by Connie Cook
"You have to know one thing about your mother, Little One," she whispered to the baby. "You have to know she gave her life for yours. You need to know about her sacrifice for you. And I think she loved you in her way. She did ask me to look after you, after all. These are the things I'll tell you about her when you're older. Maybe someday, I'll even be able to tell you what I learned through them.”
* * *
"Does he have a name?" Dr. Moffet, just finishing up, asked Ruth as she fed the baby. She couldn't bring herself to give him back to her mother-in-law just yet.
"What are you going to call him, Ruth?" Mom asked.
"Me?" Ruth said, startled.
"Well, who else?" Mom said, smiling.
"But you're his grandma. It shouldn't be my choice."
"You promised Lily you'd look after him."
"And I will, of course. We both will. But it shouldn't be me who names him."
"I think you'd better. I don't have any names for a baby."
Ruth considered in silence, examining the baby for inspiration.
"He's so perfect. Just like a little angel. And it's so close to Christmas. A little Christmas angel. How about Gabriel?"
"It's not a common one nowadays. Not like Joe or Jim. It'll be nice for him to have something a little different," Mom said.
"In Hebrew, Gabriel means, 'God is my strength,' " Dr. Moffet put in.
"And how would you know that? You understand Hebrew?" Mom asked in astonishment.
"Before I was a medical doctor, I was very nearly a doctor of divinity," Dr. Moffet explained, chuckling at Mrs. MacKellum's amazement. "I was in my last year of seminary when I finally gave in and admitted that I wasn't cut out to be a man of the cloth. My talents and interests were all medical, but my old mother had high hopes of having a reverend among her sons, and I was her last hope. Poor Mother. She never did get that minister she hoped for. I did get a fair education in Greek and Hebrew though."
"Imagine!" Mom said with new respect.
"It's perfect," Ruth said. "Gabriel Haskell MacKellum. 'God is my strength.'”
* * *
Now that we've seen the last of Lily in this story, I should say a few words about her – a kind of eulogy, as it were (though an odd kind of eulogy as you'll discover).
As to her funeral, I will just mention that it was well-attended, and to see the tears shed at it and to hear the speeches made at it, it would seem that Lily had never made as many dear and close friends in her life as she made in her death.
No doubt my readers will take exception to my portrait of Lily and call it a caricature, unfairly emphasizing only her faults. No doubt, they'll be right.
The raw materials from which she was made were, very likely, no better nor worse than the raw materials which make up the rest of humanity. Privilege and power and a path kept free from pain – all except the pain of one's own making – are burdens that most raw materials cannot withstand.
For my own part, I've been kept from her particular temptations, and as a result, I could never understand Lily. I could never understand what made her the way she was other than her privilege and power which bred the desire for more power. But not having had either, I can't understand, and not being able to understand, I can't sympathize.
In the interests of justice, I should have tried to paint Lily a little more charitably. An omniscient eye would be able to do so. My eyes are not omniscient, and I can paint only what I see. Unfortunately, I have not been able to portray her with many redeeming qualities.
But fortunately for us, our redemption does not depend on our redeeming qualities.
* * *
The church's Christmas Eve candlelight service was pronounced an unequivocal success by all who attended. Ruth's solo verse in "O Little Town" was much talked-of.
Her pure, untrained voice rang out with no trace of quaver, and many compared it to the voice of an angel (though, in fairness, I must admit that those making the comparisons were all ill-qualified to do so. None present had first-hand knowledge of any actual angelic singing).
Though the listeners were moved, no one listening had any notion of the depth of meaning the words had gained for the soloist.
"How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given! So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heaven ..." she sang. And she understood in a new way the wonder and the blessing, as well as the cost, of the Gift.
Chapter 27
"Ruth, I think you'd better come down here," Mom called up the stairs.
From the tone of her voice, Ruth knew she should waste no time. She left the pile of diapers she was folding and galloped down the stairs.
"The Turnbulls just pulled up," Mom whispered though why she was whispering it was hard to say. If she was shouting, the Turnbulls wouldn't have heard her from their car in the driveway, and little Gabe (as he was coming to be called) was fast asleep in his crib upstairs.
"Why on earth ... Why now?" Ruth said. Then fear moved in and held her in a vise-like grip. Surely, they wouldn't! Would they?
"Only Gus is getting out," Mom whispered, spying from behind the yellow-checked curtains of the kitchen window.
She moved to the door to open it for him. Ruth stayed in the background.
"Gus," Mom said, not smiling. "This is a surprise. What brings you out our way?"
"I think you know. We've come to talk about what's to be done with our grandson."
"Your grandson. Yes, I suppose he is. First time you've seemed to realize it, however. I wasn't sure you remembered that Lily was your daughter. I suppose you know that Gabriel's also my grandson."
"Are you sure about that?"
"So Lily led us to believe. What are you suggesting? Do you really think so little of your own daughter?"
"Let's just say she proved herself capable of almost anything. Why would it be better to think that Lily had a child by another woman's husband than by some other man?"
"No one seriously questions who the father of Gabriel is, Gus. You're using it as a smokescreen. It won't work on me, so give it up."
"Just pointing out to you that our case for raising the child is stronger than yours."
Mrs. MacKellum laughed harshly.
"Oh, I see. You don't think the fact that we were willing to take in his mother – your own child – when you weren't is going to have some sway on the question of who's more fit to raise this child? His name is Gabriel, by the way. He's not just 'the child.' "
"I heard the tom-fool name your daughter-in-law gave him. That can always be changed."
"Except it's not going to be changed. Did you think you were going to come out here and buffalo us the way you do your men at the mill? We're not about to be buffaloed, Gus Turnbull, just so you know. We made a promise to your daughter that we would look after her baby. We promised her on her death bed. And we intend to keep that promise. So why don't you turn around and head right back the way you came? Give my love to Edie, of course, will you?"
Ruth learned new things about her mother-in-law constantly. She'd had no inkling previously that Mom was capable of sarcasm. Or of open warfare. This mother-bear side of her had never been so clearly revealed before.
Ruth was content to stay in the background and watch. She'd do more harm than good if she jumped headlong into this battle.
Gus shrugged.
"If you want to fight us on this, have it your way. You don't stand a chance. You think the courts would give this child to a coupl'a widow ladies living on their own, barely making ends meet – one of whom has no connection to the child except that he may or may not be her husband's bastard child and the other of whom may or may not be the child's grandmother? You think you stand a chance against a solid, two-parent home, the home of his grandparents, that can give him all the advantages? You can try 'n' fight us on this if you really want, but I'm warning you; you'll only be wasting your time and money. We'll drag this through the courts if we have to. I'll have my lawyer contact you before the week's out."
He turned and headed for his car.
"You're too late, Gus. I've already applied for legal guardianship," Mom called to his retreating back.
There was no answer from Gus, and in a moment, the Turnbulls were gone as quickly as they had arrived. The whole encounter had taken no more than ten minutes.
But what turmoil that ten minutes left in their wake!
The vise that gripped Ruth's heart tightened.
Within the week! They'd hear from Turnbulls' lawyer within the week.
Ruth's thoughts flew into panic mode.
They couldn't afford a lawyer.
True, Ruth was still working. The packing shed had a few year-round employees, and after Christmas, Eddie Hoffstetter had kept her on as one of them. She was now working in the office – answering phones and correspondence and doing the books. (Bo wasn't sorry to relinquish his duties in that area.) The pay was slightly higher than her apple-picking wage, but it wasn't a high-salaried job. Her earnings were perfectly adequate for the simple needs of the three of them, but if it came down to a court battle and the court's only concern was with dollars and cents, then Gus was right. There was no way for them to win. Barring a miracle.
And that miracle was what Ruth began praying for the instant the Turnbulls' car pulled out of their driveway.
It wasn't only for her own sake she was praying for a miracle. It was for Mom's. And for little Gabe's. Despite what the Turnbulls thought about all the advantages they could give their grandchild, Ruth had her own ideas about how much good all those advantages would do him. About as much good as they'd done Lily.
During the weeks that followed, she prayed and wept and pleaded for that miracle. And she waited. On tenterhooks.
All that first week after the run-in with Gus Turnbull, she went to work, unable to keep her mind on the job, waiting on tenterhooks. At home, she waited on tenterhooks, and every time the phone rang or a car pulled into the driveway, her stomach knotted up.
But by the next week, she was still waiting on tenterhooks.
Another week passed. The encounter with the Turnbulls had occurred the beginning of January. It was now approaching the end of January, and still, there had been no word from the Turnbulls or from their lawyer.
"You see? He found out he didn't have as solid a case as he thought he did," Mom tried to comfort Ruth. "I always thought he was just spitting in the wind. As soon as he found out we'd applied for legal guardianship, he knew he was too late."
Ruth couldn't tell if Mom believed it herself or if she was only saying it because she hoped it was true. At any rate, Ruth was sure their application for legal guardianship could easily be overturned by the likes of Gus Turnbull and his lawyer. Their only hope was the miracle she was praying for.
And she continued to pray for it. And to wait. On tenterhooks.
By the beginning of February, she'd had enough. Her insides were tied into a permanent knot like a string of Christmas lights. She was sleeping badly (and not only because she was up for most of the two o'clock feedings). She was making mistakes at work. She'd lost weight. Something had to give.
"I can't play this waiting game anymore," she told Mom. "I'm going over to Turnbulls' myself to find out what's going on."
"Don't do that," Mom pleaded. "If they've given up the idea, your stirring them up again can't do any good. Just wait it out. And trust. Just trust that it will all work out the way it's supposed to."
But that was the problem! What if "the way it was supposed to" meant that Gabe was "supposed to" be raised by the Turnbulls? The thought was unthinkable!
But she didn't rule the universe. Unthinkable things happened every day that were apparently part of the master plan.
On reflection, she'd seen it in her own life. Some of the "unthinkable" things that had happened to her she had seen take their place in an unfolding, grand, master plan. Some of the "unthinkable" things that had happened to her she had not yet been privileged to see the good and loving and necessary results from. Still, she had seen bits and pieces of the grand, master plan unfold in her own life, even through some of the "unthinkable" events of it. It gave her the confidence that there were good and loving and necessary reasons for everything, and that someday, though probably not on this earth, she would understand the grand master plan and see the place all her "unthinkable" events had in it.
But that wasn't to say that she ever wanted to relive some of the events she had already lived through. Or some even more painful events. If Gabe was taken away from her, that was one event she wasn't sure she could live through. True, other women had lived through the loss of a child. But after every other kind of loss she'd experienced?!!! It would be too much! It really would. Surely God wouldn't do that to her.
After one particular two o' clock feeding around about the middle of February, she tossed and turned until daybreak. It was her day off, so she stayed in bed later than usual, hoping to convince her mind to shut down for a few hours of much-needed rest. Mom would look after Gabe and let her sleep. If only she could.
I'm at my wits' end here, her thoughts cried out. I can't go on like this. Please, let something happen soon, so we'll know one way or the other.
All she heard was silence.
But in the silence, the thought came to her.
And if it is best, for some unknown reason, for Gabe to go and live with the Turnbulls, are you willing for that to happen?
I don't think I could live through that, she answered her thoughts. Hasn't it been enough? Haven't I been through enough? I can't lose Gabe, too. I just can't.
And there was only silence to answer her. There was no peace for her in it. There was only the vise around her heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter.
Well, then, if that's how it has to be ... then ... I guess I have to be willing. I've survived everything else. I guess I could survive that, too. You'd help me. You said you'd never leave me nor forsake me. If what You're waiting to know is who I love more, then I guess the answer is You. Yes, even more than Gabe. I choose You.
As soon as the decision had been made, there was an agony unlike any other Ruth had previously experienced. It was done. Gabe would be going to live with Turnbulls and effectually erased from her life, and she would do nothing to fight it.
The agony found release only in a storm of weeping, but after the tears, the agony did find release. The vise loosened its hold. At last she slept.
* * *
More weeks crept by. After her surrender of Gabriel, Ruth was able to spend her time doing things other than waiting on tenterhooks. She began to laugh again at Gabe's expressions and delight in his smiles. Her heart no longer constricted with worry during every moment she spent with the baby.
She began to be able to focus on her job again. She slept when she was supposed to, and she regained the weight she'd lost.
Now she was grateful for the weeks creeping by. Every week meant one more week with Gabriel, watching him grow, watching him learn new things daily.
Ruth did get the miracle she prayed and pleaded for. Not through a long, gruelling court battle decided in their favour but in a quieter, gentler way.
After the day Gus Turnbull came out to the farm house, promising a custody battle, nothing more was ever said or done by the Turnbulls in an attempt to take and raise Gabriel. It was a miracle of omission rather than commission.
The legal guardianship of Mrs. MacKellum was processed and passed in due time by those who handled such matters, and there was nothing said by those who handled them about any contest being enacted for the guardianship.
Ruth never knew what had happened behind the scenes for the Turnbulls. She came to believe that they had never really wanted to raise their grandson.
In that case, why had Gus created an incident in the first place? Was it for show? Did they merely want to be able to say that they had made an effort for the sake of the ever-keenly-observant eye of the town? Was it for revenge? Had Gus realized the most effective way to punish Ruth for crossing
him and, what was more, for beating him in the matter of Rahel Weaver and the money he owed her was to threaten to take Gabriel? Or had Gus intended to fight to take Gabriel but had feared the damaging information that may come to light if he had pursued a court custody battle?
Ruth never knew, but it didn't matter to her that she didn't know. All she needed to know was that her fears over losing Gabe were gone. And that was the true miracle. That miracle had been worked on her behalf even before she fully realized that the miracle she had prayed and pleaded for had also been worked on her behalf.
* * *
Ruth pushed the buggy down the canned goods aisle of the Co-op.
She still hated grocery shopping and avoided it whenever possible, but Gabriel had a cold and couldn't be brought out in the brisk beginning-of-March weather. One member of the household needed to grocery shop, one member of the household needed to stay home and needed someone to stay home with him, and one member of the household needed to stay home with him. Mom didn't drive, so Ruth was the obvious choice to grocery shop.
Appearing in the Co-op was less painful now than it had been. Now, when people stopped to chat, the talk was about colic and teething and other baby-related topics – subjects Ruth suddenly found fascinating. Any advice was welcome if not always followed.
But buying a few groceries did take a great deal more time these days than it ever had.
Rounding the corner from the canned goods aisle, Ruth narrowly avoided crashing buggies with a person she would have much rather avoided. Still, there was no help for it now but to say something to Edie Turnbull – even if it was only, "Excuse me," or, "I'm sorry."
After the polite phrases were spoken, Ruth turned to push the buggy in the opposite direction, her heart pounding as though she'd just finished a marathon. Absurd how the most casual of contacts with the woman could make the tightening-vise feeling return in an instant!
"Ruth."
She was stunned to hear Mrs. Turnbull's voice calling her name.