Miracle

by Kimberly Shursen

  It felt like a sledgehammer hit her in the stomach. “What? Why?” But Charlie didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh God, please.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Please, no,” she whimpered, “please let them be alright.”

  The nurse took her by the arm and tugged. “Why don’t you sit down in the lounge and—”

  Charlie jerked her arm away. “I don’t want to sit down!” Spotting a parent peeking out a door, she lowered her voice. “Look. I just need to know where Miracle and Faith are.”

  “You have to calm down,” the nurse told her curtly. “There are other babies here.”

  Charlie felt like slapping her. She didn’t care who was here. Her children were gone. Where had they taken them? And why?

  While she paced, chewing on her thumbnail, she tried not to think about the worst possible scenarios. Damn it, where was Clint when she needed him?

  “Mrs. Abbott?” an unfamiliar man dressed in scrubs said coming toward her.

  “What’s going on?” Charlie asked, not waiting for introductions.

  “Let’s talk privately.”

  She bit her lower lip, trying to keep her emotions in check as she followed him to the twins’ room. A cold chill raced down her spine when she saw that the crib was gone and the monitors were silent.

  “Why don’t we sit down and—”

  “Why is everyone telling me to sit down?” She glared at him. “I’m going insane here. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “I understand. The smaller child…”

  “Faith?”

  “Yes, Faith. She…” He walked closer and took her trembling hands in his. “I’m so sorry.”

  When her legs started to give out, she put a hand on back of the couch for support. “Sorry about what?” She couldn’t breathe, praying he wasn’t going to tell her what she didn’t want to hear.

  “She didn’t make it.” He paused. “We’re prepping the twins for surgery. We need to separate them before Miracle…”

  “Miracle” was the last word Charlie heard before her legs gave out and everything around her faded to black.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sheffield, Iowa

  1996

  CHARLIE SET THE CLOTHES BASKET ON THE GROUND and tilted her head back, feeling the sun warm her face. She drew in a contented deep breath, smelling the fresh, earthy aroma of Iowa in July.

  Her eyes went to the birds perched on the railing of the porch, chirping out their morning medley. God, she loved living on the farm. She’d never had a desire to go to college or, like many of her classmates, trade life in small-town Iowa for a shot at success in the big city. She’d been lucky enough to not only marry her best friend but also to enjoy the peace and privacy that came with living on 736 acres of prime farmland.

  After Clint’s father passed, they’d painted the two-story family home an airy light yellow and then added white shutters. They’d replaced the rotting wood on the expansive front porch with composite decking.

  In the spring, Charlie hung baskets of lush green ferns and bright red geraniums laced with ivy from the eaves. Like Clint’s mother, Charlie loved the outdoors and took pride in the daisies, deep purple astilbes, red and yellow roses, and butterfly bushes, as well as a myriad of other flowers and shrubs that surrounded their home.

  Their home that sat a ways back from Highway 34 was dotted with towering pines and oaks. From April through mid-October, cornstalks edged three sides of the stately farm home.

  Clint had lived here all his life. They’d married the day after graduation and Charlie had moved in with Kate and Sam Abbott. It had been devastating when they lost Kate as she’d been like a second mother to Charlie. But just as difficult to accept was when a massive stroke that took Sam from them.

  She swiped a tendril of long hair off her face, picked up a clean white sheet from the basket and started to hang it on the line.

  The older generation in Sheffield said Charlie looked just like her mother when she was Charlie’s age that people referred to as a natural beauty. She’d not only inherited her mother’s round green eyes, but the thick, naturally wavy, reddish-brown hair.

  When she heard six-year-old daughter Miracle, who Clint and Charlie called Mira, singing “Under the Sea,” she stopped what she was doing and found her daughter on the swing set. Charlie swore Mira had seen The Little Mermaid a zillion times, but never tired of hearing Mira’s sweet, angelic voice.

  Mira’s shiny, wheat-colored hair flew out behind her as she leaned back in the swing, pointed her toes to the sky, and pumped her spindly legs, going higher and higher.

  It didn’t seem real that she’d be starting kindergarten this fall. Just thinking about seeing Mira’s innocent face in the window of the school bus as Charlie waved goodbye to her only child brought tears.

  Charlie shielded her eyes from the sun and searched for Clint’s three-wheeler through the maze of perfectly aligned stalks of corn.

  When she didn’t find him, she picked up another sheet, snatched up two clothespins, and placed one of them between her teeth.

  “Mommy?” Charlie heard and looked down.

  Mira’s bright blue eyes were a clone of Clint’s, down to the mischievous twinkle. She was wearing her favorite OshKosh B’gosh overalls that Charlie had to steal after Mira fell asleep just to wash them.

  She finished hanging the sheet, bent over, and touched the end of Mira’s small nose sprinkled with a few light freckles. “What’s up, sweetie?”

  Mira looked up at the sky and then back at Charlie. “Is there another place besides heaven we can go to when we die?”

  The question took her by surprise.“Why, honey?”

  Mira shrugged her shoulders. “‘Cause I think there is.”

  “Well, if there is, no one told me about it.”

  Mira pointed an index finger up at the sky. “Heaven is way up there, right?”

  “Yes. That’s where God and all the angels live.”

  “I think there’s another place up there too.”

  Charlie wondered where Mira got such an idea. She was only around other children when they went to church, as living in the country made it difficult for play dates. “I don’t think so, honey, but I could be wrong.” She stood up straight and looked around. “Have you seen Hank?” Charlie asked, changing the subject.

  Mira scrunched up her nose and nodded toward the fields. “Prob’ly chasin’ a frog or somethin’.”

  Clint hadn’t been keen on having a dog, but when Mira begged and carried on he’d given in like he usually did and they’d kept the lost puppy they’d found wandering around their yard.

  Charlie watched Mira scamper away toward the sand pile shaded by a tall oak, grateful she hadn’t asked more questions about the hereafter.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  Startled, Charlie whipped around and saw Clint standing close behind her. She slapped Clint’s tan forearm playfully. “Don’t sneak up me like that.”

  “Why? It’s fun.” Clint bent over to kiss her, but she turned her head.

  “Sweaty pig. No way.” With his boyish good looks and muscular physique, at twenty-eight he turned the ladies’ heads wherever they went.

  Clint smacked his lips together. “Come on, baby. Give papa a kiss.” Sensing trouble, Charlie took off running.

  Stalking after her, his arms stiff and out to his sides like a monster, Clint called in a deep monotone voice, “Come to me, my sweet.”

  “Stop it!” At the side of the house, Charlie quickly picked up the end of the hose and pointed the nozzle at him.

  He cocked his head to the side. “You wouldn’t.”

  Not taking her eyes off him, she reached down and turned on the spigot. “Oh… wouldn’t I?”

  He glanced down at his thigh-high, muddy, waterproof boots, the worn jeans that had given way to holes, and then slapped a hand over his T-shirt sprinkled with dry mud. “But these are my best clothes.”

  On impulse, she pulled back the nozzle and sprayed the
cold jet of water up and down him.

  Stomping his boots and taking off his saturated baseball cap, he let out a crazed holler as he marched toward her. “You’re so done!”

  After Charlie dropped the hose, she raced toward the front yard. “Mira!” she called laughing. “Help!”

  “Gotcha,” Mira shouted, coming out of nowhere and wrapping her arms around her daddy’s legs. “I got him, Mommy!”

  Clint beat his chest with his fists. “Now you’re the one in trouble.” He reached for Mira, but she was too quick and scrambled away.

  When Clint caught her, Mira squealed with delight when he picked her up, and twirled her around.

  After Clint set Mira down and pecked her cheek, he found Charlie on the front porch. Pointing at her, he said, “You started this, so you need to be punished.” He glanced down at Mira. “What should we do to punish Mommy?”

  “Hmmm.” Even from a distance, Charlie saw Mira’s eyes light up. “A time-out maybe?”

  “Good idea.” He took Mira’s small hand in his. “But not a very long one, ‘cause this daddy’s hungry.”

  Charlie watched the two go around the side of the house, hearing Mira’s chatter. She opened the front door, walked through the living room, and joined them in the kitchen at the back of the house.

  “Want to help make lunch, Mira?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes!” Mira dragged a chair that was taller than she was from the table to the counter.

  “I’ll be right back.” Clint turned and walked under the arched entrance toward the stairs. “Gotta change outta these wet clothes.”

  “What shall we make for lunch, honey?” Charlie asked Mira.

  “Hmmm.” Mira thought for a few seconds. “How ’bout samitches? And chocolate milk.”

  “Good idea.” Charlie went to the refrigerator and took out the leftover ham.

  The kitchen was Charlie’s favorite room in the house. She and Clint had talked about updating the kitchen. They’d discussed taking out the dark oak cupboards and replacing them with a lighter finish, and changing out the worn linoleum with a wood floor. But there were so many fond memories of Clint’s parents, and the chats they’d had at the kitchen table that she couldn’t bring herself to redecorate.

  “Can I make everything?” Mira asked.

  “You think you’re big enough?”

  Mira put a hand on her hip and shot Charlie a look. “Mommy. I’m almost in kindergarten.”

  “Sorry.” Charlie held back a chuckle. “I keep forgetting.”

  After she put Mira over the sink to wash her sticky hands, Charlie said, “Can you get the chips out of the cupboard while I call Daddy?”

  “Yep.” Mira was six going on thirty.

  Charlie walked under the arched entrance and into the living room. From the worn couch and the wobbly oval-shaped coffee table, to the “Home Sweet Home” cross-stitch that hung on the wall, everything in the house was the same as it was when Clint’s parents were alive. But Charlie had never been interested in fancy furnishings or clothes. Like the kitchen, the living room held fond memories.

  Mira chatted nonstop during lunch. Charlie put her napkin down on her plate and glanced at Mira. “That was delicious, honey. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mira said proudly.

  “Did anyone feed Hank?” Charlie asked.

  Clint shook his head. “Haven’t seen him.”

  Charlie pushed her chair back, picked up her plate, and set it in the sink before opening the back door. “Hank?” Charlie called standing on the top step, the hot breeze brushing across her cheeks. She often worried that he’d find his way to the highway. Walking down the few steps into the yard, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Come here, boy. Come on, Hank.” She made a few smacking sounds before she caught him coming out through a row of cornstalks, his head down.

  “Just what have you been up to?” she asked, walking toward him. Seeing he was covered in mud, she knew he’d visited the swamp just north of the farm again. “Oh, Hank.” Charlie put her hands on her hips. “It’s under the hose for you, buddy.”

  His tongue hanging out, and his bushy tail hidden between his legs, Hank strutted lazily behind Charlie. With short legs, a head too large for his body, and a pushed-in nose like a pug, he was comical to look at. And yet, his sweet disposition and the way he seemed to know what Mira was thinking before Charlie did, melted her heart.

  She turned on the spigot, set the nozzle to a gentle mist, and started to wash him down. Hank knew the routine. When Charlie turned off the hose, he shook his furry body, covering Charlie’s bare legs with droplets of water.

  When she went back into the house, Clint had already retired to the living room, where he caught the midday news and, more often than not, took a short nap before going back into the fields.

  Hearing Mira, Charlie went up the stairs, each stair creaking with old age. She found Mira playing with her vast collection of dolls in her bedroom.

  The Victorian dollhouse that Clint and his father built took up one corner of the room and an antique chest that sat below double windows was packed with toys. When Mira was big enough to go from a crib to a regular bed, Charlie had made pink and white gingham curtains that matched Mira’s bedspread.

  She sat down across from Mira on the round braided area rug in front of the dollhouse and crossed one leg over the other. “So, what’s happening with the girls today?” Mira referred to her dolls as “the girls.”

  “Oh.” Mira’s eyes grew wide when she picked up a doll with curly, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. “Jenny’s a mess.”

  She suppressed a smile. “Why?”

  “Well.” Mira looked up as if she were trying to come up with an answer. “Her tummy’s hungry.” An impish smile crossed her face. “Maybe ice cream would help.”

  Charlie smiled. “Ya think?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So, if you had some ice cream”—Charlie pointed at Mira—“Jenny might feel better?”

  Mira didn’t bat an eye. “I think so.”

  Charlie stood and offered her hand to Mira. “Then we’d better go make Jenny feel better.”

  They spent the afternoon sipping lemonade and chatting about everything from a new doll Mira wanted for her birthday to Mira drawing a new picture for Clint that they’d hang with the rest of her artwork on the refrigerator.

  After a bubble bath, Mira put on her favorite pajamas with a smiling purple Barney that covered her tummy.

  “Time for prayers,” Clint said.

  After Mira was tucked in, she closed her eyes and clasped her hands together in a prayer position. “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer, she recited, “God bless Mommy and Daddy and…” she opened her eyes and looked around. “Where’s Hank?”

  “Honey.” Clint scratched his temple. “I think it’s time Hank slept in the doghouse outside. It’s warm out and—”

  “I want Hank.” Mira’s bottom lip quivered.

  Charlie caught Clint’s attention and raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine. Two against one.” Clint walked to the door and disappeared. When he came back, Hank was in his arms, squirming to get to Mira. He placed the dog beside her.

  After Mira ran her hand down his furry back for a few seconds, he settled in beside her.

  “Good night, sweet girl.” Charlie leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  “Night, Mommy.”

  “Night, sweetheart.” Clint gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, plugged in the nightlight and closed her door to within a few inches.

  “Kid’s getting an attitude.” He wrapped an arm around Charlie’s shoulder as they went down the hall to their bedroom.

  “I think it’s called finding her voice.”

  Clint grinned. “I hate that.”

  Charlie had just started to fall asleep when Hank’s loud bark woke her.

  When Mira let out a cry, Clint jumped out of bed, with Charlie close behind.

  “Miracle?” Charlie’s called ou
t following Clint.

  Clint picked up an hysterical Mira.

  “It’s okay, honey. You had a dream,” he soothed.

  Charlie slowly went to the side of the bed, the dim light of the nightlight showing the fear on Mira’s face. “Mira, are you sick?”

  “She… She said it doesn’t hurt to die,” Mira blubbered with nonstop tears.

  “Who did?” Charlie asked. “Someone in your dream?”

  Mira shook her head, rubbing a swollen eye. “A girl. Like me.”

  “It’s okay,” Clint soothed. “You want me to stay for a while? Until you fall back asleep?”

  Mira shook her head yes. “Uh-huh.”

  Charlie gently wiped the tears off Mira’s cheek with the palm of her hand.

  “I see her every night when I go to sleep,” Mira told them laying her head against Clint’s chest.

  “Who, honey?” Charlie asked.

  “That girl.” Mira sniveled. “She doesn’t want to be dead no more.”

  Clint looked up at Charlie and mouthed, “What the hell?”

  Charlie sat down beside Clint and began to stroke Mira’s soft hair. “It’s all over now. The dream is over.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Mira shook her head and looked up at Charlie with swollen eyes. “She says she’s never, ever gonna leave me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHARLIE HAD TOSSED AND TURNED ALL NIGHT.

  It wasn’t just Mira waking up screaming that upset her, but asking about another place besides heaven.

  Charlie had told Clint about Mira’s question and he’d blown it off, telling Charlie he remembered asking strange questions when he was a child. She knew children were inquisitive, but it didn’t seem normal for a six-year-old to ask about another place besides heaven.

  Clint was in the fields long before daybreak and, after breakfast, Mira went outside to play. Charlie hurriedly vacuumed the living room, wiping perspiration off her forehead every few seconds. The window air conditioner was on its last leg, but they couldn’t afford central air. They had seven more years to pay on the combine, and Clint was in the process of hiring a dozen or more workers to help detassel corn.