Nila's Hope (27 page)

“Want to tell me about it?”

She pushed herself to a sitting position and winced at the pain. “I don't…know. But come in…sit.”

Dave crossed to the desk chair and lowered his solid form onto it. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped. The love radiating from his face brought a fresh rush of tears. “Is your pain worse? Do you have a fever?”

She plucked a tissue from her nightstand, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes. “No. This isn't about my injuries.”

He waited.

“I heard you all upstairs. Your laughter, the kids' excitement, your family's celebration.” She blew her nose again and released a deep, gasping sigh. “It made me think about my past. Everything I missed.” She shook her head. “I don't like to feel sorry for myself. It just… overwhelmed me.”

Dave cleared his throat. “Have you ever talked about it?”

“Not everything. Not much, really.”

“In that case, dear heart, I have a suggestion.”

 

****

 

The house was still. Everyone had left for the celebration at the newlyweds' home.

Nila carried her laptop to the living room. It was time.

She lit the tall, cinnamon-scented candle on the coffee table and inhaled its spicy aroma. It mingled with the scents of the evergreen garlands and clove-studded oranges woven around its base. “M-mm. That smells like Christmas. Happy belated birthday, Lord Jesus.” She took another deep breath. “You know I've given you my heart. I've just been told I should give you my past. It seems like the worst birthday present ever, but Pastor Dave said you'd want it.” Would that assurance help her get through this?

She settled on the couch and opened her laptop. The blank screen stared back at her.

Dave's encouragement echoed in her mind. “Write it down, dear. Get it all out. Give it all to Jesus.”

She wasn't ready. She couldn't do it. Not yet. Her misery weighed heavy on her heart. If not now, then when? She eased back on the couch into a more comfortable position. She took a deep breath and prayed for strength.

Where should she start? She considered that. Might as well start at the beginning. She settled her fingers on the keys and let her mind drift back. All the way back to her earliest wounds.

 

Dear Mother,

W
hat made you decide to give me away? Why couldn't you love me? Did you care at all? Do you ever wonder about me? Who are you? Do you live nearby? Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I wonder if I look like you. But you never gave me a chance to know…

 

Once begun, her heartache poured out through her fingers. She finished that letter, sent it to the printer in Dave's office, and continued. She wrote to the owners of groping hands under her blankets, others who blamed her and called her a liar, and the ones who tossed her aside at a moment's notice.

She wrote to teachers who failed to notice and social workers who didn't have time to care. Page after page, she released a lifetime of neglect and abuse. Each anguished letter pried loose another link in the chain of guilt and sorrow she'd worn all her life.

The clock in the den chimed.

Nila looked at her watch in shock. She hit “print” on the final letter, the one to Nick, and closed her computer. She felt freer, lighter—and completely drained. She had run an emotional marathon. Nila half-rose to empty the wastebasket full of used tissues at her feet, but the sound of voices halted her.

The front door opened, and Dave and Lydia's family burst into the house.

Gracie ran to Nila and danced in excitement.

“Hi, Nila! Did you miss me? We were at Melody's. Why didn't you come? Are you better yet?”

“I…”

“Enough, Gracie,” her mother said. “Leave Nila alone. Give her some space.”

The little girl stood, shoulders slumped. Her lower lip protruded. “But Mommy, I love her.”

Nila held her arms wide to her small friend, and love flowed from her tenderized soul. “I love you, too, Gracie. It's OK, Lily. Maybe Gracie and I can read a story together. Would that be all right?” She grabbed another tissue and wiped her face.

Lily tilted her head. “If you're sure.” She looked at her daughter. “But you have to sit still so you don't hurt Nila.”

Gracie had already retrieved a picture book from the shelf. “OK, Mommy.” She climbed onto the couch and handed the book to Nila. “Here, this is one of my favorites. It makes me laugh.”

She snuggled close, and Nila breathed in the baby-shampoo scent of her lustrous, dark hair. She wrapped her uninjured arm around the little girl and drew her even closer. Then Nila read the title of Gracie's chosen storybook.

Are You My Mother?

She tried to stifle a gasp, but it escaped as a sniffle.

Gracie looked up at her, questions in her big, almond-shaped eyes. “Are you all right? Why aren't you reading?”

Nila closed her eyes for a moment. She could do this. She was free to live and love. She smiled through tears at the little girl, kissed the top of her head, and opened the book.

 

****

 

The next day Will climbed the steps to Dave and Lydia's home as the sun disappeared below the horizon. He paused to admire the brilliant sunset as it bid farewell to another day.

Christmas was over, and now a new year loomed. What would it bring?

He inhaled a deep breath of crisp air and extended his hand to ring the Harris's doorbell.

Before it connected, the wreath-decorated door swung wide.

“Welcome, Will. Come on in. Mighty cold outside.” Pastor Dave ushered him inside and shut the door behind him. “I saw you pull into the driveway. Nila's waiting for you in my office.”

The pastor's voice was warm, but his expression was one Will had only seen at funerals.

“Thanks.” He had to ask. “Do you know what this is about? Are we still on for, you know, the surprise?”

The compassion in Dave's eyes seemed to warn him. “Go see Nila. We'll see about the rest later.”

Will swallowed a lump of apprehension. Would all his efforts be for nothing? Had the woman he loved decided to reject him? He walked on unsteady legs to the closed door to Dave's study. He paused and looked back at his pastor.

Dave nodded his head, turned, and went into the noisy kitchen to join his family.

Will opened the door without a sound.

Nila stood facing the window with her arms wrapped tight around herself as though chilled.

“Nila?”

She whirled, nearly losing her balance. She grabbed the edge of the desk and winced.

Will reached her in two steps but didn't touch her. He took in her tear-streaked face and fistful of crumpled tissues. Fear punched him, nearly taking his breath away. “What's wrong?”

She nibbled her lower lip before answering. “I need to talk to you. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Another blow.

She seemed to give herself a mental shake and forced a weak smile. “Belated Merry Christmas. How was the celebration with your family?”

“Fine, thanks. Now what is this about?”

“I'm sorry, Will.”

He raised his eyebrows, afraid to say anything. He needed to know. He didn't want to know.

“When I told you to leave…at the hospital…I wasn't thinking straight. I wish I hadn't done that.”

Will whooshed out a breath. “Is that all? No big deal. I was pretty messed up, too. I figured I deserved it after I left you defenseless.”

She put up a hand. “No, you didn't. God was there. But that's not all.” She touched his face with a gentleness that thrilled and frightened him. “Maybe you'd better sit.”

His backbone stiffened. “I'll stand. Lay it on me.”

 

 

 

 

31

 

Nila couldn't hear anything outside the office.

The Harris family must have gone downstairs to watch a Christmas movie marathon as promised.

She took a deep breath and placed her hand over her pounding heart. She lifted her chin and met Will's gaze. “A while ago, you said you wanted to know me, to know my past. Is that still true?” She held her breath.

Will tilted his head and nodded, puzzlement on his face.

She reached behind her for the stack of paper on the printer. She handed the sheaf to him. “I wrote these letters to everyone I could remember who hurt me. I needed to forgive them and release myself from all the pain they caused.” She drew in a quivering breath. “Pastor Dave told me this was a good way to do that.”

Will pulled out the desk chair and sank into it. “You're right. I need to sit.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Are you sure you want me to read these?”

Nila sagged against the desk as her courage deflated. She couldn't face him. “You don't have to. They're not pleasant.”

He set the papers on the floor. “Come here. Please.”

She looked into his eyes. The light that shone from them brought fresh tears. She let them fall as she stood in front of him.

His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs wiped her tears. He carefully tugged her onto his lap and kissed her with a gentleness that stirred her soul. “I was afraid,” he whispered, “that you never wanted to see me again. I thought you'd called me over to say goodbye. Forever.” He kissed her again, and his tears mingled with hers.

He pulled back and traced her tears with one finger. “I am humbled and honored that you would ask me to read these letters.” He gestured to the pile on the floor. “I do want to know you. I want to share your pain.” He sighed raggedly.

The sound ripped at her heart. She mirrored his action and traced the wetness on his cheeks. “After you read those letters, I'm going to burn them in the fire pit in the backyard. If you're willing, I'd like you to help me do that.”

He nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. His Adam's apple bobbed. “Thank you.”

Nila slid off his lap and went to the door. “I'll wait in the kitchen. Whenever you're ready, let me know.”

He smiled then, and his deep blue eyes held hers. “As you wish.”

 

****

 

Will waited until the door closed and clicked behind Nila. He picked up the sheaf of papers and set them on his lap.

The top sheet began, “Dear Nick.”

At first, he scanned the document in an attempt to remain detached. It didn't work. As he read Nila's description of the first time Nick beat her, Will felt his pulse jump. His whole body stiffened. He stopped to gulp in a breath and let it out through his nose. He didn't know if he could handle this. Part of him wanted to shove the letters away. The truth hurt so much.

But she trusted him. Nila had opened her past to him through these letters. He couldn't let her down. He gritted his teeth, bowed his head, and continued to read.

I thought you loved me, Nick. But love doesn't do the things you did.

Her confession and absolution continued, and by the fifth page, Will could no longer hold back his tears. He wept for the young woman who'd felt trapped and unworthy of freedom. He wept for the abuse she'd suffered. He sobbed aloud for the lonely, mistreated child she'd been. He lost all concept of time as he immersed himself in her pain. He marveled at her perception and willingness to forgive.

By the time he set aside the final page of the letter written to her unknown mother, Will's energy had ebbed, leaving him devastated. And amazed.

How had she endured all that? She could have given up, chosen bitterness and self-pity. Instead, she'd embraced forgiveness and love. In Jesus' name.

Will grabbed several tissues and blew his nose. He ignored the wetness on his cheeks as he leaned back and lifted his face toward heaven.

He'd never understand why she'd had to endure so much. No one should suffer like that.

But she'd survived, like purified gold.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and lowered his face into his hands. He wept in sorrow, love, and wonder.

How could he ever be worthy of her?

 

****

 

Nila looked up when Lydia poked her head around the kitchen door from the basement. “May I come in?” the older woman asked. “The kids are hungry, so I thought I'd grab some snacks. OK?”

Nila closed her Bible and pushed her chair back. She knew her red, puffy eyes and nose revealed her ravaged emotions.

But Lydia would understand.

“Of course.” She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Oh, I didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry. I didn't think we'd need this much time.”

Lydia shook her head. “Stay put. I'll just get some buns, cheese slices, and carrot sticks. What you're doing is incredibly important. We're all praying.” She gathered the food, kissed the top of Nila's head, and headed for the stairs.

“Thank you,” Nila said. “For praying.” When the basement door closed, she pushed to her feet. It had been a long time. She hoped Will was all right. She hoped…

“Nila.”

At the sound of Will's voice, she turned.

His face looked as if he'd just come from a battle zone.

Her heart twisted. Had she asked too much? Uncertainty forced her back, away from the deep sorrow in his eyes. “I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to read those.”

His long legs brought him within inches of her quaking body. His finger under her chin lifted her face until she had to meet his gaze. He caressed her cheek with his thumb as he lowered his lips to hers.

“Will…”

“Shh. Not yet,” he murmured against her mouth.

He wrapped his arms around her as though she might break.

Nila leaned into his embrace. She'd missed this. She slipped her good arm around his waist and pressed her ear to his heart. Its beat reminded her of a marching band's bass drum. Steady, stirring, and strong. She wanted to listen to it forever. “I love you, Will.”