by Austin Boyd
That comment chilled the room and Dr. Murphy stood silent, then crossed his arms. “I’m aware you’re an attorney, Ms. McQuistion. Quite a good one, according to a colleague I consulted in Pittsburgh. Considering your success in corporate litigation, you can understand my reticence to push the boundaries with regard to your care.”
“I understand, Dr. Murphy. I don’t blame you for your concern, and I thank you for your emphasis on my healing. But I am dealing with many issues in this pregnancy, only one being my health.”
“It’s the top priority,” he said, moving closer to her bed.
“Dr. Murphy, this metaphor is a poor one but it will have to do. I’m an attorney and I love my job. I did not endure the struggle to get an education, pass the bar, and become a lawyer simply to say I was an attorney. I did it to practice tax law, to win. To win cases, to make people whole, to defend companies, to right injustice. You may have competed to reach this point in your medical practice with similar aspirations.”
He nodded, just inches from the end of the bed, his gaze locked with hers.
A beeping alarm interrupted them. Blood pressure on the rise. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Dr. Murphy moved to the monitor, silenced the alarm, then motioned with his hand for her to continue.
“In the same way,” she said, her voice quieter and speaking at a slower pace, “I would consider it a failure to quit now, struggling as I did to become a mother. In fact, I’m a mother already. A child is growing within me. I will not abandon my quest at the threshold of childbirth and spend the rest of my life wondering ‘what if?’ “
“If you slip into labor at this point, there’s a reasonable probability you won’t have a life left to spend in wonder,” he replied, his hand on the foot of the hospital bed.
“That’s true. I understand the implications of my decision, Doctor. But I will not consent to allow you or anyone else to take my baby’s life in order to save mine.” She choked, gasping for breath. “Call me stubborn — determined — or crazy, depending on your point of view. But that is my decision.”
He raised an eyebrow, regarding her for a long moment. At last, he began a slow nod, his lips pursed. “Remind me not to argue against you in court, Barrister.” He smiled and put a reassuring hand on her foot where it lay covered by a sheet. “I will do my level best to ensure that you — and your child—emerge from this crisis in the best possible condition.” His eyes connected with hers through a long pause. Then he turned and headed for the door. At the exit, he turned to face her.
“Were I a woman, Ms. McQuistion, knowing what I do about your disease and this pregnancy, I would probably choose a different path. But I confess I wish I had more patients like you. Rational people, unswayed by crisis, committed to a certain course of action.” He tapped the side of the door.
“I’m honored to be part of your team, Counselor. We will endeavor to win.”
After the doctor left, Sophia started to shake. She turned, leaning her head into Laura Ann’s arm, the best she could do for a consoling hug considering the entanglement of tubes and wires in a hospital bed. Laura Ann put a hand to Sophia’s head and smoothed black bangs in desperate need of a brush. The two women clung to each other for a long time, no words between them. Stories passed in the tightness of their grip, two challenged women clinging to each other for comfort.
“I never knew” — Sophia said at last, a crack in her voice testament to her pain — “about the rheumatic fever.”
Laura Ann held on, stroking more dark bangs into submission.
Sophia’s brown irises focused on some distant place, her mind’s eye set on a time many years ago. “I had a bad sore throat when I was nine or ten,” Sophia said. “I couldn’t eat or drink for days. I got some bed rest, and some remedies that my mother learned from her mother, tonics that soothed the hurt. It was just a sore throat, after all.”
She took a deep breath, her pulse quickening in Laura Ann’s hand.
“Strep throat, Dr. Murphy said. It caused my rheumatic fever. And I’m not alone. Lots of women have it but don’t find out until too late. In pregnancy.”
Questions fought to be released from their dungeon, but Laura Ann bottled them up.
Sophia turned her head to look at Laura Ann. “I don’t regret my decision,” she said, emphasizing her point with a squeeze. “Without this baby, we’d have never met. And I’d have been the poorer for it.”
Sophia spoke to the longings of Laura Ann’s heart, sharing a kinship they both felt. Baby or no, this new sister had enriched her life when Laura Ann needed love most. The drip of a tear onto Sophia’s arm was her only — and best—reply.
“I have a bad case of heart disease, Laura Ann,” she continued. “I never knew it. They’re trying to do their best for me.” She squeezed again. “But I need your help. A promise — if you’re willing.”
Laura Ann nodded slowly, her chin quivering. She put a finger to Sophia’s cheek, wiping away pools that rolled over smooth skin, cascading like salty waterfalls to the white sheets below.
“If I can’t be there for our baby, will you take care of him?”
Another tear broke loose when Laura Ann dipped her head. “Yes. I promise.”
Our baby. Take care of him.
One moment, she imagined the child in her arms. The next, she saw Ian.
Can I have both? she wondered, gripped by the brutal reality of her pledge.
After a long silence, Sophia reached over to her bedside stand and fished out a paper, handing it to Laura Ann.
“What’s this?” Laura Ann asked, looking over a long list of names.
“Your first product mailing list,” Sophia replied. She took a deep breath. “I wrote it up after our visit to town.” “Mailing list?”
“For the stools. I insist on paying for the shipping too. There are fifty people on that list, and I’ll probably have some more. For Christmas gifts.”
“It’s too early for Christmas. Besides, you don’t have to do this.” Laura Ann’s breath stole away, the idea that Sophia would buy even more stools — to help her. So many friends, doing so much.
“I buy early. And no, I don’t have to do this. But I want to. For them.” She smiled again. “And for you.” She patted the bed. “This is fun.”
Laura Ann moved toward the end of the bed, laying the list at Sophia’s feet. “You have so many friends. I don’t even know that many people.”
The smile disappeared, and Sophia’s hand came to her lips. She turned her head for a long moment, shaking it in silence.
“Sophia?”
Her friend looked back at her, a strained smile, and eyes red. “No.” She shook her head with the word. “It’s not what you think.”
“I’m sorry — “
“Don’t. Don’t be sorry.” She looked away again. “You don’t know me very well. Yet.”
Laura Ann paused, struggling for the right words, then spoke what came to her mind. “I’d like to. To know you better.”
Sophia looked back and the smile returned. “Really? The unvarnished me?”
Laura Ann nodded, wishing she’d been “unvarnished” with Ian long ago. “All of it. We’re sisters, remember?”
They laughed. Sophia scooted closer to her in the bed. “Okay. The people on the list? They’re acquaintances. Clients. Coworkers. But not friends. At least, not a close friend like you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We work together. Or live near each other, even party or shop together. But there’s no one …” Her eyes got red again, her lips taut. “No one who’d do what you’ve done for me. You’re putting your farm on the line to be here, giving up everything you have.”
“I’ll manage. Daddy always said I needed to trust more.” “Speaking of your father, I want you to go home. At least for a while.”
“I’ll be okay. Ian and Granny took a huge load off me, just like you did. They put their savings together and paid another two months’ mortgage,
in advance.” She thought back to the moment when he’d told her of their plan, recalling the elation, the incredible sense of peace that washed over her. Ian and Granny Apple, dedicated to helping her, despite her secrets. Despite a broken trust Ian knew nothing of.
She pasted on a smile, determined to move forward, to be honest with him at last. “Daddy was right. God provides when you least expect it.” She patted Sophia on the shin, a reassuring touch through the sheets.
“See? That’s my point. You trust with such a simple faith, and you’re here with me no matter what the cost — that’s real friendship.” Sophia shrugged. “I don’t have friends like you back home.” Her chin bunched up in a strange mottled way. She squeaked her next words. “I’m so lonely …” After another deep breath, she added, “Except when I’m with you.”
Laura Ann dipped her head in a faint acknowledgment. She understood. It was like that with Ian. She had friends, but none fulfilled her. Except him.
“Is that why — “
“Why I came here?” Sophia interrupted, regaining her control. She nodded. “I hoped — I prayed that you might be someone I could connect with.” She smiled again, her stress draining away. “And that prayer was answered.”
“How?”
“You liked me for who I am, Laura Ann. Back home, I carry lots of baggage. My old ‘career’ in Mexico. My job as a tax attorney, my late husband. I could show you many splinters that have festered after climbing a rough social ladder. I know lots of busy people, but no one who’d slow to a crawl for a lonely heart like me. Until we met. You accepted me for who I am, not for my income, or because of what I drive.” She tilted her head, regarding Laura Ann for a long moment. “You may be the first true friend I’ve had since James died.”
Sophia pulled her sheets up to her neck, her arms bunched tight in front of her chest, eyes focused on some distant point beyond the room. “Loneliness is like being chased down a cold dark alley, Laura Ann. With no way out.” Her voice trembled. “But with you, I finally found a door to a safe warm place.”
When Ian showed up after work, Laura Ann hugged him quickly, then led him by the hand from the room, leaving Sophia behind to nap. Determined to answer the voice inside her that screamed for action, she pulled him through the hospital. She dared not lose her nerve, dared not even one brief glance into his accepting face. If she walked fast, perhaps he wouldn’t see her eyes.
“Whoa! Slow it down, McGehee! What’s the rush?”
She didn’t reply but whisked through the double doors at the main entrance and headed into the familiar embrace of the summer’s late afternoon heat. She would not open her heart to him inside, surrounded by the smells and colors of her nightmare. She turned right and pulled him into a grassy area, then collapsed on the ground, her legs folded under her. She patted the grass at her side.
Ian settled beside her with a little space between. She stared away for a long time, praying for the strength. Praying for the wisdom that Granny spoke of. Praying for Sophia and for James. After a long silence, she cleared her throat, and put her hand out, seeking him.
“Daddy was right,” she began.
“How’s that?” Ian asked, his reassuring squeeze of her hand an encouragement to continue.
She wanted to look at him, to see his face. But his disappointment would crush her. She could not watch.
“He used to tell me — especially back in middle school — he’d say, ‘Peppermint, admit it when you’re wrong.’ “
Ian was quiet, a gentle finger stroking the top of her hand. He had Daddy’s patience.
“So. There’s this thing,” she began, covering her mouth with her free hand when she coughed. “This thing you need to know.” She bent her head, determined to forge on, her fingers gripping her chin until they cramped.
“About Sophia?”
She nodded, unable to form the words.
“I understand, Laura Ann. I spoke with the doctors. I probably understand better than most.”
“No,” she blurted out, shaking her head, bent at the shoulders. She choked back a sob, determined to be strong. Like Daddy.
“What then?”
Laura Ann took a deep breath, then let the secret fly. “I’m going to be a mother.”
Ian released her hand. He sighed, a deep mournful sound she’d never heard from him. Mr. Positive no more.
“When?” he asked, his voice firm. She could sense him moving away, pulling his knees up in front of him.
“Soon,” she said. “But not like you think.”
Somewhere deep inside her, perhaps spurred by the genes of her Scottish forefathers who kept living when their homes were seized, she found the strength to turn. She looked up into his eyes, red eyes that bled betrayal and broken trust.
She reached out for his hand, but he pulled it back, his turn to look away. Laura Ann took another deep breath and pushed on.
“Sophia is pregnant with my egg,” she said, waiting for the words to sink in before she continued. They had little effect. “I sold my eggs, Ian. Four times. To make money so that I could pay the mortgage.”
An earthquake inside her threatened to spill itself out, but she clamped her mouth shut, her chin and chest cramping with the effort. She locked her eyes on Ian, her only source of strength. No … her second source of strength. Somewhere deep inside, that little voice spoke, that gentle Spirit that Daddy used to tell her about so often.
Love is patient. Love is kind. Love rejoices in truth.
A moment later, Ian looked up, his jaw clenched. “I could have helped,” he said, forcing the words. “But you never asked.”
“I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand a second time, and he pulled away again.
“When?” he asked, facing the entrance.
“The first time? I went to a clinic in Morgantown last fall when Daddy was in chemo.” The tears finally burst. The memory of that first day tore at her, the doctor’s leering way, the lingering touch of his fingers, the bite of the needle … all nightmares she’d buried so deep. She bent at the waist, unable to say more.
Somewhere, a bird called. Here in the middle of the city, surrounded by acres of paved land and towering buildings, a mockingbird sang. Its varied tone parodied her own behavior, pretending to be someone she was not. She should have told Ian long ago. Before the first kiss. Before Sophia. She stared at the grass beneath her through a long silence, her vision dulled by tears.
“How many?” he asked at last, an answer to her prayer that he not shut her out forever.
“Four times,” she said, wiping at her eyes with a hand, but unable to look up.
“No. That’s not what I meant.” He paused, his long exhale a sign he was trying to make a point. “How many eggs did you sell?”
The question pierced her. The one truth she’d never dared to voice. “Dozens,” she said, then came clean, determined to find closure in this confession. “Sixty-eight eggs.”
Ian stood up, moving farther away. He leaned into a tree beside her, facing the entrance. “How many more Sophias?” he wondered aloud. “How many more children?” He sighed again, then added, “Your children.”
His words trumpeted her deepest fear, a mystery that would haunt her for years to come. “I don’t know, Ian. And I don’t think I ever will.”
CHAPTER 21
JULY 3
“It could be a week … or a month. There’s no way to know,” Laura Ann said, stepping out of Ian’s truck near The Jug Store. It felt good to be back on home turf after five trying days at the hospital. “She’s got a lawyer friend coming down today from Pittsburgh. Said she had some important papers to sign. This is a good time for me to get out, to take care of things at the farm, and get some clothes. You should take some time off and enjoy the holiday tomorrow, Ian. I plan to stay with Sophia.” She watched him for some reaction, then added, “For as long as it takes.”
Will he understand?
Ian stood on the far side of the vehicle, looking at her across the hood.
His face showed neither smile nor frown, his lips a straight line of pragmatism. He spoke up at last. “Stay until the baby’s born?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
They regarded each other from opposite sides, her hands resting on the fender. The ride down from Wheeling had been horribly quiet, so many unspoken words between them. “Give him time,” Granny Apple had counseled her. “You wounded his trust … and his pride. He wants, more than anything, to protect you and provide for you.”
Laura Ann waited on the other side of the truck, hoping for some words, for some of the spark to return. Suddenly transformed, Ian’s face made a funny expression, one eyebrow up, his lips contorted in a half frown, half smile. He raised his hands in the direction of the creek. “Then lead on, McGehee. Let’s get you home and get packed.”
Home.
The word sunk in for the first time when she turned from Ian and faced the Middle Island Creek. Five days in Wheeling with one change of clothes, five days in the frigid overlit world of the hospital where night never came, where rest was fleeting, and no wind ever blew. Standing on the roadside near The Jug Store, she could feel home, taste it on the hot damp air.
Summer wrapped itself about her. July’s sun scorched the earth, the flood a distant memory for the baking clay beneath her feet. The sweet aroma of clover floated on the breeze. More than a week after the flood, hayfields would be thriving, swollen with sugar and ready for harvest. Hot and dry, it was a perfect day for mowing.
For the first time since her confession, Ian took her hand. “Come see your new crossing.” The touch of his skin shot sparks of new energy through her. A rejuvenating hope.
She followed him down the slope from the store, holding him tight. A trickle of water ran out the base of the logjam, a stark contrast to the roaring waters of last week. In front of her a silver cable ran from a nearby tree to a post on the far bank. A pair of harnesses hung from the tight wire, dangling just beyond her reach.
Ian released her, his hand to the harnesses, admiring his handiwork. “Pretty neat contraption, huh?” He pulled on the line and slid it along the taut wire. “When the water’s up, we can strap this baby on and wade across,” he said. “I towed your truck to the top of the hill, by the way. The key’s under the mat.”