by Robert Elmer
“Sorry,” Bud said, backing off. “I didn’t mean to drag you out here and corner you into coming to church. That’s not what I had in mind.”
“You had something in mind?” Will asked.
They rounded a point at the south end of the lake, where it narrowed to form an anchorage. Half a dozen sailboats were tied up at the docks and a couple others were anchored in deeper water. Will cut the motor, and they drifted in the crystal clear bay.
“Well, sort of.” Bud stretched and dragged his hand in the cool water. “I know you and Merit have a lot on your plate. In fact, congratulations are in order, aren’t they?”
“Oh, that.” Will forced a low-grade smile, knowing it wouldn’t convince anyone, much less Pastor Bud. “Thanks.”
“You don’t look too thrilled about it, which I can understand. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it’s a bit of a shock, right?”
“A shock?” Will chuckled the way someone did at a cruel joke. “That’s an understatement.”
“Okay, but you have to admit it’s still a gift from God.”
The kind of gift Will would much rather decline.
“Merit might agree with you,” he said.
“But you don’t.”
“Listen. I know what it looks like. I know the girls are excited. It’s just…they don’t know the whole story.”
A cabin cruiser coasted by, throwing up a small wall of water behind it. As they bobbed in the wake, Bud waited for Will to finish. Before he knew what he was saying, Will had explained nearly everything that happened that morning, from the doctor’s diagnosis to the conversation on the way home. Bud listened, wide-eyed but quiet, nodding every once in a while to show he understood. Finally, Will ran out of story, proud he hadn’t broken down this time.
“I’m so sorry, Will,” Bud said. “I could tell something was wrong—and I had a feeling it was more than just your wife being pregnant.”
Will nodded, suddenly feeling foolish for unloading the whole story the way he had. “I feel like…I don’t know—like my heart has been ripped apart. Like I used to know what was right, but now everything’s washed away.”
“So you don’t agree with Merit’s choice.”
“This is my wife’s life we’re talking about. I thought we should at least try some kind of treatment. Do you blame me for thinking that way?”
“I don’t blame you for anything, Will. I know it’s easy for me to spout the spiritual answers. But for you and Merit, and the kids…”
“Hey, I’m not the evil pagan you think I am.”
“I know you’re not, Will, and I didn’t say that.”
Will explained how he was raised in a good Missouri Synod Lutheran church, how his folks took him to services, most of the time. How he was confirmed when he was thirteen. The shadow of a fish darted below them, and Will’s words trailed off as he followed it with his eyes. On the shore, a kid swung from a rope out over the water and dropped with a whoop.
“Do you remember Rita Fedrizzi?” Bud asked him.
Will slowly pulled his attention back to the pastor. “No. Should I?”
“She was in the newspapers a few years back. Italian woman, Catholic family. They ran into the same dilemma as you two, or similar.”
“No kidding?” Will wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he couldn’t not know, either.
“If I remember right,” Pastor Bud continued, “she was diagnosed with melanoma about the same time she found out she was pregnant with their third child. She was in her forties, I think. They wanted her to have an abortion, too.”
“And she wouldn’t?”
“She wouldn’t. She refused all cancer treatment until the baby was born, a little boy. I just remember there was quite a media storm about it at the time. All the pro-abortion people thought she was crazy or that the Pope had some kind of power over her.”
“I never paid much attention to that kind of thing before.” Will didn’t want to know how the story ended. He guessed it wasn’t happily ever after.
“The other thing I remember about the Fedrizzi story is how strong the husband stood by her, no matter how much heat she took for the way she protected her baby. Will, Merit’s going to need that kind of support from you. No matter what you’re feeling right now—and I can understand that— you two are going to have to stand together on this.”
“Listen, I appreciate your concern.” Will felt his fists clench and fought to keep his voice steady and civil. “But what happened to some Italian family has nothing to do with us. Nothing at all!”
Will turned to the old Evinrude outboard hanging on the back of the boat, checked the throttle, and gave the starter cord a yank, nearly pulling it out of the motor. The engine sputtered but didn’t catch until the third try.
“I know you’re upset, Will”— Bud raised his voice over the roar of the motor and rested his hand on Will’s shoulder—” but I want you to know we’ll be praying for you. We’re going to pray for healing, and we’re all going to be here for you. For both of you. Do you hear me?”
Will nodded but gritted his teeth and looked straight ahead. He jammed the throttle forward, and the little boat leaped ahead, careening around the point and back into the wider part of the lake. They passed the no-wake sign at full throttle, and Will turned to look at Bud.
“So what happened to Rita Fedrizzi?” he asked.
Bud didn’t answer right away, just held on as they bounced over a wave and headed north, back toward the resort. Finally, at Will’s glare, he took a deep breath.
“Every case is different, Will. Like you said, it’s not fair to compare her to Merit. I shouldn’t have brought it—”
“Quit playing games! What happened to her?”
Will already knew, but he had to hear what was now almost impossible to hear over the drone of the motor and the slap of waves.
Bud stared at the floorboards as he answered. “She died a few weeks after their son was born.”
twenty
If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you
could make, who would you call and what would you say?
And why are you waiting?
STEPHEN LEVINE
Only twenty-four hours had passed, and her secret was already out. Partially.
But what could she do about it? Merit climbed the trail above the resort, the one that looked down at the water as it skirted the lakeshore. She couldn’t go far this morning, just far enough to stretch her legs. Maybe out to Blackwell Point and back.
Pastor Bud knew, and he would share the predicament with God, who, of course, already knew. How long, though, before she and Will had to tell the girls and Michael? How long before her sister and the rest of the town found out?
And then, how long before they all looked at her with the kind of pity reserved for Romanian orphans, hurricane victims, and starving African children with bloated bellies?
Poor Will. He’d already begun to torture himself over this. It hurt her to watch him, almost more than it hurt to think about her own situation.
Oh, but the girls! They were the only thing that made her take the doctor’s pen. The only thought that nearly pushed her to close her eyes and blindly sign her name to the permission form. Will had no idea how close she’d edged to the brink ofthat cliff—and the thought of what she’d nearly done made her shake.
But the moment in the doctor’s office had come and gone like an icy wind, and she’d done her best to slam and lock the small window of maybe, even as the horrible temptation still beat on the shingles of her soul. Did it matter how close she’d come to destroying the life that grew inside her? That tiny spark of Will that God had fanned to life, probably right here in their new home? She’d counted the days, and it always seemed to add up.
She shuddered at what had almost been and apologized over and over to God for being so arrogant as to even think about sweeping away such a precious gift, like yesterday’s trash. She knew better. And now, with every ounce of her strength
, she hugged her new life as she walked and gazed out at the lake.
“No one’s going to hurt you now, little one.” She knew exactly who she spoke 1:0, exactly where he lived. Though he might not recognize the words, she prayed he would somehow sense the mother’s vow behind them. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”
And when I can’t, then what? she wondered for a moment, afraid to think how short her road might now be.
“And if I can’t,” she concluded, “then your daddy will.”
Your daddy. Will That made all the sense in the world, just now. It helped to make this vow out loud, as if she stood in a court of law, her right hand in the air and her left on a Bible. As if she stood before the Judge. She knew with rock-solid certainty that she was accountable to Him even more than she would have been in the county courthouse.
The wind off the lake made her shiver. Though it was August, it might as well have been December. With the shiver, a rain of doubt beat on her heart—sudden and unbidden, with a fury that made you duck for cover and hope lightning would not strike.
“Why did You give this to me, God?” She decided to address Him aloud, since no one else could hear her. Campers from the state park occasionally wandered this far, if they knew where Blackwell Point was or wanted to read the historic marker overlooking the lake. But at this time of the morning, she usually had the point to herself.
Except today.
Before she could scold herself for paying more attention to the beautiful view than noticing if anyone was sitting on the “view bench,” as she liked to call it, she had already walked too close to back up. She had to either keep walking or stop and chat with Stephanie.
Merit decided on the latter. No use being antisocial.
“You come up here a lot, don’t you?” Merit asked.
“Oh!” Stephanie jerked her head around to see who had spoken, then softened and smiled. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
Merit leaned against the back of the bench, next to Stephanie’s parked mountain bike. She stooped to pick up a flattened soda can someone had left in the dust.
“Sorry,” Merit told her. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Not at all.” Stephanie hurriedly closed a small, leather-bound pocket Bible and scooted over to make room. Merit remained standing, though, clutching the can.
“Good place to watch birds?” she asked. And pray, from the look of it. Merit supposed she could use some of that.
“Sometimes,” Stephanie answered. “I saw a boreal chickadee here once. Right over there on that log.” She pointed. “I think it was lost. Boreal chickadees don’t come to this part of Idaho. Not on purpose anyway.”
“I have no idea what kind of bird you’re talking about,” Merit said, returning the smile, “but I’m glad you do. And I’m glad you came to work for us too. In fact, I know we wouldn’t be nearly as far along with the renovation if you hadn’t pitched in. Will and I both appreciate it very much.”
“I’m not the only one.” Stephanie deflected the praise in the same way she shooed away a yellow jacket buzzing around the bench. “Everybody wants to see you guys do well. It’s not like the development—you know, outsiders. People here like what you’re doing.”
“Maybe. Unless you talk to my sister. She’d rather we tear the place down and replant it with wildflowers, I think.”
“My dad tried to witness to her once.” Stephanie smiled. “She wasn’t very interested in Jesus, but she had a lot to say about karma.”
“That’s my big sister.”
“Yeah. But I think people appreciate you guys because you’re here to stay, if you know what I mean.”
“Here to stay…” Merit repeated the words, wishing they could be true for her.
Stephanie would know the whole story soon, though it appeared she didn’t yet. That was only appropriate. Merit assumed Stephanie’s father had discretion and didn’t go home and tell his family every personal detail of every confession he heard. One wouldn’t call their story a confession, but people like Will probably confided in him all the time.
Even so, Merit felt the weight of her charade, felt the pain in her shoulders from carrying a load for too long. She wasn’t far enough along in her pregnancy to feel the strain in her back. This pain parked itself in her neck and would not release it’s grip. She rubbed her neck and arched it to the side.
“Feeling all right, Mrs. Sullivan?”
Stephanie’s parents had taught her well. Plenty of kids couldn’t see or hear beyond the range of their own ear buds, their own little worlds, and they certainly would never speak with an adult this way. Funny how Merit connected so easily with someone only her son’s age.
That didn’t mean she was going to answer the question.
“You know the only thing that could get you fired from your job, Stephanie?”
It was worth saying something outrageous, just to watch Stephanie’s animateci facial expressions.
Merit patted her on the shoulder. “I’m just teasing, Stephanie. Relax.”
“I know, Mrs. Sulli—”
“That’s iti” Merit interrupted with a jab of her finger. “You need to stop calling me Mrs. Sullivan or I’ll fire you on the spot. Call me Merit, and that’s all. Understand?”
“Sure.” Stephanie nodded as she gathered her things and rose to her feet. “I understand, Mrs. Sullivan.”
Now who was teasing whom?
With a little smile, Stephanie wheeled her bike around and started pushing it down the path toward the resort.
“I didn’t mean you had to run off, Stephanie.”
“I know. But I really should get to work. We’re cleaning out the coolers today, and Mr. Sullivan wants me to do some painting on the outside before more customers start coming next week.”
“You paint too? Is there anything you don’t do?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s the sort of thing your husband wants a pregnant woman doing.”
Merit forced herself to laugh a little, enough to convince Stephanie that all was right with the world. She wasn’t sure, however, that Stephanie was fooled.
“I’ll walk back with you then,” Merit told her, “if you don’t mind walking your bike. A pregnant woman can do that, can’t she?”
Stephanie flashed a concerned look at her—as if she saw right through Merit’s mask. What would happen—in a day, or two, or five—when Stephanie did find out? Because one thing was sure: she would.
Merit sighed as she looked out at the sparkling waves. Even if this wasn’t the way she’d planned it, well, nothing else was either.
“Listen, Stephanie,” Merit felt the load on her shoulders tighten, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
twenty-one
I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind. Some
come from ahead and some come from behind. But I’ve bought
a big bat. I’m all ready you see. Now my troubles are going to
have troubles with mei
DR. SEUSS
Merit paused to take in the view before heading down the path to the house. Down on the lake, a couple of fishermen pointed their craft toward deeper water, but the breeze hadn’t picked up enough yet to attract any sailboaters.
Merit rested a hand on Stephanie’s shoulder. Maybe she shouldn’t have been quite so honest with the girl about her condition.
“I wish…” Stephanie wiped the last tear from her eye with the back of her hand. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Merit tried her best to smile. “You’re a big help to us that way.”
At the resort, the girls weren’t climbing trees or chasing each other like they were when she left. Michael wasn’t clattering about in the boathouse, or Merit couldn’t tell if he was. And where was Will?
“I’ll get started with the coolers then.” Stephanie parked her bike and hurried down to the floathouse, leaving Merit to wonder. Wood smoke drifted ac
ross the water from a shoreline bonfire, adding a pungent accent to…what was that?
Good thing that awful smell isn’t coming from my house, she thought, sniffing the smoke. Even from a distance, Merit could tell someone had left the burner on far too long.
“Will?” She stepped on the front porch and poked her head in the door, still wondering. Abby met her, wearing one of Merit’s old aprons and motioning her to come inside.
“It’S almost ready, Mom!”
“Oh.” Merit took another whiff. The burnt breakfast smell had intensified, leaving no doubt as to it’s origin. Merit stepped into the house, leaving the door propped open for ventilation. “Is someone cooking?”
“Me!” Olivia squealed from the kitchen.
Merit reached the kitchen doorway and squinted through the smoke. “Oh, honey…” She tried to part the clouds without success. “Looks like you need some help in here.”
“No—stay there!” Both girls joined voices and circled their wagons so Mom couldn’t interfere. Abby escorted her mother to the couch.
“You sit here with Daddy,” Abby commanded with the most authority her ten-year-old voice could muster. “We’re making scrambled eggs and pancakes and sausages, and you can’t come to the table until we’re ready.”
“Hmm.” Merit wondered why the smoke alarms weren’t chirping. “Where is your father?”
“Over here.”
Will shuffled down the hall from the direction of the bathroom, still in his slippers and tousled morning hair.
“They wouldn’t let you help, either?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Are you kidding? They’ve been working on this since you left for your walk. It’s turning into a brunch, I guess.”
How could Merit complain? The girls had hand-decorated paper napkins with pictures of hearts and flowers. They’d set the table—spoons on the left, forks on the right, no knives. While Olivia stirred the orange juice, Abby brought out the eggs.
“Oh, my.” Merit tried not to look too surprised. “How many did you make:’ “
“Just one package.” Abby smiled as she ladled out three or four eggs on each plate. One package probably meant a dozen. Merit suppressed a sigh. They meant well.