Dearest Dorothy, Help! I've Lost Myself!

by Charlene Baumbich

  “You could say that.”

  “So?”

  Kevin drew up a corner of his mouth and wrinkled his brow in a look that said he wasn’t sure. He seemed to be deliberating something with himself. “It could be . . . interesting, I suppose.” After a few more bites, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why not!” After all, he’d decided, his own date was an impressive knockout who could make up for just about anything.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Deb sorted through her books to load in her backpack for the night’s homework, then changed her mind about one of them and tossed it back in her locker. “I can handle that assignment in study hall tomorrow,” she said to herself more than to Josh. “I mean you haven’t already set this up with Kevin without asking me, have you?”

  Doomed. Dumb. Doofusville. Josh thought Deb would sound happier about the double date. It never occurred to him he’d made a breach of some kind of protocol he knew nothing about. Just be straight about it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d need to . . . Oh, heck. I just didn’t think. I’m sorry. I hope it’s okay.”

  She donned her backpack. “It will be interesting.”

  Exactly what Kevin said. What am I missing here? “So it’s okay then?”

  “Doesn’t sound like I have much choice, unless I recant my acceptance to your initial invitation.”

  “Recant? You’re a career shoe-in, Ms. Deborah Arnold, Attorney at Law. Sounds good enough to be a new television series.” He held his hand up in front of his mouth, as though holding a microphone in it. Then he gave his best shot at an announcer’s voice. “Deborah Arnold, Attorney at Law. Tonight! Prime Time Television at eight P.M.!”

  Deb let loose with genuine and hearty laughter. “How can I resist this simple request from such a persuasive young man?”

  “What woman can resist the charms of any good-looking young man?” he asked with a debonair tone in his voice right out of a fifties movie. You are flying now, buddy!

  “Oh, but I can, and I have, good sir,” she responded, mimicking a southern belle, having honed her skills in two school plays. “Between you and me and the barnyard,” she said, swiftly waving her hand in front of her face as though she was demurely fanning herself whilst batting her eyes all the while, “I have, within the last week or so, declined an invitation to the very same dance you and I will be attending together, and the invitation came from none other than the dimpled and charming Mr. Kevin Mooney! That is why this double date should be so . . . interesting.”

  You might have been flying, Josh, but you have just crash-landed.

  Kevin lived in Hethrow about a mile from the school and drove his own car. On the way to the parking lot, he caught up with Shelby just before she climbed the stairs to the bus. He wanted to tell her about the double date and ask her if she had any preference in corsages, like pin or wrist or . . . whatever else it is girls might ask for. “No way!” she’d responded when he’d said they were double dating, before he could even get to the corsage part. She was clearly distraught. Angry seemed like a better description, Kevin decided. “You and I are double dating with Deborah Arnold and Josh Kinney?”

  “I thought you and Josh were buddies! What’s the big deal?”

  “It would have been nice if you’d asked me first.”

  Kevin, who was as slick with the ladies as black ice, was apparently completely off his game. In fact, he wasn’t even sure which sport he’d been playing since the lunch table. “Again I ask, why is this such a big deal?” He had an edge to his voice.

  “If you haven’t noticed, Josh Kinney has become a . . .” Shelby shut her mouth. It wouldn’t do for her to carry on. First dance of her life and she didn’t want to shoot herself in the foot; Kevin might uninvite her if he decided she was a cranky pill. She painted on a smile, then said in a gentler voice, “Let’s just say he’s gotten a tad heady lately, don’t you think?”

  “I think he’s landed back in the realms of good guy. He went through a short spell, but he’s turned around and come to his senses. This double date idea was his, you know.”

  The nerve of that . . . that. . . . How could he be so. . . . Suddenly, visions of her wearing fabulous hair and makeup, a swell pair of Grannie M’s earrings and a dress to die for raced in her head. There couldn’t be a better opportunity to show that jerk just what he was missing.

  Shelby smiled coyly at Kevin, which was this catcher’s first attempt ever at coyness. She was more comfortable pounding her right fist into her catcher’s mitt than she was acting like a girlie-girl. She thought it felt a bit unnatural, but she was no dummy: she could see it brought immediate visual results. Wow, we are powerful when we turn on the charms! No wonder Grannie M keeps trying to coach me on these things. With all the gusto she might use to slide into home plate, she quickly kissed him on the cheek. “You know, I think you’re right. This will be fun!” Up the bus stairs she went.

  Kevin stood watching the back of the bus disappear around the corner. “What in the world just happened?” he asked a squirrel scampering across the schoolyard.

  17

  Dorothy felt both stunned and relieved by her own naming of the name, sharing of the secret—the breaking of a forty-seven-year-old covenant.

  Katie appeared to be returning from a trance. “Surely I’ve misunderstood. Surely you are not trying to tell me my father is, was, a pastor?”

  “It is so.” Dorothy knew it would be best to let Katie set her own pace now, rather than for her to start pouring out details.

  Katie thought about the current Pastor Delbert Carol, junior, and a sudden wave of nausea enveloped her; she didn’t speak until it passed. “My mother . . . with a married pastor of a church?” It was incomprehensible. Instantly, shades of recent news headlines about sins within the church raced in her mind. “Was she a victim of some type of clerical abuse, Dorothy?”

  “No! No.” Dorothy shook her head, refolded her hands and looked straight into Katie’s eyes. “This was the doings of a man and a woman. A man and a woman, Katie. Your mother didn’t even attend church. She had no faith whatsoever.” Dorothy quickly labored to paint Katie a brief, yet careful account of the unusual circumstances in each of her parents’ lives at the time of their transgression. Clarice was a twenty-three-year-old, headstrong woman, always older than her years, tired of being under the thumb of her overprotective sister. In a misguided attempt to at last experience her own autonomy, she struck out in search of the company of a man, whose presence she had so longed for in her life. Delbert had been a widow for a little over a year and was desperately lost, missing his wife, angry at God for allowing her to die, struggling to raise his young son alone, overwhelmed by all the emotional pulls of pastoring when he was so lost himself. “In one mistake, Katie, your mother and Delbert got caught up in each other’s human wounds, needs and weaknesses as they sought to comfort each other.”

  “But my mother was a religious woman, Dorothy. She attended church every week and tried relentlessly to get me to. . . .” Her voice faded. “It just doesn’t add up.”

  “Neither your mother nor her sister attended church here in Partonville. No, your mother didn’t find God until after she moved away. She didn’t know a soul when she arrived in Chicago and was actually hoping to get lost in the crowd. She found herself lost in the crowd alright, but also isolated, lonesome, frightened . . . broken—which is often where we can finally hear the voice of God, who’s been calling to us all along.

  “One day, out of the blue, your mother phoned me. When she left town, I promised her I’d be praying for her every day. At the time, she’d just shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘If that will make you feel better.’ When she phoned me, she told me she had cried herself to sleep one night, worrying about how she could ever know how to raise a child alone. Here she was, she said, having been raised without a father herself, and now she was about to put the same fate on you. The next day, Sunday, out of desperation, she said she wandered into the back of a nearby church seeking . . .
she wasn’t even sure what. She didn’t unfold all of the details; she just said God met her there, arms open. As sure as she was pregnant with you, she was, by the time she left that church, also pregnant with the new life she had found with her heavenly Father—one who had been there all along, just waiting for her to turn toward Him. The Father who would see her, and you, through.”

  Katie’s heart faintly stirred. As much as she didn’t really want to hear any God talk—for where had God been when she’d prayed for the mending of her marriage, for the sustained life of her mother, for the empty nights she’d cried herself to sleep?—she recalled with absolute clarity how strong her mother’s faith in God had been.

  Clarice had often called Katie her “blessed gift of grace.” “Who’s Grace?” Katie had once asked her mother when she was small. Her mom had laughed and hugged her. “Grace,” her mother had said, “is a gift from God. And God is your loving Father in heaven, as sure as He is mine.”

  Katie tried to fight back tears, fearing if she allowed herself to cry . . . And yet she could not help but explode with tears, so powerful was the haunting image of her mother, sitting alone in the back of a church, pregnant with her, believing she had finally, at long last, found a father who would never leave her . . . a father Katie had always longed for herself. And here Katie had had an earthly father all along, but now it was too late to meet him—for him to learn about her. The mix of memories, loss, confusion about God and her immense pain was severe. From the depths of her, she cried. She hadn’t cried like this since she’d broken down in the church basement shortly after she’d moved here and Pastor Delbert had asked her personal questions about her aunt . . . and she’d had no answers.

  What was it about . . . church? God?

  Dorothy stood up and retrieved a napkin from the counter, then she scooted her chair to Katie’s side, handed her the hanky and put her arm around her shoulder. After Katie blew her nose, she said, “How did you get involved, Dorothy? Why do you know these things when Delbert didn’t? And why didn’t she tell him?”

  “Your mother was quite determined, Katie, that even if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, even if they’d started dating, it was too early after his wife died. He was obviously still so in love with her . . . had spent the better part of their evening talking about it, which is what so touched your mother’s heart to move closer. . . . And he was overcome—overwrought—with guilt and grief immediately after their union. He begged her forgiveness. It was agreed they’d both made a terrible mistake for she, too, felt the shame of what they’d done, what she’d . . . encouraged. God forgive our human nature, but she used that exact word, Katie.” Katie stared at Dorothy, tears continuing to spill.

  “After your mom found out she was pregnant, she was certainly not about to give her child away, nor was she willing to stay in this small town and endure the speculations, the whispers, and, God help us all, the judgment and endless suspicions that would surely follow her . . . and moreover, one day be shrouded around you. Clarice also believed she was not cut out to be a pastor’s wife, even if they had one day been able to grow a relationship. She said she’d been under enough scrutiny all of her life. . . .”

  “But why you? Why do you know about all of this?”

  “As you can well imagine, when Clarice told Tess she was pregnant, she was crushed. When she told her she was leaving, Tess went to pieces, announcing she was pulling up stakes and going with her. She said she had no life apart from Clarice—which was one of the reasons Clarice wanted to flee. I think she actually hoped if she were gone, Tess might finally find her own place in the world, too.

  “Clarice needed help convincing Tess she was going alone. Tess wanted someone to beg Clarice to change her mind. Since they had no relatives, and I guess I knew them about as well as anyone, in an act of trust, they reached out to me, each hoping I could be persuasive. Tess begged Clarice not to tell even me who the father was, such was her humiliation at the thought of it—thereby cementing Clarice’s resolve to leave this small town, where whispers and rumors can so easily breed. If her own sister responded this way. . . . But Clarice believed somebody else had to know, just in case something happened to her while her child was still young. But I was sworn to secrecy, Katie. I had been trusted, I gave my word and we signed a covenant. Clarice said if Tess or I ever told Delbert and she found out about it, or if, worse yet, he tracked her down, she would disappear and none of us would ever hear from her again, and that included Tess.

  “When your mother packed up her car and left, that was the day your aunt began to turn in on herself, Katie. Not long after your mom was gone, word was spread that she’d met someone in Chicago, fallen head over heels in love and a child was on the way. Of course, then I heard talk about the sorrowful loss of her husband, and . . .” Dorothy rang her hands. “And I knew the lies, but what could I do?” Dorothy dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “Before long, Tess refused to talk to me. I think because it was too painful knowing I knew . . . everything. I am so sorry, Katie. I am so terribly sorry for everything.”

  “Carol! Katie Mable Carol Durbin. When I asked Mom why I had two middle names, she always told me Mable was a strong name and that my father had come up with the name Carol. Delbert Carol. That explains it. But where . . . how did my mother get the last name of Durbin?”

  “As soon as she moved away, she had her last name legally changed to Durbin, knowing it was such a common name in the state that neither would people question it nor easily be able to trace it to someone specific.”

  The table before Katie blurred as she allowed images of her mother to flood her. Katie had always felt that even in the midst of her mother’s loving care, there was also something deeply sad within her mother, but she’d credited it to her mother having lost her husband so early on in their marriage. Now she knew. She knew it all.

  “Katie, God is here for you, too. God, your heavenly Father, can meet all of your needs for healing, just like He did with your mother. I know this is awful for you, but the unveiling of Truth ultimately releases light into our cavernous desperations. I’ve lived long enough to know how many people have lived with secrets all of their lives. Their secrets. Those of their families. Taking darkness to the grave. Lightness never having a chance to bathe and cleanse their sorrows.

  “God,” Dorothy said, closing her eyes and lifting her face as she entered into spontaneous prayer, “Father who walks with us, may we receive Your loving light.”

  Whether Katie closed her eyes because of Dorothy’s prayer or because she was too broken and weary to hold them open, her body too tired to do anything but lean back, she did not know. But she, too, lifted her face.

  “Lord,” Dorothy continued, unaware of anything other than her gratefulness for the God who hears our cries and never stops loving us, “we have feet of clay because you gave them to us. We make our choices—right or wrong we make our choices because you let us. We make our mistakes, and then we move on. And You move right along with us, no matter what. Waiting for us as surely as You waited for Clarice, unmarried, child in her womb and all, to look Your way. Waiting to forgive us—and OH!, THANK YOU, God, for forgiving Clarice, and Delbert, a man whose heart, even in the midst of his grief, pain and terrible mistake, clearly understood both remorse and redemption. Lord, that man went on to inspire so many lives with his sermons about our human failings, God’s mercy and unconditional love for us . . . and especially His forgiveness. He surely knew firsthand, didn’t he? No wonder he spoke with such passion.

  “Thank you, for forgiving me . . . .” Dorothy’s voice faded off as she wept tears of gratefulness at the loosing of her guilt and the influx of God’s grace, the touch of God’s arms—as soft as satin—enveloping her with assurance. For a minute, she did nothing but sit in silence receiving God’s love and light, healing and hope.

  Katie Mable Carol Durbin briefly opened her eyes. While chaotic winds of emotion blew through her, Dorothy’s face radiated serenity. Katie closed her eyes again and
this time bowed her head. With timid yet desperate words she prayed, God, please help me. I am lost. This is all too much to hear. To take in. To know. She wondered if this is how her mother had felt when she was pregnant and alone, wandering into a church. She longed to once again feel the arms of her mom around her, to hear her gentle laugh . . . to feel whole. “Grace is a gift from God. And God is your loving Father in heaven, as sure as He is mine.” Clarice’s words began to loop in Katie’s consciousness—like a lullaby. “And God is your loving Father in heaven, as sure as He is mine. And God is your loving Father . . . And God is . . .”

  God, I cannot handle this on my own. I need You. And then she wept.

  “Amen!” Dorothy said aloud with gusto. Neither woman was sure how much time had elapsed since they’d settled into their prayerful silence. Katie continued to be assaulted by a wild range of thoughts and emotions, but she was also acutely aware that something had shifted—and settled—deep within her.

  After she and Dorothy exchanged a few quiet good-byes, Katie headed home to Crooked Creek Farm. While driving down the gravel road, she noticed Challie Carter’s tractor in the distance. He was turning the soil after the harvest, exposing the black earth, preparing it for next year’s seed. Something about the dark soil being turned up toward the light rekindled Dorothy’s statements about light bathing the darkness. Yes. Katie realized that like her mom, she had now possibly discovered Whose child she could, might—she even dared to whisper Already—had become. And in the end, that was the most shocking discovery of her day!

  18

  Nellie Ruth had lived in the second story of Bernice Norris’s stately home for thirty-five years. It was only her second dwelling since she’d arrived in Partonville as a parentless teenager, not counting her brief healing stay at Dorothy’s after Dorothy had rescued her from the parking lot at United Methodist Church, where Nellie Ruth’s car had run out of gas. Even though Nellie Ruth didn’t own the place—she was a renter who always paid her rent exactly one week before it was due—both she and Bernice felt like the entire floor belonged to her in every sense of the word, aside from that of “taxpayer.” In fact, more than a half dozen times over the years, Bernice had tried to sell the house to Nellie Ruth for under market value, saying that she would gladly become the boarder. “I just cannot imagine my life without hearing your beautiful saxophone music wafting its way to my ears! It’s like getting to tune in live to my favorite musician every day of my life.” Although a few times Nellie Ruth had actually considered buying the house, she realized the offer usually came when the roof needed repairs, the porch needed shoring up or the plumbing was having a spell. Nellie Ruth also realized, in one of her countless moments of self-examination, that she liked her ordered and independent life just the way it was: rooted in Partonville, sans financial anchors.