Mom shook her head. “Because I knew he was trouble.”
“You judged him by his walk.”
“He was so worldly.”
Dad said, “We are to be in the world but not of it.”
Jill turned to her father, enunciating each word like a knife blade. “Morgan’s housekeeper lived in a city dump. Her husband and sons died from it. His personal assistant was almost killed by her boyfriend. He moved the office to his home and made a safehouse of his guest quarters for her. He befriended an angry foster kid and helped him believe in himself.”
Dad spread his hands. “That’s all well and good—”
“Morgan doesn’t profess his faith, he lives it.”
Both her parents were silent. Mom played with her fingernails, then looked up. “The question is what do we do now?”
Jill looked from one to the other. “What do you mean?”
Her mother moistened her lips. “People will want to know if it’s true.” Now Jill was struck dumb as Mom continued. “It was Morgan who told Ed Fogarty.”
Lord God. Would they make him a liar? “He told Ed Fogarty the truth.”
Dad clasped his hands piously. “Don’t you care that your name is ruined? You teach Sunday school, Jill.”
She sank back against the couch, thinking of her friends, how they’d reached out to her. “I’m not the only person who’s made mis-takes. I’m not worse than anyone else in this town, and I’m tired of believing I am.”
Mom reached a hand to her arm. “We’re not saying that.”
“You’ve been saying it since the day I told you I was pregnant.”
Dad drew himself up. “Well, it isn’t something you should be proud of.”
Jill’s throat hardened. “Maybe not the way it happened. But I’ll tell you what I am proud of. I’m proud of the child Morgan and I created! I’m proud of the lives she touched and her brave witness to truth and hope and love.” Tears poured from Jill’s eyes. “Yesterday I watched her die. Today I don’t really care what people think of me.” She pulled her arm out from under her mother’s hand. “Would you please leave so I can mourn my child.”
Mom looked as though she’d been struck, and for a moment Jill thought she would break down and beg forgiveness. There was regret in her eyes when she stood with Dad and walked to the door. He turned. “I know you think we’re insensitive. You’ve resisted instruction and pushed the limits from the day you were born. Cheerleading. Flag football. Dances, dates, sex before marriage. That’s not who we are.”
Jill crumbled inside. “Then shake the dust from your shoes when you leave my home.”
Mom opened her mouth to speak, but Dad caught her elbow and ushered her out. Jill pressed her hands to her face and cried.
When Morgan left the airport, he drove the Vette along the highway toward home but on impulse kept going through Santa Barbara, into the green hills with clumps of trees, all the way to the San Luis Obispo Mission. He paid the donation and went inside without a tour, just walking through to the chapel. Somewhere there had to be an answer. The question would burn his soul to ashes. Why, God?
Another tourist stood alone in the cool quiet of the place, and Morgan noticed the cross on his lapel. “Are you a Christian?”
The man turned and nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
The man shrugged. “Sure.”
“Why does God make the innocent pay for the guilty?” He gave him Jill’s biblical examples, then the agonizing one from his own life.
The man nodded slowly. “As C.S. Lewis put it, it’s the ‘problem of pain.’ It doesn’t seem right that a loving God could inflict or allow pain. Those were Old Testament examples, before the blood of Jesus covered our sins. Now suffering is the purest prayer there is, a perfectly good God allowing us to share in His redemptive work.”
Morgan took in the words. The image of Kelsey dying filled his mind. Pure? Perfect? Good? Pain like fire rushed in his veins. He turned and walked out. Heading south, he redlined the Vette down the highway, then the curving coastal road. His marrow had burned the life out of Kelsey, and God called it good and redemptive? He swung around a produce truck, saw the VW bug in the opposite lane and veered back, but his speed was too high. The Vette left the road and plunged over the side.
Rick took the phone from Noelle. “Hello?” His stomach plunged like lead inside him as he listened, strangely unprepared for what he heard. He’d had no sense, no urge to pray, no burden weighing on his spirit. “How bad is it?”
“He’s still in surgery, but his condition is critical, his injuries extensive.”
How long had he anticipated this call, though he’d always expected it in the middle of the night. “Have you contacted any other family members?”
“Yours was the first number we located in his wallet.”
Rick rubbed his face. “I’ll call the others.” He hung up and took Noelle’s hand. “It’s Morgan. He’s crashed the Vette.”
She searched his face. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Let’s pray.” They took the time to bring Morgan before God, pleading for healing, protection, and skill for the doctors. Then Rick called home.
Five hours later they gathered in the hospital. Morgan was out of surgery but had not been upgraded. The doctor came out to talk with them. She gave them a frank smile. “First let me say, by rights he should not be alive. If the car had come down on the rocks in any other position, he would have been killed instantly.”
Rick held Noelle to his side, hoping the anxiety and dread obvious in her face and posture would not affect the baby inside her. It was bad enough they had flown with her due date so near. The stress and fear could not be good.
“As it is, he’s sustained massive trauma to the chest and abdomen, major organ damage, fractures, and some lacerations. I can’t tell you yet which way this will go.”
“No head injuries?” Dad’s voice quavered.
“Nothing major. Bruising from the air bag, minor lacerations. Brain function is normal, but we’ve induced a coma to promote stabilization.”
Rick glanced at his mom and read in her face the worst of her fears playing out before her. Lord, this is up to you. All things according to your perfect purpose and power. Don’t take Morgan, yet, with his heart unturned. Give us time to reach him.
When Morgan was brought out of recovery into ICU, they took turns at his bedside, since there were so many of them. Rick worried now for Tara, who’d always been the closest to her big brother and was clearly distraught. Her first sight of Morgan had brought a wail to her lips, and he wondered if they should have left her with friends. But she would not have stood for that. Not when it was Morgan in that bed.
Rick bent and kissed her head, and she looked up with a desperate smile. “He’s going to be okay, Rick.”
He smiled back. “We’re storming the gates, aren’t we?” When the nurse came in to get his vitals and check the monitors, Rick asked, “How high was the blood alcohol?”
She checked Morgan’s chart. “No alcohol, no drugs.”
Rick stared at her a moment. “None at all?”
She let the clipboard drop back against the bed. “A trace of caffeine.”
Then why? The policeman who’d met with them had described a probable speed of over a hundred miles per hour before the car left the coastal road. Why would Morgan drive like that unimpaired?
Therese and Tara sat with him while the rest of them went to the cafeteria for dinner. Rick posed the question, and they batted around a few thoughts. Then Mom said, “Has anyone heard anything about Kelsey?”
Something stirred inside Rick at her words. “Would you like me to find out?”
She nodded. “This has been a critical time for Morgan with the transplant and everything. Maybe …” Her words faded away.
Rick searched Morgan’s wallet for the card Jill had given him. It was there, next to a small copy of her senior picture. He found a phone and dialed the number.
It rang twelve times before he hung up. No answers from there.
Overnight, they upgraded Morgan’s condition to serious because the internal bleeding had subsided. The family set up a regular rotation, though the staff had informed them he would not regain consciousness for days, not until they had control of the many life-threatening injuries within him.
The bruising on his face blackened both eyes, and there were myriad superficial glass cuts. But it was his torso that had taken the brunt of the engine and steering wheel, trapping him and requiring the jaws of life to cut the car away. His collarbone was shattered and his sternum had multiple fractures, as did his left arm and leg. They had surgically repaired the punctured stomach and colon and spleen and removed part of his liver and his entire left kidney. That, and the bruised heart and lungs, warranted the induced coma.
Rick took his turn with Morgan in the middle of the night, accustomed already to spending such times in prayer when necessary. He insisted Noelle guard her strength and make use of the nearby suite they had rented to use when not on watch with Morgan. Rick looked at his older brother, ventilated and intravenously receiving both the drugs that kept him comatose and the nutrients he needed.
“What were you doing, Morgan? I thought you were coming around.” He shook his head. “I should have said more, prayed more, done something.” Well, he could pray now, pray hard, stand in the gap.
Morgan floated in a sea of soft gray down. The uncertainty of his position in space troubled him. He had so little sense of self. Had he left his body and floated now with no destination, no purpose? Was this what there was after death? Was Kelsey out there somewhere?
An image of Kelsey wholly different from the one haunting him in his last conscious moments appeared. She was vibrant, angelic, glowing with health and purity. She said nothing, but her smile sank in like glycerin, dissolving the memory of her tortured body. Her gaze was so sweet it stabbed.
I’m sorry, Kelsey. I never meant to hurt you.
The peace in her face stilled his mind and a single thought took shape. Jesus loves you and so do I.
Why? When he’d been belligerent and rebellious, going his own way and daring God to follow. Why would Jesus love him when his whole life was vanity? It was Kelsey who’d been good and precious. His marrow had destroyed her.
But her smile was radiant. Jesus loves you.
Then she was gone and he floated again, cool gray waves of mercy enfolding him, rocking him with a smooth, ceaseless rhythm, carrying the words back and forth, bathing him. Jesus loves you. Jesus loves you.
No simple comfort—instead, a sense of awe and deep unworthiness. Reverence and fear. He could not take in the sense of her words, but the years of blaming God came back in his face, his bitterness, his striking back. Jesus loves you. That was incomprehensible, but he suddenly wanted to love Jesus, to serve and follow again. To stop running, stop fighting. Utter surrender.
Other images came and went, Mom and Tara, Dad and each member of his family. He almost heard Rick’s voice. And there was Noelle, ripe with child. She shouldn’t be there, sounding so concerned. He wanted to squeeze her hand and tell her to go home.
But mostly he floated. Gray mist filled his mind and lungs and being, making breathing a struggle. Kelsey’s last fight came clear, and the pain of it infused him, each heavy breath a reminder that hers had ceased. His heart ached as it labored, and there was other pain, though he barely touched it.
It was harder now to stay in the gray cocoon. It grew brittle and cracked open. Morgan blinked in the light. Dad was beside him, pressing his hand between his. The features waved, then cleared. Morgan tried to speak, but his throat felt stripped.
“Welcome back, son.”
Morgan drew in the cool air fed into his nostrils. He swallowed. Why was Dad there? But before he could ask, others filled the room, working around him like a colony of ants, moving, touching, talking. Dad was on the phone, and soon Mom was there, as well. Had he dreamed the others?
No. When they moved him to a different room, his sisters came, and Rick and Noelle. It was to Noelle he finally spoke. “You should not be here.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I’m fine. You’re the one we’re worried about.”
“Heart of steel.”
She smiled. “I believe it now. Your doctor’s mystified.”
“No mystery.”
“Basically a miracle.” Mom kissed his cheek from the other side.
A miracle. For him? Why? Why not for Kelsey? He closed his eyes, fresh pain leaking from his pores. Jesus, why?
“I want to talk to him, too.”
The insistence in Tara’s voice twitched the corners of his mouth. “Come here, imp.”
She pressed her cheek to his. “You scared me to death.”
He winced inside. She had no idea.
Rick spoke from the foot of the bed. “We’re just glad you’re back.”
Was he? He would have traded his life for Kelsey’s, no contest. Maybe he’d tried to. He had a momentary flash of Kelsey’s angelic face. Certainly she participated in God’s redemptive work. That much had come clear.
A woman with straight shoulder-length blond hair and pert fea-tures joined them. “Well, Mr. Spencer. How do you feel?”
He looked down at his casted and bandaged body. “A little beat up.”
“A little?” She raised an eyebrow.
He tried to shrug. Big mistake. “Maybe more than a little.”
She explained to him the seven-hour surgery she had performed and the condition they deemed him in currently. “You have a long recovery ahead. But you’re very lucky to be with us at all.”
Morgan gave her the smile she expected.
Rick said, “God’s not finished with him yet.”
It was not comforting. But then he realized it was. His old cynicism couldn’t withstand the vision of Kelsey’s sweetness. Maybe it was time to listen, to at least try to understand.
Morgan closed his eyes, weary enough to slip away again to that place of waves and gauze. Jesus loves you. But why? What had he done to deserve it?
MMorgan’s cell phone to tell him about the funeral. The message that it was not in service was all she got. When she called his house, Consuela said they hadn’t heard from him since he left to see Kelsey. Jill hadn’t had the energy for more. If he wanted to disappear, let him.
They had brought Kelsey’s body home from New Haven and now almost a week after she’d died, they were laying her to rest. Jill stood at the graveside after an incredible service honoring a life that had touched so many others. The hall had been filled with cards and photos of cancer kids who still lived and those who had died, but all had been given hope by Kelsey’s faith.
Jill still could not believe Kelsey was gone, but there was the cas-ket, the cloth-covered grave. No more e-mails. No late-night calls. No chance to introduce her to Morgan. Not even the hope that some-where in Des Moines her little girl thrived.
Jill’s soul was barren. I know you’re with Jesus now. I’m glad your fight is over. But I miss you so much. The brief moments Jill had experienced were precious enough to know a dreadful loss. She could not begin to fathom the pain Cinda and Roger must know, having shared every moment of Kelsey’s life.
At the end of the ceremony, Cinda approached. Jill wanted to say something profoundly comforting. But all she could manage was, “How are you and Roger bearing it?”
Cinda hugged her. “The sorrow may last for the night, but His joy comes with the morning. I cling to promises like that.”
Jill’s heart filled with tears. “Thank you for letting me know her.”
Cinda smiled. “That was mostly Kelsey’s doing.”
Jill nodded, the tears overflowing her eyes.
“She wanted you to have this.” Cinda held out a manila envelope. “She asked me to give it to you if she couldn’t.”
Jill took it, breath stilling. One last message from Kelsey? “Thank you.” She carried it to the car, s
at a long moment in thought. She wanted to open it right then but didn’t. When she was home, she would open it and treasure each word. She forced herself to drive the speed limit and pay attention to the road. Dan had offered to go with her, but she’d needed to do this alone. She made it home and went inside.
Heart trembling, she dropped to the couch and opened the envelope. There were three items inside. A sealed envelope with Morgan’s name on the outside, the painting he had sent her, and a letter for her. Kelsey must have written it on her laptop and printed it out. It was so like her e-mails Jill smiled painfully.
Hi, Jill. This is one of those “if you’re reading it I’m not around” letters. I guess it might be hard for you to read, but there are things I wanted to say, and I might not have the chance. First is, thank you so much for not aborting me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to go through what you did, but you gave me life. Maybe you’re thinking it would be better if you hadn’t, since I didn’t get to live very long. Don’t think that.
Jill sucked in a sob and pressed her hand to her mouth. Reliving Kelsey’s suffering in dreams and pensive moments, she had thought it.
My life was not a waste. I know I lived for a reason. I’ve done what I was created to do. I served my Jesus the best I could, and I think others have hope because of me. I might have wanted a different life, a healthy one. But Jesus knew better. So don’t be sad for what I’ve lost. Be happy for what I’ve found.
Thank you for letting me e-mail my gripes and complaints. It helped a lot to be honest, and I liked hearing about you and Morgan. My secret prayer is that you will be there for each other. I know you love him still, and he can’t help but love you. I’m writing him a letter, too, but my sense is he’ll have a harder time. Please help him to know Jesus loves him.
Jill pressed her eyes shut. Even dying, Kelsey’s concern was for others.
Also, I’m giving you his picture. I don’t think he’ll mind. It gave me comfort to see his smile and know he wanted to help. Things don’t always work out the way we want. The trick is to want the way they work out. I love you and Morgan. Thank you for all you did.
The Still of Night Page 46