggy but otherwise herself. Nothing a good breakfast couldn’t cure. She would find Finola first, no matter how early the hour.
Though the floor creaked once, Moira didn’t stir. Her even breathing assured Berrie of her sound sleep. Berrie went to the hall, seeing three other doors: two opposite and one next to hers. Unlike hers, those doors were closed. She went to the nearest and leaned closer to see if she might hear something to give away anyone inside. The last person she wanted to awaken was Thaddeus.
She heard nothing, then went to the second, just across. It too was quiet. From behind the third, she heard the sound of deep snoring, and she prayed such a sound sleeper was Thaddeus.
Berrie tried the other doors. The first was locked; the handle didn’t budge. The second door was not locked, but the room proved empty.
Berrie returned to the locked room. Perhaps Finola was there, locked inside? Thinking of yesterday, sensing something she didn’t understand might be going on beneath the surface of this dark and run-down home, Berrie was prepared for nearly anything.
She tapped lightly. No response.
“Finola,” she whispered. “Finola, are you there?”
Nothing.
Berrie could risk no more noise if she were to stay free of both Thaddeus and Moira. So she went to the stairs, deciding to find Jobbin and return with him. He might be twice as old as Thaddeus, but if Jobbin and Berrie confronted Thaddeus together, he might be bullied into letting them speak to Finola.
She found her way through the unfamiliar house, glancing out windows to see if a veranda or pathway might give a clue to the nearest door. Archways and thresholds were narrow and tattered with peeling paint, windows in every room hung with fraying drapery. She tried opening one of the tall windows, noting a step leading down to a grassy lawn outside, but the lock was stiff and unusable.
At last she recognized the parlor where she’d fainted and from there found the kitchen downstairs and her way outside. First glance showed no sign of Jobbin or his wagon. She guessed they’d taken shelter in the barn not far off.
The cool morning air refreshed her mind, lending energy to her step. “Jobbin! Are you there?”
The barn walls, like every other surface, were in need of paint, but the structure appeared sturdy enough. She went inside, calling Jobbin’s name again. Thankfully she saw his wagon, so she knew he couldn’t be far.