Tomorrow's Dream (6 page)

8 

Kyle sat in the doctor's outer office,
blindly turning pages of a magazine. Her mind was unable to focus on the words, but it gave her hands something to do. She kept her face turned downward so she did not need to look at the others in the waiting room, especially the woman with her two children on the other side. One of the children was crying fretfully, and the sound grated on Kyle's nerves until she felt ready to scream.

She found herself recalling her conversation with Joel that morning. Her brother had called to say they were going up to the Miller farm for a few days, something about wanting to help out in some way with all the problems the Millers were facing. Or perhaps it was something else, and she had been unable to concentrate enough to understand. Then Joel had said, “We miss seeing you around the mission, Kyle.”

For some reason, her mind had fastened on that. As it had the evening before, when Kenneth had told her she needed to get out, do something beyond her visits to the hospital. “Have you talked with my husband?”

The question and its tone clearly unsettled him. “Well, yes, we talked earlier this—”

“I can't believe this. It's like a conspiracy.” She heard the cold sharpness invade her voice. Part of her said it was uncalled for, but even so it gave her a sense of satisfaction to speak like this. “Why are you trying to pull me away from my baby's side?”

“Kyle, nobody is trying to do anything like—”

“Well, I won't do it, I'm telling you.” Her voice rose an octave. “My baby needs me. I'm doing everything I can, even if no one else will.”

“We all are,” Joel said calmly, and Kyle recognized the tone he used with the toughest and angriest of the young people who entered his mission. “We are praying every day for your baby's health. And yours. And Kenneth's.”

She wanted to shout at him that Kenneth did not need the prayers, that neither did she, that everything was needed for her baby. But she could not say the words. “I know where I am supposed to be.”

And then it had hit her. A thought so sudden and powerful that now as she sat in the doctor's office she could not even recall how her conversation with Joel had ended. The thought had locked into her mind, making her wonder why it had not come to her before. Kyle had called the doctor's office and
demanded
an appointment that very morning.

“Mrs. Adams? Kyle?” The receptionist gave her a warmly sympathetic smile. Everyone in Dr. Pearce's office knew what she was going through. “Dr. Pearce will see you now. You know where his office is, don't you, dear?”

She hurried down the long hallway and entered the open doorway. The old doctor was bent over his desk, writing on a form. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and gave his patented weary smile. “Kyle, how are you, my dear?”

“I'm angry, that's how I am.” She seated herself and rested her purse on her knees, gripping the clasp with both hands. “I want to know why you never warned me this could happen.”

He studied her a moment, his brow furrowed. Then he closed the file before him and leaned back in his chair. “I'm not sure I understand.”

“I'm talking about my brother Joel's heart. You knew all along there was the risk that my baby would be born sick like him. Why didn't you warn me?”

“Kyle, my dear . . .” Dr. Pearce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has Kenneth spoken to you?”

“About what?” She could hear the same shrill tone returning that had emerged in her conversation with Joel. “He started on about something last night, but I stopped him. Just like I'm stopping you. This is a conspiracy, isn't it? I can tell. Everybody's talking behind my back. Well, I want it stopped, do you hear me? Stopped right now!”

Dr. Pearce observed her with grave concern. When she had stopped and was breathing heavily, he said, “Kyle, you have to stop thinking this way. It is the grief talking, not you.”

“Why should I feel grief? My baby is going to be fine!”

He did not even acknowledge that she had spoken. “In the first place, there was no way we could have predicted that your baby would be born with an impaired heart.”

“But Joel—”

“Yes, Joel has a heart condition. But yours is fine, Kyle. And so are the hearts of both your birth parents. We have also asked them about their families, and so far as they know there has been no previous record of heart problems.” He studied her face. “So you see, my dear, there was no way anyone could have predicted this.”

“There must have been. You missed something, or they didn't tell you everything.” Her hands gripped the purse tighter.

“Kyle,” he said, drawing the word out into a long sigh. “I don't normally do this, but I am going to prescribe something for you. I want you to take one of these tablets every morning and evening. Will you do that for me?”

Kyle waited while he scribbled on the little white pad; then she accepted the slip of paper and walked out. As she left the office she decided she would go directly to the hospital. It did not matter what anyone said. Charles was there and Charles needed her. She would sit there and let him know that someone loved him and wanted him to get better. He was going to get better.

Kyle's limbs felt leadened as she left the hospital. Had they let her, she would have stayed on. She hated to leave. There really was no reason for going home anyway. Her baby remained there in the stark, antiseptic hospital ward. That was where she belonged as well.

She had stood there for hours, looking down at her baby. He remained shut off from her by the protective incubator glass. Each rise and fall of the tiny chest had made her wish to gasp in response, as though she might breathe on his behalf. Her arms ached to hold him. To draw him close to her bosom and provide the nourishment that would sustain the little life. To cuddle him close and whisper in his ear the words of endearment that only a mother knows. To feel the beat of the small heart and the warmth of his body cradled against her.

But the entire time she had stood there, the glass partition had mocked her feelings. Her arms had remained empty—empty and yet at the same time heavy. She could only wait and pray and plead with whispered messages through the glass for the baby not to give up. Beg her child to fight on, strive to take another breath, and for the little damaged heart to continue to beat.
Please. Beat again
.

Kyle had laid her head on her arms and rested on the cold glass surface. The pleas came from her very soul. She was so helpless. So removed. So shut away from the infant that was hers. Over and over she silently shouted a single thought, one which rang through her heart's empty recesses,
This isn't how it is meant to be
.

Now as Kyle walked away from the hospital, she heard the nurse's insistent tones drone through her head. “It's time for you to leave for the day, Mrs. Adams.” As if anyone had the right to tear her away from her baby. But the nurse had spoken with such authority and finality that Kyle had not dared to argue.

But as she walked she felt resentment building inside of her. What right did they have to treat her as though she had no authority over the care of her own child?
She
should be the one to demand, “It's time for you to leave for the day, nurse.” Why couldn't she have her own baby in her own home like a normal mother? Why the daily trips to the hospital ward to peer anxiously through a glassed partition, her fingers numb with the ache to caress, her ears straining to hear each breath, her whole body tensing at each small movement. Why?

Kyle knew the answer—it was the tiny defective heart. But why, with all of their knowledge and all of their fancy equipment, why couldn't they
do
something? Kyle often found herself wanting to scream,
Do something now!

But Kyle did not express the cry of her heart. They had to be patient, Kenneth often reminded her. They had to pray, and to trust. But Kyle wondered how much longer she could hold on. Her faith seemed to be slipping from her just as surely as her frail baby. It was frightening. She did not want to lose her grip on God any more than she wished to lose the fragile hold on her weakening child.

“If only . . .” The anguish filling her heart pushed her harder than the brisk wind as she walked toward the bus stop. “If only I hadn't insisted on finding my birth parents. If I could have just let things be as they were. If I hadn't discovered a brother with a heart problem, everything might be all right. Why wasn't I content simply to be a Rothmore? Why . . . ?”

A part of her knew the recriminations were foolish. Even as she raged inwardly, trapped and hurting and wanting desperately to be with her child, even now she knew the words made no sense. But Kyle's tired and troubled mind was beyond reason. She ached. She mourned. She fought against reality. She sought explanations that would not come. She clung to hopes that did not exist, not even in her own mind. She fought a losing battle with her own exhausted resources. It was all she had left.

9 

The morning breakfast dishes
had
been cleared away, the old table scrubbed clean, and the family was seated and watching Joel. Joel in turn was watching Simon, the high school friend who had brought him into this wonderful family. Simon, the eldest boy, was Joel's age, and farm work had chiseled strength into his young features.

Joel then glanced at Sarah, Ruthie's younger sister. She was entering her middle teens and growing into a person of beauty, the kind that shines from within. She had her mother's poise and her father's eyes, a gaze so level and direct that most young men even twice her age found themselves stammering and blushing.

Joseph Miller cleared his throat. “No harder can the family be listening than now, Choel.”

Joel felt hesitant and shy and eager, all at once. “I don't know where to start.”

“But start you must, or make the explosion, and think of the mess that would make in Mama's kitchen.”

His wife chided, “Papa, shah, what a thing to say.”

Joel looked at Ruthie and implored, “You tell them.”

“But you said you wanted to be the one.”

“I can't. You do it.”

“What?” Joseph cried. “Also Ruthie is having news? Too much this is for one old heart. One of the two must wait until another day.”

“Papa.” This time his wife's warning tone was genuine. “Now are you stopping with the chokes?”

Joel sat surrounded by the love of family. It was so good to be able to smile again. To feel the moment's joy well up until his weak heart felt ready to take wings and fly from his chest. When his wife looked his way again, he nodded and said, “Go ahead, Ruthie—tell them.”

Ruthie took a breath that seemed to go on forever, then she announced, “We are going to have a baby.”

“A grandpa!” Joseph fairly shouted the words. “You are to be making of me a grandpa!”

Mother and daughter were already up and moving toward each other. They stood by the table and hugged fiercely while all the others shouted and cheered the news. Joel accepted the handshakes and the backslaps and thought he could never be happier than this moment. Not even his wedding day had compared with this overflowing of shared joy, of shared future.

For the rest of that morning and throughout the afternoon, the entire farm was electric with laughter and chatter about names, about boys versus girls, about family legacies. Joel found enough strength so that he could walk with Simon through the day's work. That afternoon, Simon invited him to go along to the Brueder farm. Simon had been calling on the middle daughter, a lovely young woman named Patience. She carried her name with grace, a quiet, steady girl who reminded Joel of Simon's mother. She had been Ruthie's friend all their lives, and her joy over Joel's news was something to behold.

The Brueders made them both welcome with buoyant noise, full of jokes and plannings and heavily accented English. The two men returned home with the sunset, the horse-drawn cart full of boisterous laughter and shared memories.

But when they pulled into the Miller farm, they were greeted with silence and lengthening shadows. Even the farm animals seemed subdued. Simon exchanged a puzzled glance with Joel, then frowned, and instantly Joel knew Simon feared for his father.

They leaped from the cart and raced up the stairs and through the front door. Relieved to see Joseph seated at the table, they were slowed by the sound of quiet weeping.

Joel looked from one tearstained face to the other before saying, “It's Charles Kenneth, isn't it?”

“Yah, yah,” Joseph Miller sadly rumbled. “The little baby, he has gone home.”