Promise Kept, page 4
A strange, unexpected peace washed over her. She might not see how, but she knew with a certainty they would make it to the other side of this valley. As Art’s voice continued to roll over her in soothing waves, Josie relaxed against the couch and him.
❧
A soft kiss on her cheek pulled Josie from darkness. Confusion swirled through her mind. Where was she? Art must have moved her into their room at some point during the night.
“I’ve got to get to work, baby.” Art leaned over her, dressed, with his tie jumbled around his neck and a hat slapped on his head. “Will you be okay?”
Josie nodded. What else could she do? He had to work. And she’d find a way out of the morass pulling her back to the blackness. Trails of peace that had teased her had evaporated during the night. Art’s rough fingers stroked her cheek before he kissed her again.
“I’ll hurry home. I love you.” He waited a moment, then stood.
She licked her lips, as she tried to find her voice. “Love you.”
The door closed behind him, and she turned back into her pillow. She prayed sleep would come. She wasn’t ready to face the day and her emptiness.
❧
“Hello.” A soft voice trilled into the apartment.
Josie looked up from the book she held in her lap. She’d read no more than four pages in the hours since she had crawled out of bed, her thoughts lost in the land of what-ifs.
“I hope it’s all right I came in.” A familiar older woman stepped into the living room, a smile softening her wrinkled face and a basket hanging from her arm. “That fine young man of yours asked if I’d look in on you. I don’t know if you remember my name—I’m Doris Duncan. My husband, Scott, owns the market, and we live below you on the second floor.”
The woman had always been friendly, but in the several months they’d lived here, she hadn’t ventured up the last flight of stairs to this apartment. Josie stiffened her defenses. She didn’t want to spend time with a stranger. “That isn’t necessary. I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are. But I brought a light lunch anyway. I love an excuse to get out of my place.”
Josie bit back a bitter protest, but the deep growl of her stomach silenced her. Betrayer. The last thing she wanted to think about was food. Yet as Doris pulled items from the basket, a sweet honeyed aroma wafted toward her. Maybe she could eat something. She struggled off the couch and moved the few steps to the kitchen. “Here are some plates.”
“Perfect. Here, settle down.” Mrs. Duncan placed several small bowls on the round dining table. Finally, she unearthed a cloth-wrapped bundle that could only be sweet rolls, the source of the wonderful scent. “My mama’s special recipe. They always comfort me whenever I need an extra reminder of love.” Her easy movements stilled as she eyed Josie. “Here. Sit, child. You look weak around the edges.”
Josie sank onto a chair and waited. Doris had something to say, otherwise why come? They weren’t exactly friends, barely acquaintances, hardly even neighbors. Watching Doris made her want her mama. The hollow in her heart longed for Mama to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. But Mama hadn’t made the drive, and the ache remained.
“Where would I find the silverware?”
“The drawer next to the sink.”
Doris flitted back to the table and then settled on a chair. She reached across the small table for Josie’s hand. “Let’s pray first.” Without waiting for Josie’s response, she bowed her head. “Father, we come before You. You are a holy and awesome God. But You are also the God who experiences our pain with us. As my neighbor walks through this time, I ask that You surround her with Your love and shelter her in Your arms. Give her hope, Lord. And help her believe You have nothing but good plans for her.”
Josie stiffened at the thought. If He really had only good plans for her, why this loss? It certainly didn’t meet her definition of good.
Stillness settled in the room, and Doris did not release her hand. Peace relaxed Doris’s face, and she tilted her head to the side as if hearing something special. Josie waited, fatigue settling over her like a heavy blanket. Oh, for some peace. Instead, she wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. Yep, hiding would solve all her problems. And who was she to think she had problems when bombs fell in Europe? People died, while others lost their homes and livelihoods. She sat in a small, comfortable apartment, with a husband who had a good job. All their needs were cared for, and they even had enough for wants. She should feel blessed. Instead, her arms felt empty. Empty of the child she hadn’t understood how much she wanted until the baby was gone.
“You’ll pull through this, Mrs. Wilson. You’re made of strong stock. You may not ever forget, but you will not live in this place with this loss unless you choose.” Doris’s voice filled with strength and a knowing.
Josie studied her, then looked at her plate. Even the sweet roll tasted like sawdust. “You’ve experienced this. . .loss.” The word stuck in her throat. It was so inadequate. “Haven’t you?”
Doris’s faded blue eyes glistened with what looked like tears. She looked out the window, fixing her gaze on nothing Josie could see. “It was thirty-two years ago. We’d been married a year. Both so thrilled to have a baby on the way. Well, the baby embraced Jesus before we held him.” A single tear trailed down her weathered cheek. “I won’t say I don’t still feel the knowing I’ve missed a lifetime with that child. But eternity is so much longer.” She looked at Josie, peace reflecting in the tears. “I will see him on the other side. And we’ll have so much to catch up on.”
“I don’t want to wait.” Josie tried to hide her broken heart in the angry words.
“I know. But as with many areas in life, we may never understand the why now. Until then, I trust God.” Sadness tinged Doris’s face. “It’s been thirty-two years, and many of my questions remain unanswered. But I know I will see that child one day. And then this time will seem insignificant in light of eternity.”
❧
Art hurried home from work. The day had dragged as his thoughts returned home with worries about Josie. Should he have made an excuse to stay home? He had to work, provide for her, especially at a time when life seemed unfair. Had he done the right thing asking Mrs. Duncan to check on her? He thought so but wondered how Josie had reacted. She could be feisty when backed into a corner. He prayed she hadn’t felt that way.
When he reached home, Josie sat on the couch in her nightgown, her hair pulled out of her face, her features drawn. She held a handkerchief against her cheek as she watched him walk in.
“Hey.” He sank onto the couch next to her.
She leaned away from him, but he edged closer. She couldn’t force him away, not when she needed him. She might not understand it yet, but they would walk through this together. They’d both lost a child.
But they would not lose each other.
Five
Warmth brushed Josie’s face. She cracked open her eyelids, struggling against the weight pushing her farther into the bed. In the days and weeks since the loss, the bed had called her name, urging her to spend daylight hours ensconced there. The fight seemed futile. Rays of April sunshine teased her through a crack in the curtains. If she opened the windows, the scent of hyacinths would filter into the room. Instead, she burrowed deeper under the comforter, practically pulling it over her head.
She reached out for Art, but he was gone. Long enough that his side of the bed felt cold. The aroma of coffee filtered through the door. The scent tweaked her heart. She should have gotten up before Art left for work, should have made his breakfast like she used to. She closed her eyes against the fresh well of pain. His life continued—the normal cycle of work and home.
Yet she felt trapped. Stripped of her dreams. Filled with what-ifs. What-might-have-beens. They echoed through her mind. She knew God had more for her than this, but relief from the thoughts only came as she slipped into sleep.
Minutes passed as she tried to force herself back to sleep.
“Enough.” The muffled word didn’t carry much force, but it propelled her out of bed. Slipping her robe on, she stumbled out of the bedroom, through the small living room, into the kitchen. Josie reached to tie the robe shut, then stopped as her hands brushed her stomach. Pain cramped through her, and she tried to catch her breath against it. What should be softly rounded remained all too flat. Her hands trembled as she dumped the coffee, then filled the pot with water and set it on the stove. She waited for waves of anger to overtake the pain as it had many mornings. Instead, the ache spread until she could almost feel the weight of the baby she would never hold. Lips compressed tight against the sob wanting to escape, she grabbed her Bible from the counter where it had collected dust since the frantic dash to the hospital. She fluctuated between resignation and anger-laced questions directed at the heavens.
She stroked the worn cover and sank to the couch, wondering if she dared open it. Josie almost didn’t want to know what God wanted to say to her. The words brought such comfort when Art read them, yet marched across the page like angry ants whenever she tried to read.
Maybe she didn’t want to hear anything.
Especially from a God who hadn’t held her when she needed Him most.
Her thoughts spiraled back to the pain.
He could have prevented the miscarriage.
She should feel the flutters of life deep inside her.
The feeling of betrayal wouldn’t leave. He was God. He could have stopped it. He should have stopped it. And if He had—she pressed a hand against her stomach desperate to stop the anger that filled her—things would be so different.
Her pulse raced. He’d disappeared when she needed Him. She’d lain on the couch and begged Him to be with her, but instead, she’d spun like a child who’d lost her father in the chaos of a state fair carnival. No matter how she searched for Him, she couldn’t find Him.
Breathing in shallow gasps, she knew the fear couldn’t be more real. She’d never felt so abandoned.
“Knock, knock.” The words trilled through the opening door. Josie tried to scrub the pain from her face as Doris slipped into the room. The soft scent of cinnamon filled the room just as Doris had filled a void in her life. She’d become a constant through the fog of Josie’s questions and life-stopping pain. Even when she pushed Josie to focus on Art and what she had, Doris had become a welcome part of Josie’s life. Her persistence had edged their relationship from strangers to acquaintances to friends.
Josie had ached for a friend. And then Doris appeared. Art should probably thank Doris for keeping her from completely losing her way.
“How are you doing this morning?” Doris smiled at Josie as if it was the most natural thing in the world to find her in a nightgown and robe with unbrushed hair at ten o’clock in the morning. “I brought over some of my cinnamon bread. Fresh baked this morning. Did the smell tempt you from bed? Nothing smells better to me in the morning. Well, that lilac tree outside our windows might.”
Just when Josie wondered if Doris would ever slow down and wait for a response, she stopped and smiled. “Listen to me chatter. I must like the sound of my own voice this morning.” She nodded to the book Josie held. “Glad to see you looking at that. The answers you seek rest between its covers.”
“You’re right.” It was easier to admit it than argue with the woman. It wasn’t Doris’s fault that God has gone conspicuously silent. “Maybe someday I’ll find them.” Josie slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
Laugh lines crinkled the corners of Doris’s eyes. “Of course you did. And that sentiment doesn’t surprise God at all. Go ahead and tell Him exactly what you think and feel. I doubt you’ll surprise Him.”
The lady had a point. “All right.” The teakettle whistled, and Josie stood. “Would you like some?”
“Yes. I’ll get plates for our bread.” As soon as they were settled back at the table, Doris grabbed Josie’s hands and bowed her head. After a quick prayer, she looked at Josie and smiled. “As soon as we’re done here, get dressed. You and I are going out.”
Josie frowned. The last thing she wanted was to leave. Doris tipped her chin and stared her down.
“You’re not getting out of this, young lady, so you might as well give in graciously. It’s time to get your thoughts off yourself.” A smile softened the words’ edges. Doris winked at her, then took a bite. A few minutes later, the bread had disappeared along with the tea. “Scoot. I’ll clean up the kitchen while you get ready.”
Seemed she had no options. Josie stood and headed to her room. She slipped into a gingham dress and pulled her hair into a simple twist. Even those little actions made her feel better, more in control. She slapped a hat on her head and grabbed a purse. Squaring her shoulders, she rejoined Doris.
“Much better.” Doris tugged her toward the door. “You’ll be glad you came.”
“Yes, ma’am.” What else could she say? Doris had made up her mind.
They stepped onto the sidewalk, and the sun felt wonderful. It warmed Josie, and a bubble of something sweet filled her.
“Don’t analyze that too closely, dear. You’ll be surprised by hope on even your darkest days. God has a way of doing that.” Doris kept the pace brisk as they walked several blocks. Josie hurried her steps to keep up, watching for signs of spring. The scent of the season of new life, a heady mix of hyacinth and tulips, filled her senses.
“Ah. Here we are.” Doris led her into a church. Josie tried to find the name, but Doris pulled her in, much faster than she’d expected the older woman to move. The urgency in her steps pulled at Josie’s curiosity. What had her so excited? “This is one of my favorite days of the week. There’s something wonderful about God using me to serve others.” As she talked, she led Josie along a hallway and then down some stairs. The aroma of something spicy tickled Josie’s nose and collided with the smell of unwashed bodies as they walked into a large, open room. Josie struggled not to grimace at the mix of odors and what it did to her breakfast.
“What are we doing?”
“Caring for others. Today’s the day my church serves the needy through the soup kitchen. Someday, we may open every day, but until then, we share the need with other churches.” As she walked, Doris brushed the arm of a man seated at one of the tables. “How are you today, Bruce?”
“I’m still alive, ma’am.”
“That’s good, real good. Make sure you get your soup and bread.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The next hours flew as Doris put Josie to work pouring vegetable soup into bowls too numerous to count. She tried to ignore the fact that many of the women coming through were large with child. She tried to smile even as a knife cut into her heart. Gritting her teeth, she kept the tears from falling. And as she focused on those in front of her with immediate needs, a dream slowly reawakened in her heart, one she’d shoved into a hidden corner. Images of the times she’d helped her mother in settings like this. When the whole family had pulled together the extras they had to share with the less fortunate. And there had been so many during the hard days of the ’30s. While she’d thought those times had passed, today reopened her eyes to the need. Maybe she could play a part in meeting those needs, serving as Jesus instructed His followers. And maybe as she took her eyes off her hurt, she’d move beyond the grief.
❧
Art hurried home. Today, the numbers had swum in front of his eyes, not sliding into ordered columns like usual. He tried to take in the song of the birds as they flew about, looking for nest materials. Instead, his thoughts fixated on Josie. It had been weeks since they lost the baby, yet it seemed as fresh to her as yesterday. If he came home to find her still in her nightgown again, he didn’t know what he’d do.
Shouldn’t he be enough?
He shook his head. He clearly wasn’t enough for Josie. The thought pained him. They’d only been married a few months, and already she needed more. He cringed and tried to rein in his thoughts. He knew Jesus was the only One who should be her all in all, but it would have been nice to think he mattered, too.
Art’s steps slowed as he approached the grocery store. Mr. Duncan pushed a broom back and forth across the sidewalk. “Afternoon.”
“Sir.”
“How’s the missus?” Scott’s eyes softened at the edges.
“She’s. . . I don’t know. I thought she’d be back to normal.” The word didn’t quite fit, but he didn’t know how else to explain the situation. “Is she home?”
“Doris took her out on a service project, but they’ve been back for a while.” Scott leaned on his broom handle. “Can I offer a piece of advice, advice learned the hard way?”
Art nodded.
“Be gentle with her. This pain you’ve both had. . .well, it’s different for a woman. Seems more personal in ways we can’t understand.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep loving her. It’s the best thing you can do.”
Art nodded and climbed the stairs to the apartment. He almost rapped on his door, just to make sure she knew he’d arrived. “Hey, honey.”
Josie looked up from her book and smiled at him. He looked closer. Sadness still edged her eyes, but the smile seemed more real.
“Welcome home.” She tilted her head for his kiss, then patted the couch next to her. “How was your day?”
“A little off actually.” A frown creased her pretty nose. He hastened to explain. “The numbers didn’t cooperate, that’s all. I’m sure next week will be better.” He took a breath, then ventured forward. “Yours?”
The smile almost reached her eyes. “Did you send Doris after me again?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Maybe. She came and practically demanded I get dressed and follow her.”
Art sucked in a breath. That could be bad, but Josie looked alive again. “Where did she take you?”
“To church.” A soft chuckle slipped out. Art would have hugged plump Doris if she’d been in the room. A giggle from Josie! “She took me to help serve at its soup kitchen. I think I’d like to go back.”
