Love's Challenge

by Aubrey Wynne

  “According to my notes, Elizabeth did eventually sit up. But then she regressed and can no longer do so unassisted. Nor does she have voluntary control of her arms and legs.” The doctor adjusted thick black glasses that were in sharp contrast to his pale, white skin. His dark eyes were carefully blank. So clinical, Joe thought. He must not be a father.

  “That’s correct, doctor.”

  “I’m afraid your child appears to have a spinal muscular atrophy. If the testing we did on both of you is correct, it could be Werdnig-Hoffman’s disease.”

  Laura went stiff under his hand. Her circling ceased.

  Joe’s heart stopped ticking for a few beats. He blew air out of his cheeks and pushed a hand through his hair. “Can you put that in plain English, and then tell us how we fix it?”

  When Joe saw compassion flicker in the man’s eyes, dread filled his belly. It was bad news. Very bad news. Laura’s nails dug into his flesh.

  “I’m afraid there is no cure. It’s inherited…a recessive disorder, which means both of you had to carry the gene in order to pass it on to Elizabeth. It affects the part of the nervous system that controls her voluntary muscle movement. That is why you are now seeing the ‘floppiness’, as you describe it, in her arms.” He paused a moment to let them absorb the information.

  Joey stared at the tiny sunflower print of his wife’s sundress. Her legs shifted as she shuffled her feet under the chair and then back out in front of her, the little flowers swaying with the movement.

  What now? Hadn’t they been through enough? He shifted in his seat, the lead in his belly weighing him down.

  Laura’s high-pitched voice was sharp, piercing through the quiet. “So you are saying my daughter will end up in a wheelchair?” She caught his eye, her gaze begging him for strength as the tears welled in her eyes. “We’ll adjust. We have plenty of support. Our family, the church…”

  Joe took her hand again. “Of course, we’ll get through this.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. McCall, I’m afraid you don’t understand the seriousness of this disease. Most babies don’t make six months.” The doctor studied his pile of notes then pushed them aside, his voice gentle and kind. “First, she will lose any control she has left of her large muscles, and then it will spread to the smaller muscles. The disease is already affecting her swallowing mechanism. Next, it will attack her lungs. These children often die of pneumonia or from choking.”

  Silence. Tick! Tick! Tick! The clock reminded Joey of a bomb ready to go off. But this explosion wasn’t taking out a soldier, it was taking his little girl.

  An agonizing cry tore through the quiet room. Laura Beth clutched her belly, rocking and moaning. “No, no, no,” she sobbed. “No, no, no.”

  He reached for her hand, and she jerked it away with a scream. “I want my baby! Get me my baby!”

  The doctor pushed a button. “We need a sedative in here, please.”

  Joey was out of his chair, his arms around this woman who had stood strong through so much. His ma had always said that a woman had a special bond with her child after giving birth. And that bond was being severed. He fought the stinging tears and hovered over Laura Beth as he would a wounded soldier. With clenched teeth, he hissed, “Don’t touch her. I’ll take care of my wife.”

  “Mr. McCall, we need to talk more. There are things you both need to know, in order to be prepared for the future.”

  Joey resisted the urge to clobber the man. “I understand. But right now, you’ve just sucker-punched us in the gut, and my wife is six months pregnant. We’ll continue this conversation when we’ve had time to digest the information.”

  But they never went back to Austin with Lizzie. Instead, they turned to Doc Peters. He researched, called in favors from colleagues, and provided more comfort than any cold, sterile hospital. It didn’t matter. By early November, Lizzie had as much muscle control as an infant. She had trouble swallowing, going to the bathroom—anything that required voluntary movement.

  Except smile. Their beautiful baby girl always had a smile on her face. Joey died a little with each grin, knowing their time together was so short. He remembered the desolation of battle and realized this was no less devasting than war. They were fighting for their lives as they watched their baby die.

  Doc Peters had called them in last week with more bad news. Why not hit them again? They were a couple of punching bags at this point. They had sat down in front of that big mahogany desk with a glass of sweet tea and a smile from Mrs. Peters. And the first blow came. If the disease was a recessive trait, their second child had a one in four chance of the same fate. But the doc wasn’t convinced of the results. “We don’t know a lot about these diseases and genetics. Many of these atrophy disorders mimic each other, so it’s more of an educated guess. The specialists like to say they are certain but…”

  “But what?” Laura Beth had practically screamed. “What else can be worse than this?”

  Dr. Peters suddenly looked old. His shoulders bowed, and his eyes seemed faded and tired. Somehow, Joe felt responsible for that. “She doesn’t mean to yell at you, Doc.”

  “I know,” he agreed with a sad shake of the head. “I wish there were some way for me to fix this. But I feel you need to be prepared for the possibilities. If it’s not a recessive trait, it’s closer to a fifty-fifty chance the unborn child will have the same problem.”

  After that, Laura Beth seemed to fade a little more each day. It reminded him of when Ma went at the end. She took no pleasure in the pregnancy, refused to even think of names. They had to remind her to eat and bathe. The grief process for both her daughter and unborn child had already begun for her. He struggled to find a way to support his wife, to give back the strength she had always held for him. But there was nothing he could offer except to be there.

  Max and Leroy tiptoed around the house, afraid to disturb her. Shirley came over daily, but Laura would only stare at her blankly or nod as if she were listening. She switched back and forth from snapping to sobbing at the drop of a hat. Personally, he preferred the anger. It gave him a glimpse of the girl he loved. Joe didn’t recognize the morose woman he found in his bed most nights.

  When it happened, no one was ready. How could anyone be ready for the loss of a child, he wondered. It was early morning, and everyone was still in bed. Some noise must have stirred Laura Beth, for she threw her legs over the side of the mattress and heaved herself up. With her hand on her lower back, Joe watched her lumber to the crib. Lizzie slept with a pillow to keep her propped up now. It helped her breathe easier and kept her lungs clear, but she’d had a rough week.

  He heard a soft exclamation as she lifted the baby from her crib. “Oh,” she said. And in that simple two-letter word, he knew their Lizzie was gone. With a deep breath, he rose and moved behind his wife and daughter, gathering them both close. For the first time in months, Laura Beth accepted his comfort and leaned on him. They rocked their little girl together, back and forth, one last time. Tears streamed down their faces as the sun rose on a new day, a childless day.

  Chapter 12

  “Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference.”

  Charlie Chaplin

  Late November 1954

  Sweet Grove, Texas

  Mrs. Avery wrapped the baby in a blanket, his little mouth open as he wailed, his face the shade of a beet. Laura had sworn she’d rather die than give birth in a hospital, so Mrs. Avery had offered to come out of retirement and be the midwife. She had scoffed at Joey’s request to help.

  “I’ve seen more blood and guts than you can imagine, beg your pardon, ma’am. But it’d take a lot to make me queasy.” He’d folded his arms over his chest and dug in his heels. “I missed the first delivery, and you can’t keep me from the second.”

  “Well, it’s very irregular but I’ll make an exception.” The silver-haired lady winked a twinkly green eye and patted him on the cheek as if he were Leroy’s age. “But you’ll need some training first.”

&nb
sp; Laura looked at the tiny face and searched deep for some kind of happiness. But her heart was empty. She had no more strength. Her mother told her it would get easier, the loss more manageable. She would begin to feel again. And Mom had been right. There was a weight on her soul, crushing it, squeezing it, wringing out every last drop of emotion, so she’d never have to feel such sorrow or loss again. And that was fine with her.

  Mrs. Avery brought her the baby. “He looks healthy for coming three weeks early. What are we naming him?”

  “Joseph Evan McCall,” Joey said in wonder, and she remembered that same feeling one long ago October. Good, Joe Jr. would need his father. She rolled over, avoiding the shock on the thin woman’s face when she didn’t take the baby. “Joey, please feed him. I need to sleep.”

  As she drifted off, she could hear the hushed whispers—some low, some frantic. They were talking about her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

  Three weeks later

  A sharp knock on the door brought her awake. “Laura, are you sleeping?” Max called from the other side.

  “Not now.”

  He pushed open the door with his foot, a tray of toast and coffee in his hands. She gave him a rare smile. “We got out of that routine, didn’t we?”

  Max nodded. “Time to get back to normal around here. Besides, Christmas is right around the corner. We can’t put the tree up or string popcorn without you. ”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage. I’m not feeling very festive these days.”

  “Well, I can understand that. But Leroy won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” He pulled up a chair and rearranged her pillows so she could sit up and drink. “I made your favorite cinnamon sugar toast.”

  He handed her the plate. She nibbled instead of talking, taking an occasional sip of coffee and waiting for her father-in-law to start the conversation. It didn’t take long.

  “Joey Jr. sure has a set of lungs on him. Did you hear him last night? I thought he’d wake up the neighbors for sure.” He grinned. “My son doesn’t have the same touch as you.”

  “He’s doing fine.” She nibbled at the crust, taking every last crumb of sugar off the edge. “He wants to help. In fact, I think I’ll start looking for a job next week.”

  The cup clattered against the saucer. “A job?”

  “Yes, Max. I am trained secretary, remember? I think it’s time I did something outside the house. My mother said she would watch the baby.”

  She saw the disapproval in his eyes for both the job and continuing to call her son “the baby.”

  “Sweetheart, things can’t go on like this. Joe’s exhausted taking care of JJ at night and working at the shop during the day. The boy needs his Momma. It’s not natural—”

  “It wasn’t natural for Lizzie to die! It’s not natural to hold a child to you breast knowing he could go the same way.” Laura closed her eyes and took a breath. Another deep breath. Stay calm and numb. It was the only way. “I’m sorry if I’ve put you out. He’ll start sleeping through the night soon. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll start taking turns with my grandson. I’ll pick up another crib for my room and help out then.” He walked to the door; his shoulders slumped. Without looking back, he said hoarsely, “I sure wish Laura Beth would come back to us. We miss her something awful.”

  “You have a visitor, Laura.” Max stuck his head in the kitchen. “The pastor is here to see you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I won’t talk to him. Tell him I’m busy. Tell him I’m not up to it.”

  Her mother appeared next to Max. “We’ll tell him no such thing. Now get dressed, comb your hair, and come into the living room. Your father is waiting too.” The tone was unmistakable. Shirley was calling rank with her daughter.

  “Daddy is with the pastor?”

  “I know, it’s a miracle. I told Joe if I could get my husband in the same room as a godly man, I could certainly get you there. Now, go!” She shooshed her daughter down the hall.

  Laura groaned as she ran a comb through her hair and put on a blouse and jeans. She looked under the bed for her sneakers and then stuck with the slippers out of defiance. She froze at the reflection in the mirror. The dark circles made her eyes look bruised. Her cheeks were hollow, and her hair limp and dull. No wonder they looked at her with such horror.

  In the living room, her father sat on the edge of the couch as if ready to bolt. When his eyes lifted to her face, she saw the shock as he took in her appearance. Embarrassment stained her cheeks, adding a little color.

  Pastor Hall stood to greet her. “Laura, we’ve missed you at church.”

  She nodded but her eyes darted to the door. There stood Joey, blocking any escape. He put an arm around her, and they both sat on the sofa. Her parents and the pastor sat opposite and Max took the far chair. It was an ambush. Resentment sprouted and swelled inside her.

  “We were hoping you would come back and sing in the choir this Sunday. I don’t believe you’ve visited us since October, except for the…”

  “The funeral? Yes, that was my last talk with God. It seems he doesn’t listen anymore, so I’ve given up on the one-way conversations.”

  Her mother gasped at the words and tone of disrespect. A momentary wave of guilt rushed her and then vanished.

  “We thought the minister could offer you some comfort, perhaps pray with you.”

  “I told you, I’m done with prayer.”

  “Now Laura,” her father began in his most placating tone. “You have a son and responsibilities—”

  “How dare you! How dare you talk of responsibilities when it comes to children. You didn’t speak to me for months. And now you preach to me about being a parent?”

  The room grew silent. Pastor Hall cleared his throat. “Could Laura and I have a few moments in private?”

  With murmurs of agreement and shuffling feet, the room cleared. She put her elbows on her knees and rested her forehead in her hands. “I am so tired. Just so tired.”

  “I know. And God has deserted you, of course.”

  She looked up to see if he mocked her, but his expression was sincere.

  “We all experience a loss or event in our life that makes us doubt our faith. Believe it or not, it’s quite natural. Makes us wonder how there could possibly be a God if he let these things happen.” He smiled sadly. “You are not the first and won’t be the last to feel forsaken.”

  “I’ve tried to be a good person, to do the right thing, to think of others first. I dug deep inside myself to understand and forgive my father. I took on the pain of all three McCalls when Dixie left us. I remained steadfast when Joey was sent to Korea.” She gripped her knees and hissed at the minister. “But this is too much. I can’t accept this.”

  “Laura, do you remember the story of Job?”

  She nodded. “Yes. He was tested over and over. But he had never given up anything before. It’s not the same.”

  “A test of faith is never easy, regardless of your past. But let’s look at why you have given up. I have known you for ten years. Your heart is full of love, and I can’t believe it has dried up so quickly.”

  She leaned back, staring at the ceiling and wondering which was worse: constant tears or this emptiness. “If I love again, I’ll hurt again. He’ll die too, you know. And I can’t, I just can’t do it one more time.”

  To her surprise, Pastor Hall chuckled. “Oh, Laura Beth. Of course you can. That’s what life is all about. Loving, hurting, falling down, getting back up. Tell me, would you have given up your friendship with Dixie if you had known she would die?”

  Outrage stole her breath. “Ah! How… How could you ask me that?”

  “You insist you can never love again because you can’t risk the pain. But think of all you risk by not loving again.” He left her with those words of supposed wisdom. A tiny seed planted in the far corners of her mind.

  To get rid of her parents, she promised both of them they would start the Sund
ay barbecues again. She couldn’t continue to punish the rest of the family. There had been so much joy in those weekly afternoons.

  When Joey said he had to get some yard work done, Laura took a deep breath and told him to go on. Surprise and then pride flitted across his face.

  He cupped her face with one hand and gave her a light kiss on the lips. The touch was almost a whisper but held so much passion. Her heart shrunk back, terrified again of the other extreme. Joey sensed it and backed off. “Leroy, come in here and help Laura.”

  He came running in from the kitchen. “Pa went back to the shop for the afternoon, and I need to get some yard work done. The Walters are coming over for steak on Sunday.”

  “Yipe-e-e-e.” Leroy jumped up, both arms in the air. “It’s about time we got that party started again.”

  “You and your parties, boy. I need you to help Laura with JJ while I mow the lawn. Stay in the house in case she calls for you.”

  “Roger Dodger!”

  Laura watched him walk away, the t-shirt stretched across his wide shoulders. A stirring in her belly brought back memories of a happier time. Maybe… The baby—no, Joe Jr—was sleeping, so it was no hardship to agree to watch over him. She went into the kitchen and made some sweet tea. As she was putting the pitcher in the refrigerator, the first cry reached her ears.

  She walked into the bedroom, leaned over the crib, studying her son. He was blonde and blue-eyed where Lizzie had been dark. He was fussy and loud where Lizzie had been relaxed and quiet. He was alive…but for how long?

  Laura turned her back and leaned against the railing. I can’t do this. I can’t do it. “Leroy! Leroy, come here please.”

  The nine year old skidded into the bedroom. “I’m here, Beth. Watcha need?”

  “Could you pick up the baby and check his diaper, please?”

  “Sure!” Leroy pulled the baby up and held him close. “I’ve been practicing with Pa. We’re getting pretty good at baby stuff.” Holding JJ up, he sniffed his backside. “Nothin’ disgusting, so he’s just wet.”