A New Dawn Over Devon (47 page)

Amanda now glanced up helplessly and again took courage to find Rune's eyes.

“I have to know,” she said, eyes glistening as she blinked at them hard, “how do
you
forgive yourself?”

Tears now came into the man's eyes in earnest. But he did not look away or resist her imploring gaze.

“I know what you're talking about, Miss Amanda,” he replied. “You're right about that—I do understand. A lot of folks couldn't probably know what it's like, even for a pretty young lady like yourself. But I know what guilt can do to a person. I've lived with it all these years. That's why I would drink sometimes. Even now I sometimes look at Stirling's bad leg, and my heart gets so sick . . . God help me, that—”

His voice caught in a sob.

“I find myself thinking,” he struggled to continue, “that maybe I caused it myself one time, when I was mad with whiskey, by hitting him when he was young . . . Oh, God—”

He glanced away, voice choked in convulsive breaths.

“I know it can't be,” he struggled to continue, “on account of Dr. Armbruster said he was born with it. But that's how the guilt eats at me. It's a terrible thing, miss. Can you imagine the grief I feel to remember—”

Rune broke down and wept and could not continue for several seconds. Amanda's heart stung her to watch the man lose control of himself. She reached out her hand and placed it on his arm.

“It is more than I can bear sometimes to remember what I did,” he tried to go on in a halting voice, “the cruel things I said both to him and his mother . . . the pain I caused them both. No, Miss Amanda, I won't never forget . . . I won't never be able to completely forgive myself. It's a burden I have to bear every day. Every day I wake up, it's still there. I can't help it. Those memories are like a knife in my heart that'll never go away. I think they hurt me more to remember than they hurt Stirling.”

“But you seem . . . happy enough. To watch you and Stirling now, you appear the best of friends.”

“I'm learning to find happiness in life even with that knife still in my heart.”

“So how do you do it?”

“I have the boy to thank for that,” replied Rune, wiping at his eyes again, his voice gradually calming and becoming steadier. “I can't . . . I
can't
completely forgive myself, to answer your question. But it's Stirling's love for me, and
his
forgiveness of me that enables me to hold my head up at all and forgive myself a little. It's by watching him love me that I see a little bit of what God's forgiveness must be like. I don't deserve for Stirling to love me, but he does anyway. He
even treats me like he respects me and honors me. Think of that! Think of that—he graduated with honors, but he honors me. My Stirling is about the best young man in the world. I don't deserve such a son. He is God's gift to his mother and me. So I try to hold my head up, because of him.”

“That is an amazing thing to say, Mr. Blakeley,” said Amanda. “It must make you love him very much.”

“I do love him, miss. I always loved him, but I was just too mixed up with drink and my own selfishness, and my own sin that made me say and do things I hated myself for later.”

“And so . . . now . . . do you feel that God's forgiveness and Stirling's forgiveness helps you forgive yourself?”

“I believe in God's forgiveness all right,” replied Blakeley. “Your father helped me, sat with me, prayed with me, even held me in his arms when I wept in anguish for what I had done. And Stirling, my son, bless him, he shows me every day that he cares about me. Yes, that helps me—I can't say I completely forgive myself. I'll never be able to do that, but it helps me be able to look up to God and give thanks more than I ever thought I'd be able to in my life with the mess I made of things. My heart still hurts for the memory of what I did. But I try to live by faith—that's how your father explained it to me, when you try to live one way, even though you might feel a different way. So I do my best to believe in forgiveness, even though I still feel the pain at the memories. And I try to tell myself every day that no one holds my past against me no more.”

“Do you think God forgives us
completely
?” said Amanda after a brief silence. “Or do you think he still must be just a little upset with us for how we behaved both to my father and to Stirling?”

“I can hardly imagine God being angry with you, miss,” replied Blakeley. “If all your father always told me about him was true.”

“So will we ever be able to forgive ourselves completely, then?”

“I don't know, miss. But I think I have an idea what your father might tell me if I asked him that, which I did a time or two.”

“I would like to hear it.”

“I told him once that I didn't feel worthy of being forgiven. And he asked me if I thought God's forgiveness was based on my worthiness. I said I hadn't thought about it. And he said that if it were, there would be no forgiveness at all, because if there's something to forgive it means someone's sinned. Then he said something I'll never forget.
He said, ‘We're all unworthy, Rune. We're all sinners. I'm just as unworthy as you, and you're just as unworthy as me. Nobody's worthy of God's forgiveness. We're all sinners together. But he forgives us anyway.' That really helped me, miss. Then he said that once you accept God's forgiveness, there ain't nothing standing in the way to forgive yourself. You just have to decide to do it, he said. You just have to say, ‘God, thank you for forgiving me. I accept your forgiveness. So I'm going to forgive myself.'”

Amanda nodded thoughtfully. Once again her own father's words were coming back to her own point of need, just as they had that day on Bloomsbury Way when she was listening to Timothy preach her father's sermon.

“But you haven't been able to do that?” she said after a moment.

“Not completely, miss. But I keep trying every day. And every day it gets a little easier. Sometimes I have to do it over and over. It's like the drink. Sometimes after all these years, if I catch a smell of it, it pulls on me. I have to say no real hard, and remember your father and imagine him there beside me helping me to say no like he done so many times. The guilt pulls on me the same way sometimes, and I have to remember your father telling me that God's forgiven me.”

Amanda smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Blakeley . . . I feel much better already just talking to you.”

“I hope some of what I said helps, miss.”

“I know it will,” Amanda nodded. “Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “Somehow just knowing that you understand what it is like gives me hope.”

Amanda paused, then looked up into the dirty, rugged, tearstained face.

“Will you . . . pray with me, Mr. Blakeley?” she asked.

“You mean . . . here—right now?”

Amanda nodded.

“I never been much at praying out loud. I never prayed with nobody in my life except your father, when he was helping me get over the drink. But I'd be honored to pray with you, if you really want me to.”

“I need to pray with someone,” said Amanda, “who really understands how hard it is to live with the kind of memories that you and I have to live with.”

Rune nodded. Neither spoke for a moment.

“Dear,
Lord,”
prayed Amanda.
“Thank you so much for Mr.
Blakel
ey,
and that he wasn't afraid to tell me what it's been like for him. I pray that
you would help us both get over our guilt, and help us know that you love and forgive us, and that both Stirling and my father love and forgive us too. Help us, Lord, because—”

Her voice cracked momentarily.

“—
because . . . it is so hard sometimes.”

The barn was quiet for a minute. Amanda sniffed a few times and drew in two or three deep breaths.

“Lord,”
said Rune at length,
“I ask you to help Miss Amanda
feel better about herself. I know I was with her
father a lot when she was gone, and there wasn't nothing in his heart for her all that time but love—”

At the words Amanda began to cry. They stung all the more with such bitter regret in her heart because she knew they were true. Her father had been forgiving her the instant the words “I hate you” had shocked him into tears of anguish as they had exploded out of her mouth.

“—and I know he forgave
her a long time ago,”
Rune went on,
“so
I ask you to help her forgive herself.”

“Ye
s, Lord,” Amanda added softly in a faltering voice, still weeping,
“help me . . . show me how to forgive myself.”

The barn fell silent.

Amanda opened her eyes, wiped away her tears, smiled, then stepped forward to embrace Stirling's father. He took her in his dirty arms and held her close for a second or two. When they stepped back, tears glistened on both their cheeks.

“Thank you . . . Rune,” said Amanda. “I will never forget this day, and how honest you have been with me.”

Silently the two began walking slowly out of the barn. As they emerged into the sunlight, they saw Stirling coming from the house toward them.

“Amanda!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” As he glanced back and forth between the two, he saw the unmistakable signs of an emotional exchange. What it was about, he couldn't guess, but thought it best not to ask.

“Your father and I were having a talk,” replied Amanda with a smile and wiping her eyes again. “And you? The last time I saw you, you were chopping down a tree.”

“I broke the ax and had to come for a new one,” said Stirling. “Are you going home now?”

Amanda nodded.

“I won't be a minute . . . if you want to wait, I'll walk back with you.”

Stirling ran past them into the barn and came out a minute later holding the new ax.

“See you this evening, Father!” he said as he and Amanda walked away.

Rune stood watching as they went. Amanda glanced back again. Stirling's father gave one last nod and smile. Amanda knew they were meant for her.

 83 
Impromptu Delivery

Stoddard Roper ran frantically into Dr. Armbruster's office in midmorning on the sixth of October.

He glanced hurriedly around. He saw no one in sight but Stirling Blakeley behind the counter perusing a book lying open on the doctor's desk.

“Where's Cecil?” cried Roper.

“He had to ride out to the McDermit place this morning,” answered Stirling, rising and walking toward the counter.

“That's eight miles! When's he coming back!”

“Probably not for another hour or two, Mr. Roper. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not unless you can deliver a baby! My Cordelia's in a bad way—it came all of a sudden.”

“Has her water broken?” asked Stirling.

“I don't know about that, but she made a mess in the kitchen and yelled at me to fetch Dr. Cecil.”

“That's her water . . . all right . . . relax, Mr. Roper,” said Stirling, “everything's going to be fine.”

He paused a second or two, thinking.

“You ever been out to the McFee place?”

“Not since Bobby was alive.”

“That's fine, just so long as you know where it is. Ride over there as fast as you can and get Lady Jocelyn and Amanda. Lady Jocelyn knows what to do.”

Roper turned for the door. “What about my wife?” he said. “Will she—”

“She'll be fine, Mr. Roper,” said Stirling, grabbing his coat. “I'll run over to your place right now and stay with her till you and Lady Jocelyn get back.”

Already Roper was out the door and climbing onto the back of his horse. Stirling hurried across the floor after him, then stopped abruptly. He turned and ran back to the desk. Hastily he scribbled a note, just in case Dr. Armbruster returned and set it in plain view. Then he picked up one of the books he had been glancing through earlier as well as the emergency bag Dr. Armbruster had left behind, and ran from the office, turned up the street, and hurried as fast as he could toward the east side of the village.

Eight minutes later Stirling ran into the Roper house without benefit of a knock.

“Mrs. Roper . . . Mrs. Roper,” he called, glancing quickly around, “—it's Stirling Blakeley, where are you?”

He heard a faint moan from one of the rooms. He threw down the book in his hand and dashed toward the sound. The woman lay on her bed in obvious pain. Stirling knew instantly that the labor was well advanced.

“Where . . . where is—” she tried to say.

“Dr. Armbruster is away,” interrupted Stirling, trying to sound calm. “I was at the office. I sent your husband for Lady Jocelyn. They will be back soon. But for now, you and I will manage together just fine, Mrs. Roper. I know what to do, and everything will be fine. How do you feel?”

“It hurts . . . the baby's coming . . . I can feel it!”

“All right, Mrs. Roper, that's fine . . . do you mind if I have a look to see whether the baby is showing?”

She looked at him with wide eyes but nodded her head.

Gently Stirling took one of her hands as he drew back the blanket. A cry of pain suddenly filled the room.

“Relax, Mrs. Roper,” he said. “I know it is difficult, but try to exhale in little puffs as long as the pain lasts . . . that's good. I am
going out for a minute to wash my hands, and then we shall see what we need to do.”

Stirling left the room. As soon as he was out of sight he grabbed the book he had laid down a minute earlier and bolted outside for the water pump, frantically fumbling through the pages of the book as he went.
Let's see
, he said to himself,
where is it, ah, here . . . contractions . . . two
minutes . . . one minute . . . when contractions begin to come less than
one minute apart . . .

He had to hurry!

This baby was on its way, and one look told him that there wasn't a chance in the world it intended to wait either for Dr. Armbruster, Jocelyn, or its own father!

Two minutes later Stirling reentered the bedroom drying his hands, trying to calm himself again, and setting the book on the edge of the bed, open to “Birthing Procedures” just in case he should need it again. There was no time for boiling hot water and sterile cloths . . . or even sterilizing his own hands in hot water.

There wasn't time for anything!

“How are you doing, Mrs. Roper?” he asked gently, again taking her hand and taking his watch out of his pocket. “I'm just going to time your contractions—tell me when you begin to feel pain again.”

She nodded. They did not have to wait long. Suddenly she cried out again, her face grimacing in pain.

“Blow, Mrs. Roper . . . gentle puffs . . . blow, blow, blow. That's good.”

After thirty or forty seconds, the pain subsided and she lay back down in exhaustion, face perspiring freely.

“Was that the first since I left to wash my hands?”

She shook her head.

“You had a contraction while I was out?”

She shook her head, trying to hold up two fingers.

“Two!” he exclaimed.

She nodded again.

There was no time to lose. Stirling drew in a breath and tried to collect his wits, when suddenly the mother-to-be lurched up again and cried out. Stirling felt his hand nearly crushed by her grip.

He drew back the blankets again. “All right, you're just doing fine,” he said. “Your baby is starting to come . . . I see a foot and there is its little bottom trying to squeeze—”

“No . . . no . . . can't,” interrupted the woman frantically, struggling to make herself heard in the middle of the pain, “head . . .
head
has to come first.”

“Right . . . of course—what am I thinking!” said Stirling.
Don't be an idiot!
he added to himself.
You need to calm down .
 . .
get hold of yourself. What are you thinking!
“Yes, it's breech, Mrs. Roper,” he said aloud, “but we will take care of that.”

Gradually the contraction subsided.

Stirling stood and hurried around the bed to where the book lay, scanning through the pages quickly. He bent down and hastily read the instructions for breech births, then walked back to Mrs. Roper's side.

“We shall just turn your little one around,” he said. “I will have to put my hand inside you, Mrs. Roper, and turn him around. . . . It may be a little uncomfortable, but I will be as gentle as I can. . . .”

She nodded up and down vigorously. She knew it was necessary.

Eleven minutes later Stirling heard footsteps and voices outside. The next instant the outside door of the house crashed open.

“I'll get water boiling, Mother!” he heard Amanda's voice say. Almost immediately Jocelyn ran through the bedroom door. She stopped in the middle of the room and stood looking at the scene before her with eyes wide in astonishment.

“I am afraid you are too late, Jocelyn,” said Stirling with a smile. “Mrs. Roper and her daughter are already asleep.”

Jocelyn came slowly forward, her bewilderment now changing to a smile. Gently she lifted back the blanket to take a quick peek at the infant at its mother's breast, then turned back to Stirling and began to laugh with delight.

“Stirling . . . but how—”

Amanda, who had heard Stirling's voice, now entered the room.

“It would seem that you are already a doctor, Stirling,” she said as she quickly surmised the state of affairs.

They were interrupted by the sounds of more footsteps coming through the door outside.

“I think you should be the one to tell him, Stirling,” said Jocelyn. “Amanda and I will begin cleaning up and see to your two patients.”

Stirling nodded and walked out of the bedroom.

“Congratulations, Mr. Roper!” he said, reaching out his hand as he met the anxious father. “You have a new baby daughter!”