Lead Me Home (24 page)

Claude flung open the door to his truck and reached Shiloh’s front door before she had even moved.

Shiloh yelled, “Call 911, Lem!” and followed Claude inside.

When she reached the kitchen, however, Randy was there, with a 911 operator already on the phone, following the woman’s instructions about how to revive Monica. He knelt beside the girl and placed a cold wet dishcloth on her forehead, and Monica came to.

“Don’t try to move, sweetheart,” Randy instructed the groggy girl, in a soothing voice. He cradled her head on his lap and the phone in the crook of his neck. Monica’s skirt and legs were soaked in blood, and Shiloh knew what had happened. She looked at Claude, who stood just inside the kitchen, peering at his daughter in shock.

“Daddy.”

When Monica uttered that single word, he sprinted across the room toward her, knelt on the other side of Randy, and held her hand.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with tears. “God, please don’t let me lose her, too. I need her.”

His prayer sent a shudder through Shiloh, and she realized that this man was still reeling from his wife’s death more deeply than she had realized. She wondered whether he, Eleanor, or Monica had received grief counseling.

“She’s going to be fine, Claude,” Randy said. “But I think she’s lost the baby.”

Monica was alert enough to hear that pronouncement, and as the words sank in, her pain ripped the air from the room. With her head still on Randy’s lap, and her father caressing one arm, she released a guttural howl, a scream of loss so primal that the hairs on Shiloh’s neck stood on end. Before she could control herself, Shiloh fell to the floor where she was, a few feet away, and let her own pain tear through her body. She heard herself howling too, releasing all the pent-up anger, guilt, shame, and loss she’d felt all these years for the child she had intentionally chosen never to know.

When paramedics arrived, they were initially perplexed about who needed care—the woman or the girl. But the moment they saw the bloody lower half of Monica’s body, they shifted into action, staunching the flow of blood, then lifting the girl onto a stretcher to carry her out of the house and load her onto the ambulance that would take her to Froedtert Hospital in the city.

Her father trotted alongside the stretcher, still holding her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he told Monica. “I’m right here with you. Pastor Randy, my keys are still in the truck!”

Claude and Monica disappeared into the ambulance, and Randy dashed back into the kitchen, to check on Shiloh. She lay crumpled on the tile, and he gathered her in his arms.

Her tears had finally abated, and she was spent. Shiloh realized she hadn’t been any help to her young friend; instead, the tables had turned. Monica’s instant grieving of her loss had allowed Shiloh to finally grieve her own. It had scared Shiloh, and Randy, and their boys, who stood around her now, in tears, asking their dad if she was okay.

Just as calmly as he had helped Monica, Randy stroked Shiloh’s hair as her head lay on his shoulder, and he reassured them that she would be fine.

“God is doing some healing today in his own way, sons. Your mother loves you; she needs you to understand that, and to love her
back. I guess you all are discovering earlier than most that Mama and Daddy aren’t perfect.”

Lem was the first to approach his parents and kneel beside them. He leaned over to peer into Shiloh’s swollen, tear-stained face.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been so mean, Mom. I love you, no matter what. Everyone makes mistakes. I know you’re really sorry; that’s what matters.”

He wrapped his arms around her and Randy, and the other boys came over too, and followed suit.

Shiloh’s tears kept flowing, but she didn’t mind. They were cleansing, at this point, and she knew if she released them, she’d be able to help Monica heal, and maybe Lem’s friend, Lia, too. God’s timing was impeccable. Whatever he was doing in Monica’s life had intersected with her need and her father’s need, too.

By Tuesday morning, Monica was still pale and weak, but her doctor had decided to let her go home, if she ate breakfast and lunch, and walked the hall a few times with no problems.

According to Claude, that prescription had garnered the first smile from Monica since her miscarriage, and she had heartily eaten the light breakfast the nurse placed before her two hours ago. He sat next to his daughter this morning, stroking her hair while filling Shiloh in on how Monica’s recovery was going. Shiloh had been taking turns with him and Eleanor in staying by Monica’s side, and had come by today after getting the boys off to school, Randy off to the church, and prepping a few things for their drive to Atchity tomorrow.

“I feel a lot better leaving town, knowing you won’t be spending Thanksgiving here, my dear,” Shiloh told Monica.

Monica, who hadn’t said much since Sunday, gave Shiloh a halfhearted smile. “Me too.”

The sadness in her voice matched the emotion enveloping her spirit. Shiloh wished she could hug or pray away the girl’s pain, and she knew Claude’s sentiments were similar, but he was doing a great job of staying upbeat for his daughter.

Shiloh and Randy had chosen not to share with the congregation that Monica had been hospitalized, because of the sensitive nature of her illness; but Eleanor had been surprisingly forthcoming with members of the women’s Bible study, and according to Claude, several ladies had come by their home to deliver hot meals and drop off gift cards to area restaurants.
Another group of ladies texted Eleanor this morning to share their plans to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for the family, Claude announced, so Eleanor could focus on caring for Monica when she came home.

“This is a difficult spot to be in,” Claude said after describing the women’s kindness, “but I tell you, Mom’s friends from church have shown us a lot of love. She says they knew about Monica’s condition already, and this just gives us an opportunity to receive some grace and unconditional support.”

Shiloh smiled, but didn’t respond. Love in action always resonated more than words. Randy had informed her that when they returned from Atchity, he would be spending some regular one-on-one time with Claude outside of church, playing golf or tennis or doing whatever Claude preferred. So Claude didn’t know it yet, but he was going to have more than enough opportunities to vent, laugh, cry, and see God at work.

Monica struggled to sit up and take a sip of juice.

“You sure you’re feeling better?” Shiloh asked.

The girl shrugged. “Everything aches—but what can I do?”

Shiloh knew Monica was talking about her heart and her reputation as well as her body. Before she could respond, an answer came from the doorway.

“You can keep your head up, Monica, that’s what.”

Shiloh shifted in her seat to find Jade standing there, looking fabulous as always, and carrying a bouquet as big as herself.

“What on earth …”

Jade laughed at Shiloh’s reaction. “I know. These flowers are on steroids, right? Each pageant contestant received one of the bouquets that graced the stage on Friday night, and since Vic and I are going to California for the holiday, I thought I’d share mine with a very special girl.”

Jade sauntered into the room and turned in circles, trying to find
a spot large enough to hold the arrangement. Claude left Monica’s side to take it from her.

“Tell you what? Why don’t I put this in my SUV, since it looks like Monica will be going home later today. There will be plenty of room there, and I’ll make sure to put it in a nice spot once we get it home. Thank you, Sister Smith.”

Jade gave him a wide grin and a light hug. When he left the room, she offered Monica a hug, too. The girl reciprocated, but looked embarrassed.

“I guess everyone knows I’m here, huh?”

Jade grew somber. “I don’t know what everyone knows, sweetheart. But your grandmother is part of our Bible study group, and she shared with us in confidence that you were going through a tough time. I just came by to let you know that like First Lady Griffin, I’m willing to go through it with you. As pastor’s wives, we both can tell you it’s not easy having a spotlight turned on you, or having your every move and decision judged or scrutinized, and in your case, maybe the choices you’ve made in private. It’s tough.

“But you hang in there, and know that everybody has a story. You might not know what’s going on with your classmates or your friends, or everybody else who seems to know your business, but they’ve got issues, too. We all do. So never let anyone make you feel less than worthy.”

Shiloh couldn’t believe it. This was a side of Jade she hadn’t known existed. This was a real person, with a heart. This must be the woman Vic knew and loved. Shiloh was glad Jade was finally warming up to sharing herself with everyone else.

“That means a lot, Mrs. Smith; thank you,” Monica said softly. “Thank you for coming.”

Jade rubbed the girl’s arm and smiled at her.

“This too shall pass, my friend. Just keep telling yourself that and keep your head up. It’s one of God’s promises, so it will happen.”

She turned on her heels and gave Shiloh a light peck on the cheek before heading toward the door.

“I didn’t come to stay long. We’re packing for Cali and I have tons to do before we leave, but I wanted to come by and see Miss Monica, and you too, First Lady, since there’s no Bible study tomorrow night. Have a safe trip to Alabama, and thank you for all you did to help me have a successful run in last week’s pageant. Your support meant more than I can really express.”

After blowing a kiss to Monica, she was gone.

Shiloh looked at Monica and shook her head. “If wisdom can come from a Christian in diva form, it can come from anyone, my friend!”

Monica actually laughed, and Shiloh’s heart lightened.

“Mrs. Smith and I have had our issues, but as different as we are, God has found a way to bring us closer and to help each other grow,” Shiloh said. “If you had told me four months ago I’d think of her with fondness and actually consider her a friend, I would have laughed in your face. But if God can do that with two grown women, he can do some amazing things in and through you, too, Monica, even after this. You just focus on who you know you are, and do your best, and wait and see how he works. I can’t take away your pain and shame, but I hope you won’t hold onto it as long as I did. It’s a burden you don’t have to carry.”

Tears welled up in Monica’s eyes and she smiled again.

“I believe you, Mrs. Griffin. And I trust him. I’m ready to see what kind of good he will bring out of the mess I’ve made.”

Shiloh walked over to Monica’s bed and patted her hand.

“It’s called beauty for ashes, my friend, and you don’t have to keep calling it your mess. If you’ll give it to him, he’ll take it and call it his own. All you’ll have to do is hold onto his grace.” Shiloh paused before continuing. “I’ve been saying that for a long time; if I’m going to ask you to live it, I guess it’s time for me to do the same.”

The boys were asleep in the back of the van and the radio was playing softly when Randy proposed. “Shiloh Ann Wilson Griffin, will you marry me?”

“Excuse me?”

Shiloh swiveled her head toward her husband, whose eyes were fixed on the dark road. It was nearly midnight on the day before Thanksgiving, and they were about eight hours from Atchity.

“I know it’s not appropriate to do this while I’m driving, but we have four rowdy sons who have finally given us some privacy, and sometimes you have to seize the moment,” Randy said. “So forgive my informality, and the unromantic nature of this request, but will you marry me?”

Shiloh giggled. “I think this late-night drive is getting to you, but um, sure, honey. I will marry you. Want to pull over so I can drive for a while?”

Randy didn’t respond, but as he approached the next exit off the interstate, he made the right turn, and minutes later was sitting in a well-lit gas station/convenience store parking lot. Rather than pull up to one of the pumps, he parked along a row opposite the tanks and across the parking lot from the twenty-four-hour convenience store. Shiloh was surprised; usually when she offered to drive at night, he declined.

Instead of getting out of the car to trade seats with her, however, he turned to her and reached for her hands. “We’ve been through a lot
in the past two weeks—a whole lot,” he said, sounding more like the twenty-something man who proposed the first time around, rather than the esteemed pastor he now was. “And you haven’t heard me say much.”

Shiloh’s heart beat faster. She didn’t know where this conversation was leading, but he was right; she’d been wondering where his heart and mind were ever since she’d shared her dangerous secrets. He had continued to go through the motions of a good husband, but there had been unusual and uncomfortable periods of silence between them, and what felt like a wall had formed, causing her to tiptoe around him like she never had before. Randy’s coolness had only reinforced her fear that maybe she had been little more to him than a convenient and appropriate wife for the preacher role he was ready to assume, and that maybe now, she was no longer worthy. She hadn’t wanted to believe that, but she also hadn’t wanted to question him about it. His answers might shatter her.

“I’ve been praying a lot and processing a lot, Shiloh,” Randy said. “And truth be told, I’ve been shell-shocked by all that you’ve dropped on me and the boys. You’re not who I thought you were. You’re not who I thought I married. And honestly, I’ve been angry; I felt betrayed, which I expressed by pulling away from you. I have to admit that I was scared, too. Scared that you would stand in front of our church family and tell them your ugly secrets and bring shame and judgment on us all.”

By now the tears were falling. Shiloh couldn’t hold them in. But she prayed this show of emotion wouldn’t stop Randy from sharing. She needed to hear what was in his heart. She needed to really know him.

“But every time I would take my anger to God and point out what you had done and what all of this could mean for my ministry, he would back me in a corner and ask me how I’d managed to be so perfect along my entire life’s journey. He showed me that truthfully, maybe I chose to date you and to marry you because you
fit the preacher-wife mold: pretty, musically inclined, already well-entrenched in the church, and familiar with the protocol. You fit the bill, babe—every criteria I could outline.”

Randy lowered his head and sighed. “God asked me, though, if it had been that criteria that had held me and prayed with me when my dad overdosed on his anxiety medication after another Vietnam flashback; or if that criteria had birthed me those four healthy boys in the backseat, or nursed me back to health after my gallbladder surgery, or prepared meal after meal for me, or prayed with me and for me whenever I needed it, and sometimes before I could ask.”

Tears filled his eyes as he peered at Shiloh. “I realized that I had been a boy with my own plan when I married you and wanted everything to go my way. But being your husband has shown me that God’s way is better. Nothing you’ve shared about your past has been a betrayal of me or our vows. You betrayed yourself, and the gifts God placed inside you; but can’t you see, he has even redeemed that, by putting a passion for teaching in your heart, and by knitting you and Monica together? If I had to choose all over again, Shiloh, even knowing the grave sins you’ve committed, I’d have to look at my own sins and shortcomings and ask myself if I was worthy enough to be your husband. So I’m asking you tonight, in this gas station parking lot, with our sleeping sons snoring in the back seats, if you’ll consider me and my faults worthy enough of your company and your love, and share the rest of your life with me.”

Shiloh’s heart was so full of joy it ached. She pursed her lips and nodded, because any effort to respond would lead to sobs. She hugged Randy and thanked God over and over. And finally she was able to say the three words that mattered most, but meant more now than they had when she married him seventeen years ago. “I love you, Reverend Randolph James Griffin; I love you. And yes, I will marry you, all over again.”