Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace

by Debra Moerke

  Moments later, two officers escorted Karen into the room across from me. She was dressed in orange scrubs and shackled in ankle chains that forced her to shuffle. A belly belt was wrapped around her waist, and her hands were cuffed to a large silver ring attached to the belt. My chest tightened at the sight of her chained and cuffed. I wasn’t expecting to see her like that. In Casper, our visits had been one-on-one in the same room. There were no cuffs or ankle chains. Without warning, my eyes filled with tears. Once she saw me, tears filled her eyes as well, and she looked down as though she wanted to hide her face from me.

  One of the officers took Karen’s arm, helping her to the chair. She looked up at me as she sat. We stared at each other, watching tears stream down each other’s faces.

  I picked up the phone. Karen shifted to one side, trying to reach her phone on the other side. With her hands still cuffed to the belly belt, she could barely reach it. Holding it almost six inches from her face, she said, “We will have to talk loud so we can hear each other.”

  That’s crazy. How do they expect an inmate to talk on the phone when she can’t bring it to her ear? I had to remind myself that the prison wasn’t there to accommodate an inmate but to restrict her. We would have to make the best of it.

  “How are you doing?” I asked as I wiped tears from my face.

  Karen’s tears fell on her shirt. “It’s not that bad. It’s better than the jail. Well, other than having to be chained and cuffed like this.” We both chuckled, pretending to make light of what was so serious.

  “Have you heard anything from your attorney?” I asked.

  “Just that they definitely plan to go for the death penalty. I don’t know how all that will turn out. But that’s what they are saying for now.” Karen chewed the inside of her cheek as she stared at me through the glass.

  The death penalty. Is this all really happening, Lord? My mind struggled to take in such horrendous information. “How do you feel about that?” I asked. What a stupid question!

  “I don’t know. It makes me sad for my children, but maybe it would be for the best. It’s that or life in prison. I don’t think I could spend the rest of my life here.” Fresh tears sprang from her eyes. She shook her head as if she wasn’t sure of what she was saying.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Have you heard anything? Anything about the kids?” She wrestled with the phone as it began to slip from her fingers.

  “No. I think they’re all doing okay. Have you heard from your parents?”

  “No. I don’t hear from anyone except you.” She gave me a warm smile. “I do have something very important to ask you though.” Karen leaned closer to the window that separated us.

  “What’s that?” I drew closer too. We could almost hear each other better through the glass than through the phone.

  “Would you consider taking legal guardianship of the baby when it’s born? I don’t want DFS to take it. I will never know what happens to it if they do.” Her eyes narrowed as if pleading, hoping she would hear the answer she wanted.

  I sat back in my chair in disbelief.

  Lord, every time I think circumstances can’t get more bizarre, another shock wave hits.

  Trying to get a grip on my emotions, I peered through the window at the woman who hadn’t wanted me to take Hannah, then murdered her, but now wanted me to take her unborn child when it arrived.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, just staring, trying to absorb this request. “Isn’t there family or someone else you would rather have guardianship? Your parents or a friend?”

  “No. You are the only one. I know the baby will be cared for and loved, and I will have peace knowing where it is.” She sat motionless, waiting for my answer.

  “I don’t know.” I stammered. “I can’t tell you that now. I would have to talk to Al and my children. I’m not sure if that would be what’s best for the baby. I will need to pray about it, and I ask you to pray about it as well.” The whole idea threw me. I needed time to think and pray.

  “I have prayed about it,” Karen answered with confidence. “That’s why I’m asking you.” Our eyes locked, and a special connection we had never had before began to develop at that moment.

  But why me? Wouldn’t I be the last person she would want to take guardianship of her child? Isn’t she the last person whose child I would want? Do I really want to have that kind of continued connection with her?

  “I will talk to Al and let you know.” I wanted the visit to end right then. Karen’s request suddenly stirred feelings of deep anger. Anger that she took Hannah’s life when she could have allowed her to stay with our family and prevented this nightmare. “When is the next time you will be in Casper? We could talk more about it then.”

  “I don’t know. I never know until I’m in the van and on my way. I can call you from the jail and we can talk about it again. Is that okay?” Her slight smile and raised brows held the expression of anticipation and hope. Clearly, she did not want no for an answer, nor did she want the visit to end.

  “Yes, we can talk then.” I returned the smile, though mine wasn’t genuine.

  Through the glass, I could see an officer nearby and waved to him that we were done. With one last look at each other, I waved good-bye as the officer helped Karen from her chair. She turned to shuffle away with him down the hall—such a disheartening sight.

  As the final door to the prison unlocked, releasing me to the parking lot, tears streamed down my face. Before I reached my car, my tears had turned to sobs. I could hardly see to put the key in the lock of my car to open it. I hurriedly turned on the engine and threw the gearshift into reverse. I couldn’t get out of Lusk fast enough, as far from the prison as I could get. I wanted to be alone with God.

  As I drove the long stretch home, I asked God to fill me with peace. I needed it desperately. The anger in my chest seemed to be clawing its way up through my throat, and I wanted to scream. I had been devastated by Hannah’s death, but I hadn’t allowed myself to be angry. Really angry. I was afraid to let my anger surface. I didn’t know what it would look like, and I was scared to let it out. What would happen if I did? Would it rip apart everything and everyone in my path? Family? Karen? I couldn’t change anything. I couldn’t bring Hannah back. I couldn’t reverse what Karen had done. I had no control over the situation, and I didn’t know how to process it all. It was as if I was releasing Hannah into Karen’s care all over again.

  Somehow, I managed to get myself together before I reached home. I didn’t want Al or my children to see me in such an emotional mess.

  A few days passed before I felt ready to talk to Al. I was waiting for a time when he and I could go for coffee and pie somewhere. I didn’t want to talk about it at home where kids, summer activities, and Al’s job kept us from sneaking off for private, uninterrupted conversation. I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring it up to Al in the first place. I was so confused. Finally, I told him I needed to talk to him about something Karen said.

  As we sat down at Denny’s Coffee Shop, I presented Al with the idea of guardianship. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “We can talk about it later, Deb. You need to concentrate on the pageant for now. Can we agree to pray about it and discuss it when we get home from Texas?” As usual, he made sense. We would wait until the national competition for the Mrs. International pageant was over.

  I was obligated to compete in the pageant no matter what was going on in my private life. It was time to focus on the preparations. Two things I needed to find were a formal gown and a semiformal dress. Liz had recommended a lady in South Dakota who specialized in gowns for pageants. I called and we scheduled a time for me to come. I appreciated her availability but dreaded the long drive—it would take four to five hours. That would be an all-day, if not an overnight trip. I had no time for such a trivial trip, and I once again began to resent the pageant, wondering why God had prompted me to allow such a thing in my life when our family was so devastated by
Hannah’s death. What good was a sparkly crown and satin sash in light of such loss, murder, and possibly the death penalty? Couldn’t I just excuse myself and tell the organizers that Mrs. Wyoming couldn’t make it?

  A friend suggested that one of the airlines might give me a discount for a quick round-trip flight to South Dakota in exchange for naming it as a sponsor. It was worth a try, so I went to the Natrona County airport. In the lobby, I ran into an acquaintance of Al’s and mine, Dale Leatham. He worked as a part-time US customs and border patrol officer and was a customer service agent for Delta Air Lines.

  “Are you here to pick up someone?” he asked.

  “No. I’m here to see if I can get a cheap flight, or even a sponsored flight, to South Dakota to buy a gown.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I saw you won the Mrs. Wyoming pageant. Congratulations! I think that’s great!” He put out his hand to shake mine. “As far as getting a sponsored flight, I don’t think the airlines can do that. But I might be able to help.” His words were encouraging, though I couldn’t imagine what help he could be.

  “I have a friend who flies cargo to different places. I know he goes to South Dakota. Maybe he would be willing to let you fly with him when he goes there. Would you like me to check with him? If I tell him why, he may go along with it.”

  I gave Dale a hug and wrote my number on a scrap paper, thinking how running into him was an unexpected answer to prayer.

  Dale called the next day. “You’re on! Can you leave Wednesday at six in the morning? The pilot will fly you there, then back to Casper a few hours later.”

  I scrambled to set up an early-morning appointment with the woman in South Dakota and make arrangements for my family’s care. I would leave Casper at six and return before noon, dresses in hand.

  I met the pilot at 5:30 a.m. Barely awake, I finished a cup of coffee I had bought on the way and climbed aboard the small cargo plane. It was much like the FedEx plane Tom Hanks flew on in the movie Castaway. I was actually in the compartment with all the cargo. Boxes and crates were strapped behind a netted safety barrier. I pulled down the jump seat behind the pilot and strapped myself in.

  “It’s going to get really loud and very bumpy, so make sure your belt is tight and secure,” the pilot yelled over the roaring engine.

  Barely believing this was actually happening, I gave a thumbs-up and the plane taxied away from the terminal. I hoped I wouldn’t get airsick since I was facing the side of the plane and not forward. I took a deep breath as the engine whistled a high-pitched squeal and the plane forced its way into the sky. Wheels up. We were on our way.

  For the next hour, there would be no conversation beyond a few shouted words from the pilot asking if I was all right.

  No, I wasn’t all right. There I was, high in the sky, the roar of an engine piercing my ears, the dips and shaking of the small plane upsetting my stomach, and memories of Hannah filling my mind. I hated that I was on my way to go gown shopping. I should be doing something else. Something constructive. There is no purpose for this pageant.

  As I wrestled with sweet memories and bitter feelings, I knew that only God’s Word would help me to focus and keep me from an emotional spill right there on the plane. I needed to hear from him. So I pulled out the small Bible I kept in my purse. Though the shaking and rattling of the plane made it difficult, I tried to focus on the small print. The brown silk ribbon marker rested in the book of James. I moved the ribbon aside and began to read.

  Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.

  JAMES 1:2-5

  The Lord was speaking directly to me. As I continued reading, another verse jumped out at me, gripping my heart.

  Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.

  JAMES 1:12

  The crown. The crown of life.

  I read verse twelve over and over again, my heart hammering with awe. I suddenly realized, beyond a doubt, what the Lord was telling me through my pageant participation. Yes, he was speaking about crowns . . . but he was teaching me that it’s not the physical jeweled crown for worldly achievements that is important. What matters to God is the spiritual crown—the crown of life—we will receive for surrendering to God when we persevere through the trials of this life on earth.

  I was thunderstruck, so it seemed only right that the plane dipped and vibrated in bone-rattling turbulence. I gripped the frame of my seat with confidence.

  I can do this. I can face any turbulence that comes my way. This pageant isn’t some frivolous side trip. My participation in these pageants is your grand object lesson for me. I am to be about my Father’s business earning the crown of surrender and obedience, then lay that crown at the foot of the cross.

  My part in these pageants, and in Hannah’s story and its aftermath, was simply to surrender everything to my Father and do as he asked.

  And there, literally flying through the heavens, I called out to my Lord, “I’m all in, dear Lord. Whatever you bring, I’m all in.”

  Chapter 14The Decision

  EVEN THOUGH THE KIDS WERE in the backseat, the long drive to Texas for the national pageant gave Al and me time to discuss the question of guardianship of Karen’s unborn child, though it was too soon to come to any conclusions. We knew how to talk quietly in code.

  Once we arrived in Tyler, my mind was totally focused on the pageant.

  For four days, fifty women moved as one through the hotel, local restaurants, and community events. We all wore our sashes and were known by our states, not our names. I remember liking Mrs. Florida and Mrs. Missouri, but I can’t remember their names.

  I soon realized how seriously many of the other ladies were taking not only this pageant, but all the others in which they had participated. For some, it was one of the most significant events of their lives. There were those who found their identity in where they ranked in the final hours of the pageant. I thought frequently of my realization in the cargo plane that this experience was my opportunity to celebrate the crown of life, and that surrendering my crown at the foot of the cross was my ultimate goal. This freed me from the anxiety that so many of my fellow participants suffered.

  However, I did feel small-town, unrefined, and clueless around most of the women. Even backstage, the clothes, undergarments, and personal hair and makeup artists that they brought with them tempted me to question my sophistication. I had to intentionally remind myself that my value lay in my identity in Christ. Fortunately, there was a small group of other Christians competing. I felt drawn to them and asked if they would like to share in prayer and a devotional between breakfast and lunch each morning. Five agreed, and we met in a small room off the banquet area. We prayed for one another during the daily process of the pageant. Hearing their prayers and sharing about what God had done in each of our lives put many of my insecurities to rest.

  There were interviews, photo shoots, production rehearsals, banquets, and a husband-and-wife party night at a local country western restaurant. Four days and three nights flew by. I may have slept three hours a night the whole time there.

  During my interview with the judges, one asked, “When this pageant is over, and you are on your way home, what would you like to be able to say that you accomplished during this time?”

  “That’s an easy question. I would like to know I accomplished the steps to the dance routine the night of the pageant and did it in three-inch heels.” The judge laughed, not realizing I was serious.

  During the final night of the pageant as I looked out at the audience and saw my children sitting next to Dale and Lauree, I felt so grateful for th
e love and support with which God had blessed me. I knew that my identity wasn’t tied up in the outcome of this event. I was a beloved daughter of God, who had given me roles to play in the lives of these precious people. I thought of Karen and the child she was carrying. Was there a long-term role I was to play in their lives? I didn’t know.

  When the pageant ended, I was ready to go home. I can’t even remember who won—except that it wasn’t me. I just wanted to go back to Casper and the life God had given me there. I still wore the Wyoming crown, but more important, I knew I had obeyed God and done my best. I felt free knowing there would be no more events to compete in. I knew that my crowning moment had occurred not onstage, but in the air in the cargo plane. The experience left me thankful for my simple life with my family and more aware than ever before that wherever I went I wore the crown of life and was a representative of my heavenly Father.

  On the drive home, I kept thinking of Karen and the life within her. When we returned to Casper, Al and I would be faced with a potentially life-changing decision.

  I couldn’t get past the thought that the temporary nature of guardianship didn’t seem the best option for the baby. How would the child feel? Would Karen expect me to bring the child to the prison over the years? Would I have to explain the whole sad story to this child one day?

  After a few days of traveling, our family arrived home. It was August, and shopping for school clothes and supplies was the first priority. Al and I put off the daunting discussion for another week.

  Finally, it was time. On Saturday morning Al began the conversation in the kitchen. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think guardianship would be the best thing for the baby,” he said over a cup of coffee. “What security would that give the child growing up?” I was relieved that Al’s thoughts resonated with my own.