by Linda Ford
He nodded.
She went on. “I’m at my wit’s end. I’m tired and discouraged. And I don’t know how to cope. Nellie said to pray. You said to pray. But I’ve never prayed for anything for myself before. My prayers have been confined to the sinner’s prayer—you know, ‘Father, I have sinned, I know my sin keeps me from You. But Your Son, Jesus, by His shed blood, will cleanse me if I but ask.’ And of course, I joined in praying for world peace during the war.” Suddenly it seemed urgent for Billy to understand how she prayed on the trip home. “Today, driving home, I talked to God. I told Him I was willing to accept His choice regarding Judy.” She paused, trying to understand this new sense of peace she felt. “I think I can accept whatever happens—not that I won’t care. But somehow I know I can leave it with God.”
Billy leaned his elbows on the table. “I’m glad for you but the idea of Judy…” He coughed, unable to finish his sentence. “I’m afraid it makes me angry.”
She nodded. “Things will work out. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
He jerked to his feet. “Will they?” He stomped from the house.
A few minutes later he came to the door and called. “The weather has cleared. I’m going flying for a bit.”
She listened for the sound of his plane as it took off and faded into the distance, then she rose and headed for the bedroom. He would have to find his own way of dealing with the situation.
She curled up on the bed. Judy seemed to crave the warmth and touch of another body, and so she settled the baby close to her, pulled a quilt around them, and tried to rest, dozing in between patting Judy. The little tyke fussed less than usual. Grace acknowledged the baby simply did not have the strength left to react to her pain.
When Grace awoke to Judy’s wails, it was dark. She jumped out of bed, grabbed up the baby, and raced through the house. Empty. She flung the door open. No airplane. Judy kicked weakly. As Grace filled a sterile bottle and warmed the weakened milk, her limbs shook so bad she spilled some.
Billy had not returned.
12
Hoof beats thudded outside. Boots clattered on the step. “Mrs. Marshall?”
She clutched Judy closer. “Who is it?”
“Mr. Tunney sent me with a message.”
Her nerves tightened. “Come in.”
A gangly youth stepped in, his face ruddy from his ride in the cold. He yanked the ear-flapped hat from his head. “Mr. Tunney said I should tell you right away.”
Time stopped at that instant. She nodded.
“Mr. Marshall phoned. He said not to worry. He had to take someone to the hospital in Calgary. He said he’ll be home in the morning and tell you all about it.” The boy twisted his hat. “That’s all.”
Grace smiled, her relief so great she felt weak. “Thank you. Do you want to warm up before you go back?”
“No, thank you, Ma’am. I’ll be on my way.”
She smiled at Judy. “He’s fine,” she whispered to the baby. “Aren’t we glad?”
It was almost noon before Grace heard the sound she’d strained to detect all morning. Tucking a blanket around Judy to make sure she was safe on the bed, Grace grabbed a coat and ran outside.
Billy climbed from the cockpit, reached down, and pulled out a box. He waited until Grace stood beside the plane and handed her the box. “I think I’ve found the answer.”
“Hello to you too. Glad to hear you missed me as much as I missed you.”
He laughed. “You’ll forget that when you see what I brought.” He reached into the plane for two large bottles of water.
“Water? I should be excited about water?”
He jumped down, gave her a hurried peck on the cheek, and practically ran to the house. “I can’t wait to try this.”
He put the bottled water on the table and took the box from Grace’s arms, ripping it open and pulling out a pint of murky white liquid. “We’re to mix it half-and-half with distilled water.”
“And what will we have when we do?” She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “You are acting mighty strange.”
“It’s a special milk for Judy.”
Her thoughts skidded to a halt as she stared at the jar in his hands. “Where did you get it?”
“I met a doctor at the hospital. He’s been working on this for a long time. Where’s a clean bottle?” He washed his hands as she got one out.
Slowly, carefully, he poured in one ounce of the milk and one ounce of water, then warmed the bottle. “I hear Judy fussing. Is it time for her to eat?”
Grace wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t it always?” A two-hour schedule left time for little else.
“Get her. I’m going to feed her this.”
Grace hovered close as Billy teased Judy to try the milk.
The baby turned away.
“She doesn’t like it.”
“The doctor said she wouldn’t at first but to keep trying until we got some in her.” He persisted.
Judy swallowed, whimpered a protest, then, too weak to fight him, sucked the bottle.
“Poor baby, she can’t understand why it doesn’t taste like it’s supposed to.” Grace held one little hand.
“The doctor says we won’t know for at least forty-eight hours if this works.” He turned from watching the baby to meet Grace’s eyes. “He said he’s seen cases like this, and he’s found it’s often due to cow’s milk. He says many of these babies do well if you can find something else for them. Sometimes goat’s milk works but not always, so he’s worked on this special milk. He says he’s seen several babies miraculously begin to thrive.” Billy’s eyes were dark, so intense she blinked before his gaze. “Maybe.” His voice was low and deep. “Maybe we’ll get a miracle.”
She clung to his gaze. Did she dare hope?
“By the way, how did you find this doctor?”
“I forgot to tell you what happened.”
“Yes, you did.”
“When I left yesterday, I had no plans. I needed time to think.”
She nodded. “I knew that.”
“I flew over a farm southwest of here. Someone jumped up and down and waved at me. I could see several people clustered in the yard and thought I’d circle around and drop down. You know, give them a bit of excitement. But they didn’t wave like they were being friendly. I thought maybe they needed something so I dropped in. Here if the dad hadn’t been gored in the chest by a bull. He was in pretty rough shape. I told them I would fly him to Calgary, so we loaded him up with a compress to his chest and away we went.”
“How is he?”
“They sewed him up and said he’d live.” Billy puffed out his chest. “The doctor said I saved his life.”
“And it was this doctor who told you about the special milk?”
“No. I was hanging around, waiting to see what happened, and this orderly came along, and we started chatting. When I told him about Judy, he got all excited. ‘There’s doctor here who can help you.’ And he went and fetched this special baby doctor. Dr. Childs.”
Grace giggled.
“Don’t laugh; that was really his name.”
She sobered. “I don’t care what his name is. Do you really think he can be right about the milk?”
His look intense and dark, he said, “Didn’t we pray for God to help?”
She nodded. “I decided to trust God. But I thought that meant accepting…” Her shoulders slumped forward. “I’m almost afraid to believe this can be the answer.”
“We should know in a couple of days.”
It was the longest two days she’d ever lived; longer than when Billy was away in the war, longer than the trip west.
Wednesday night they went to bed to the sound of Judy’s fussing.
“Does she seem any better to you?” Grace asked.
“She hasn’t thrown up as much has she?”
Grace tried to think. “I guess not.”
“She’s certainly no worse.”
“No, she’s no worse.”
<
br /> Exhausted, Grace fell asleep.
It was dark and cold when she wakened, wondering what had startled her from her sleep.
She lay listening.
Suddenly, she shot up in bed.
“What is it?” Billy was instantly awake.
“Listen. Do you hear Judy?”
They bolted out of bed, racing to the cradle in the front room. Billy lit the lamp, and they leaned closer.
Grace hardly dared breath.
Billy’s breath escaped in a gust. “She’s sleeping.” He lifted the lamp and looked into Grace’s eyes. “I think it’s working.”
The next few days, the difference in Judy was nothing short of astounding.
“I believe in miracles,” Billy said, watching the baby lay content after her feeding. His voice thickened. “I will thank God every day for sending one our direction.” He chuckled. “I’ll have to remember to thank Dr. Childs as well.”
Grace knew peace like she’d never known. “I think I love her all the more for the struggle we’ve been through. She’s a real fighter, isn’t she?”
“She’s a winner, for sure.”
Grace looked up from mending one of Judy’s nightgowns. “I want to send her grandparents a picture of her.” Judy’s limbs had begun to fill out. “She has the most precious smile.”
Billy bounced the baby on his knee. “Her whole nature is sunny. Maybe she got all the crankiness out of her system those first couple of months.”
Judy laughed aloud, a burbling sound of pure joy.
Grace smiled. “No one would know this is the same child who lay whimpering and complaining two months ago.” She rubbed the baby’s head. “Her hair is coming in almost white. She didn’t get that from either of us.”
Billy laughed. “You sound like you’ve forgotten she didn’t get anything from either of us.”
“Apart from tons of love.”
She took Judy to town the first warm day and had her picture taken. She sent one copy to the address Maggie had given them with a short letter telling about Judy.
And then she went home to prepare for Christmas.
“She’ll love Christmas.”
“I’m making her a toy train,” Billy said.
“I’m making her a rag doll.”
Exactly one week before Christmas, a wire arrived for the Marshalls. Everyone in town knew about it and speculated as to its contents.
The same lad who delivered messages for Mr. Tunney rode to the Marshall house to deliver it. Later he described how he’d waited while Mr. Marshall tore it open. The man’s face had turned as white as milk, and without saying good-bye or thank you to the boy, he’d called for his wife.
“Grace, come here.”
Grace heard the strain in his voice and dropped her sewing to hurry to the kitchen. “Billy, what’s the matter?” His face was colorless.
“They’re coming to get her.”
“What are you talking about?” She took the yellow sheet of paper in his hands and felt the blood drain from her own face as she read the words.
She grabbed a chair and forced her knees to bend so she could sit. “Why now?”
Billy shook his head. “It must be the picture you sent.”
“You mean they saw how cute she was and decided she was worth keeping?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “Where were they when she cried day and night? I wonder if they would have wanted her then.” Her throat tightened. “I should have never sent them a picture.”
Billy’s head sank into his hands. “It’s too late to worry about it. They do have the right to claim her.”
She glanced again at the telegram. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”
They sat in shocked silence.
“I don’t suppose we can run away?” Billy mumbled.
She giggled, the sound harsh. “We could fly up north.”
But she knew they couldn’t. And Billy knew it too.
They sat up late, taking turns holding Judy, keeping her awake as long as they could so they could see her blue, knowing eyes, so they could see her wide smile and hear her gurgling chuckle. But Judy liked her sleep and nodded off in Grace’s arms.
“I can’t imagine not having her,” Grace whispered. “After all we’ve been through together, she’s more than a baby—someone else’s baby. She’s a part of me. We’ve fought together until I feel like we’ve become one.”
Billy nodded. “I feel the same way. But what choice do we have?”
“Choice. That word again. I remember when I said I would submit to God’s choice, but when she got better I thought He had given me the better choice.” A spasm shook her insides. “I never thought we would lose her this way.”
Billy sat deep in thought. “I never told you what I decided when I was out flying that day I ended up in Calgary.”
She waited, knowing he was collecting his thoughts.
“At that point I guess we both thought she was going to die.”
Remembering that desperate time, Grace pressed her lips tight, tears choking her throat.
“You seemed to have come to grips with it. Like you say, you decided to trust God about it.” He shook his head. “I struggled with that. First, we lost our own baby, and now, no matter what we did, it seemed we were going to lose this baby as well. It didn’t seem fair.”
He had a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled the experience. “But I was so tired of fighting the inevitable. I finally shouted as loud as I could, ‘How can I fight You, God? How can I trust a God who lets babies die?’ Nothing happened.” He grinned sheepishly. “I guess I expected God to say sorry, or show me a glimpse of the future so I could trust Him. ’Course if you see the future, there is no need to have faith, is there?”
She didn’t respond, wanting to hear how his questions had been resolved, for his contentment had been evident since his return. Or was it only that Judy had improved after that?
“I had decided I had no choice but to trust God.” He snorted. “Some kind of trust that is—no other choice. But when Dr. Childs gave me that case of milk, I knew I had to trust God no matter what happened. Remember, I didn’t know yet if it was going to work.” He fell silent.
After several minutes, he added, “What a miracle that God provided the answer. He taught me to walk with Him even when I can’t see what lies ahead. I guess now is the time to prove that truth in my life.”
She nodded. “I tell myself the same thing, but it’s so hard to think of losing her.” Scalding tears raced down her cheeks.
He knelt before her, cradling the baby between them. “It’s hardest to trust when the way looks dark.”
“I know,” she managed to whisper through her tears.
Billy left Grace at home with Judy when he went to meet the train.
“This will be my last chance to have her to myself,” Grace whispered, her throat too tight to speak normally.
“I feel like leaving them standing on the platform, but I suppose they would simply hire someone to bring them out.”
He pulled her into his arms with a desperation matching her own. She clung to him. He pressed his face to her hair, his breathing ragged, a moan rumbling in his chest.
“I’ve got to go.” He hurried to the car without a backward glance.
She dressed Judy in a clean nightie and a pink sweater set. Judy gurgled and laughed, grabbing at the strings on the sweater, reaching for the bootees Grace put on her feet.
Tears blurred Grace’s vision and hampered her attempts to get the active limbs into sleeves. Finished, she lifted the baby so she could look into her face.
“They will fall in love with you the minute they see you.” Her voice shook. “I know it’s for the best. You should be with your own people, but I will miss you so very, very much.” She buried her face in Judy’s neck. How she’d miss the sweet scent of the baby, the warmth of her body cuddled against her, and the pleasure of her smile.
All too soon she heard the return of the car. She would n
ot go to meet them. She’d wait until they stepped into the house. Two extra minutes.
Billy pushed the door open, followed by a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Maggie and a dignified man in a heavy coat and bowler hat. Their glances barely touched Grace when Billy introduced her. Both of them dropped their gaze to Judy.
Mrs. Murphy hurried across the room. “So this is Maggie’s baby.”
“Judy, meet your grandmother,” Grace murmured, forcing herself to release her grasp on the baby so the older woman could take her. She held her with the confidence of experience, her husband hovering close.
“She has Maggie’s eyes,” Mr. Murphy said.
“See that look in her eyes? She’s very much like Maggie.” The older woman dashed away a tear. She turned to Grace. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Please do. I’m sorry. Forgive my poor manners. You too, Mr. Murphy.”
They sat close together, facing Grace. “I understand you cared for Maggie her last few days. Tell us about it,” Mrs. Murphy said.
The dark pain in the older woman’s eyes melted Grace’s reserve. “My condolences at the loss of your daughter.” Her eyes lingered on Judy; she couldn’t imagine losing this little one who had been a part of her life for a few months, how much more it would hurt to lose her years from now.
“She was brave to the last. Her biggest concern was to make sure proper arrangements were made for Judy.” Grace told them of Maggie’s last days. “She proved to be a real fighter. Judy seems to have inherited that same spirit.” Grace told of Judy’s early months.
Mr. Murphy blew his nose; his wife wiped her eyes with a monogrammed hankie. “If only we’d known.”
Grace darted a look at Billy. It was he who voiced her thoughts. “I sent you a wire.”
The older couple gaped at him.
“When Maggie died. When you didn’t reply, we took care of arrangements.”
Mr. Murphy’s expression hardened. “We never got it.” He gave his wife a steady look.
“Michael,” she grunted, turning to explain to Grace. “Michael is Maggie’s brother. He has an unforgiving spirit. He must have gotten the telegraph and, knowing we would come, destroyed it without telling us.”