Paul cleared his throat, then looking directly at Matthew, he smiled and said, “First of all, please call us Paul and Anna.”
Anna silently blessed him for trying to put the quiet young man at ease. Matthew murmured his thanks, and his wife quickly interjected, “And you may call us Matt and Jeanine, of course.”
Paul glanced at the folded papers in his hand. Anna knew he didn’t really need a reminder of the questions they had, but he unfolded the papers nevertheless.
“Matt, Jeanine,” he began, looking at each one as he spoke their name, “we feel very positive about the things we’ve read in your resumé. I guess one issue that we didn’t see addressed was that of the baby’s conception. As you are aware, this child was conceived as a result of rape, and we’re concerned that there might be some adverse feelings about this.” He held up his palm. “Not that we think either of you would be guilty of that, but we’re thinking of other family members. We would like reassurance that this issue will never be used against the child. We know that sometimes people can be very cruel.”
Anna nodded her agreement with Paul’s concern. They both waited for a long minute. When Matthew looked up, his voice was full of emotion, but it was strong and sure.
“Mr. Marquette—Paul, Jeanine and I have decided that it would serve no purpose for anyone to know that the baby was conceived in rape. When the time comes, we will tell him the truth—that we do not know who his father is. If, at some point when he’s older, he asks us more specifically, we won’t lie to him. But we do not feel that it’s necessary for our families or anyone else to have that information.”
Jeanine spoke up. “We didn’t put this in our resumé because we wanted a chance to explain our reasons to you. It seems that since you don’t know the father’s identity, there would never be a question of the child trying to look up his father. There won’t be a family history, a medical record, that sort of thing. It…well, like my husband said, it doesn’t seem to serve any purpose to tell him anything except that we don’t know who his father is.”
Paul ran a hand over his freshly shaven face. “There’s only one problem I see with your plan, and it would come a ways down the road, but still, I think it needs to be addressed. Our idea of an open adoption means that we will keep in contact with you. We don’t want there to be the mystery that sometimes confuses adopted children, especially as they enter their teens. We want you to always know where we are, so if at any time this child wants to meet Anna, that option will be open to him or her.”
Anna interrupted to clarify. “I hope you understand that we would never try to contact the child without your consent. But I would …” She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “I would very much like for you to send pictures of the child and keep us informed about his health—that sort of thing. But I promise you that this would be your child. We wouldn’t interfere in any way.” She looked at Paul, trying not to break down.
It seemed so incredible that they were here in this room, saying these words that would change their lives forever. She put her hand lightly on Paul’s knee. “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, no. I’m glad you clarified that. The point I was trying to make is that since it is possible that the child may someday make contact with Anna, it doesn’t seem fair for her to bear the burden of answering questions about the father. If you give an adopted child the name of his birth mother, but tell him that his father’s identity is unknown, eventually he will arrive at one of two conclusions: either his mother was raped, or she was promiscuous. I certainly don’t want Anna’s virtue questioned in that way.”
“Oh my!” Jeanine’s face flushed, and her husband looked at the floor.
“I’m so sorry.” Matt said quietly. “We hadn’t thought of that.”
Again Matt was silent for a long time. He seemed to be a man who did not speak before thinking. A good quality, Anna thought.
When he finally spoke, he asked, “Would it be acceptable to you if we did not disclose the fact of the rape to anyone except the child…and not, of course, until he was older? We’d give him the choice of who or whether to tell at that time. We would not give him his birth mother’s name— Anna’s name—until he knew about the rape as well. Would that be agreeable to you?”
Paul looked at Anna, questioning. Her mind raced. It seemed like a reasonable solution, but she needed to think it through. “I think that sounds quite fair, but please, I’d like some time to think it over.”
“Of course,” the Whitemans answered as one.
The couple voiced their natural curiosity over the vague information they did have about the birth father. Paul relayed the information to them, and Anna was gratefully aware that he was making it all sound as matter-of-fact as possible. It was painful for her to listen again to even this vague account of the rape.
They visited casually then, each seeming comfortable to voice concerns and raise questions. The atmosphere was very cordial and polite, but warm, too. Matthew Whiteman began to open up, and it was plain that the two couples liked each other. No small thing, Anna thought.
After an hour, Walter LeMans, who had sat mostly silent throughout the meeting, stood and extended his hand to Paul. “Paul, Anna, I think we’ve probably covered as much ground today as we can.” He turned to the Whitemans. “I’ll get in touch with you in the next few days and let you know where we go from here.”
Paul shook the attorney’s hand, then Matt’s. “We won’t keep you waiting long for an answer.”
That night Paul and Anna talked at length about the meeting. They reflected on the conversation and the questions that’d been brought up by each couple. In the end, they decided that the Whitemans’ suggestion for what to tell the child about the rape was a good compromise. “I appreciated his apology for not having thought about how it might make you look,” Paul told Anna. “And I think there’s a lot of wisdom in what Matthew came up with after that.”
Anna agreed, and before they crawled into the bed “down the stairs” that night, they decided they would offer the Whitemans the opportunity to adopt Anna’s child.
She turned on her side, facing away from Paul—the only comfortable position she could find in her advanced state of pregnancy. Paul put his arms around her, his hands caressing her rounded stomach. They lay in silence that way until they fell asleep.
Chapter 19
The shrill ring of the telephone startled Anna as she stood at the sink washing the few dishes that had accumulated through the morning. She hurriedly dried her hands and picked up the receiver.
“Anna?”
“Dad! It’s so good to hear your voice.” Anna had spoken to her mother earlier in the week, but her father had been out of town then, and Anna had not heard his voice in almost two weeks.
“How are you?” Her father’s voice sounded weary and sad.
She knew immediately that something was wrong. “Dad, what is it?”
“Honey, your grandmother died this morning.”
Her tears flowed freely as the realization dawned. Grandmother Cavender was gone. A year ago this news would have come as a mild surprise, accompanied by relief that the struggle was over—for both her grandmother and for her mother. She’d known this phone call could not be many months away, yet now, coming as it did on the heels of everything else, it stunned her.
“Oh, Dad! I’m so sorry? When did it happen?”
“Your mother found her about seven o’clock this morning when she went in to wake her for breakfast. The doctor said she died in her sleep, very peacefully.”
Anna couldn’t speak for a moment. She swallowed hard. “Is Mom doing okay?”
“Don’t you worry…she’s handling it just fine. Although your mother would never, ever have called your grandmother a burden, I know it’s a relief to her that it’s finally over. Aunt Lila is in Montana at Bob and Carla’s, so the funeral won’t be until Tuesday morning. It’ll be at the church, of course.”
Anna
felt as though she had been struck. The funeral! She hadn’t thought of that. And she would not be there. She would not be able to say her final goodbyes to the grandmother she had adored, would not be able to offer her mother the comfort of a shoulder to cry on, an arm to lean on. The respect that her presence would have signified would be called into question by all the aunts, uncles, and cousins she loved dearly, and saw so rarely.
“Oh, Dad. What am I going to do about the funeral?”
“You’ll do the only thing you can do, honey. You’ll think about us and pray for us. You’ll cry with us and remember with us. And you’ll not feel one ounce of guilt that you are doing it from afar.”
Her father knew her so well. Already she was eaten up with guilt. “Oh, Dad. I so want to be there with you. I… I…what will you tell people? They’ll expect me to be there.”
“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll do what we have to do. You just take care of yourself and put this out of your mind. You have plenty to deal with, Annie, without taking this on your shoulders too.”
She teared up again hearing her father use her childhood nickname.
They talked for a while about Grandmother Cavender. Stella Cavender had been a remarkable woman, full of spunk and wisdom. Anna knew that her joy for life and her legacy of faith would live on in her children and grandchildren.
Her dad stayed on the phone with her for half an hour, allowing her the comfort of remembrance, and when Anna told him goodbye, there was gratitude in her heart, both for the privilege of having known her grandmother and for the blessing God had given her in her father.
Paul called after lunch, and he and Anna debated about whether or not he or the girls would attend the funeral.
“It seems that someone from our family should be there, Anna. But if you’re not there with us, we will need an explanation for your absence. I suppose the best thing would be to say that you’re not feeling well.”
She frowned. “Well, that wouldn’t altogether be a lie.”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t.”
“Oh, Paul. I don’t know what to say. I feel awful about this. Why did this have to happen just now?”
He sighed. “I’ve simply quit asking that question, babe. I don’t know the answer, and I’m not certain we’ll ever know on this earth. Despite it all, somehow I still don’t doubt God’s goodness.”
“No, Paul. I don’t either. I don’t doubt it, but I certainly don’t understand it either.” She knew that Paul’s faith was being tested as greatly as her own. She suspected he spoke the words almost as if to convince himself they were true—that God still was good. Anna sometimes marveled that she still believed it. Yet, in a strange way, the fact that she could survive her circumstances and continue to believe in God’s goodness confirmed her faith.
She and Paul talked for a while and finally agreed that he would go with Kassi—and Kara if she was willing. They would represent Anna at the funeral, make excuses for her to the relatives, and pray that God would forgive them their minor deceit.
Paul called Kara at her apartment that evening. When she recovered from initial tears, she told him, “I know it’s a relief for Grandma, though. Grandpa too.” She hesitated. “How’s Mom taking it?” Ordinarily she avoided mentioning her mother, though Paul always updated her on Anna anyway.
“She’s handling it as well as you might expect. Mostly she’s upset because she won’t be able to be at the funeral. Honey, I really think you girls and I ought to go for Grandma Greyson’s sake. I haven’t gotten hold of Kassi yet, but I’m sure she’ll want to be there. Do you think you could make arrangements to get away?”
Kara was silent for an overlong moment, but finally she said, “Yeah. I’ll work something out. Do you want me to call Kassi?”
“Well, I need to talk to her anyway, but if you want to call her to work out transportation, that would be good. I assume you girls will come to Chicago first?”
“Yes. I’d like to ride to the church with you if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” he said. “And listen, I’m not sure how we’re going to handle questions about Mom’s absence. Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Liz are the only ones who’ll be there that know the real story, so, much as I hate it, we’re going to have to…fudge a little. I told Mom we’d just say she wasn’t feeling well and leave it at that. It’s not altogether untrue…” he trailed off lamely. Paul simply could not bring himself to use the word lie, yet he knew that in reality it probably would be a lie that they used to explain why Anna wasn’t there. Lord, forgive us.
“No, I suppose it’s not,” Kara said. “How…how is Mom…healthwise?”
“She’s doing okay. Everything is going fine with the baby. But, I’m sure you can imagine that this isn’t easy for her. I don’t want to force the issue—it has to be between you and Mom, and I know you well enough to know that I sure can’t change your mind—but it would mean so much to your mom if you could put aside your differences until this is over. I don’t think you realize how much it hurts her to be at odds with you—especially now. She’s already made her decision and that’s not going to change now.”
He heard his daughter’s familiar sigh at the other end and feared he’d said too much. They’d had variations of this conversation half a dozen times in the past months.
“Dad, what am I supposed to say to her? You know how I feel about this whole thing. It didn’t have to be this way. Mom didn’t have to go through this. It could have been so simple. I can’t in honesty tell her anything different.”
He struggled to keep the anger from his voice. “Kara, I’m not asking you to change your opinion. I’m simply asking you to accept the fact that Mom––and I––made a choice. We’re living with it, and we’re the ones who will suffer whatever consequences come of it.”
“Then why am I going to a funeral where I’ll be forced to lie through my teeth about my mother’s absence?”
Though her words started out dripping with sarcasm, Paul could hear in her voice that she immediately regretted it.
“I’m sorry, Dad. That wasn’t fair. I know you don’t really have much choice. But do you see what I mean?”
She did have a point about their deceit, and it stung him to realize it. Yet he felt helpless to do anything different. They certainly couldn’t give away Anna’s circumstances. That wouldn’t be right either. It seemed an impossible predicament.
“Kara, you’re right,” he said finally. “It was inevitable that our decision would in some way affect you. But surely you can appreciate the moral consideration—the conviction—that impelled us to decide the way we did. Surely you can see that,” he repeated, growing frustrated.
“Dad, you can’t imagine how much I have thought about this ever since you and Mom told us what happened.”
For the first time since it all began, Paul heard uncertainty, contrition maybe, in her voice, and he sent up a prayer that his daughter’s heart was softening.
“I’ll just tell you, Dad,” Kara continued, “I’m kind of confused right now. You surely know that I haven’t turned ultra pro-abortion or anything like that. But I do think there are times when it is the lesser of two evils. And if ever there was an instance where that is true, it’s Mom’s situation. She thinks she’s doing some heroic thing saving this baby’s life, but she’s destroying a lot of other lives in the process.”
“I think that’s a bit extreme, Kara. I don’t think anyone’s life is being destroyed. Inconvenienced, yes, but only for a time. Surely a child’s life is worth nine months of inconvenience.”
“And what kind of life is that child going to have?”
Paul had heard her argument before. Kara was growing emotional, and Paul didn’t want to argue with her over the phone. “Let’s not get into it right now. We’ll talk some more on the drive Tuesday, if you want, okay? And I’m sorry if I’m nagging you. It’s just that I can’t stand to see the silence between you and your mom. I love you, honey. And she loves you more than you can possi
bly know.”
“I love you too, Dad. Tell Mom…tell her I’m thinking about her.”
“That will mean a lot to her, honey. Thank you.”
The morning of the funeral Paul got up early to get the house straightened for the girls’ arrival. He made the bed and put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher before heading for the shower.
How he dreaded this day. He fully expected to have it out with Kara on the ride to the funeral. And he certainly wasn’t looking forward to facing Anna’s relatives, trying to explain her absence. He had racked his brain and pleaded with the Lord for some other explanation that would be more truthful, but there simply wasn’t any. He’d never been a liar, and he wasn’t sure he could even pull this deception off.
When he emerged from the shower, the telephone was ringing. He wrapped a towel around his waist and raced down the hall to their bedroom.
“Hello.”
“Paul? I was beginning to think you’d left already.” It was Anna.
“Hi, sweetheart. No. The girls won’t be here until about nine. I was in the shower.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I was just drying off. So how are you this morning?”
“I…I’m sicker than a dog, Paul.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I must have caught a flu bug or something. I woke up about four this morning feeling just miserable, and I’m not a whole lot better right now.”
“Do you think you need to see a doctor?” He was alarmed. She sounded awful.
“No…no, probably not. I’m not running a fever. I’m just terribly sick to my stomach, and I can’t seem to keep anything down. Maybe it was something I ate.”
“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there with you.”
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