Tessa McDermid - Family Stories (14 page)

She dropped off to sleep, her pil ow saturated with her tears. When she woke up again, light filtered through the blinds into the room. Frank sat in a chair next to her bed.

"Honey? How are you?"

"Frank?" She reached her hand toward him, and then she remembered.

Her baby, her son, was gone. No little arms would slip into the shirts she'd painstakingly sewn. No little feet would wear the booties that Mrs. Sul ivan had knitted in the evenings. No little face would light up when she came into the room.

The immensity of her loss threatened to suffocate her. She clutched at her throat, trying to get the air out of her lungs. Frank tried to take her hand, his eyes searching the door for a nurse.

"What is it, Marian? What can I do for you?"

Dry heaves wracked her chest. She had no tears left for her poor child; they'd al soaked her pil ow the night before.

A nurse glided into the room, her feet silent in her white shoes, carrying a tiny bundle.

"Would you like to hold your son?"

Frank lifted his arms but Marian waved him away. "No," she said harshly, the word scraping her throat. "He's my son."

The nurse gingerly laid the tiny form in her arms. Marian pul ed the blanket back and studied the perfect face.

His eyes were closed and for a moment, she thought he was only sleeping. She'd suffered a nightmare. Her baby was alive.

But he didn't move. No rise and fal of his chest. Wishing she stil had tears, she bent to kiss his smooth, perfect cheek.

A tear dripped onto her hand. Confused, she raised her head and met Frank's anguished eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Marian," he whispered, one finger gently stroking the baby's nose. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen."

"It wasn't your fault," she managed to tel him. His pain was intense enough to touch. At least I'll never feel the guilt he wil , she thought. I never wished you gone, little one.

She kissed the baby's forehead. "I want to cal him David. A good strong name to protect him."

"David." His finger edged around the baby's ear, over the little shoulders. "We'll miss you."

Her tears flowed then, spil ing onto David's blanket, washing away al the promise that the future had held for this child. Frank put his arm around her, and they held their son together.

When the nurse returned, Frank was reluctant to hand over the baby. "Frank, she needs to take him." Marian touched his hand lightly. Her sorrow left no room for anger. "He's in our hearts now, and that's where we'll have to carry him." She eased the baby from his arms and careful y gave him to the nurse.

"I'm so sorry, Marian, about the past few months." His head was bowed, his hands clasped in his lap.

"I'm too tired now, Frank." She closed her eyes, feeling weak and drained. "I need to rest. Why don't you go home and come back later?"

She felt his kiss on the top of her head, then heard the door shut. Muffling her head in the pil ow, she cried, great, wracking sobs that wrenched the soul from her body. When she felt a hand touch her hair, she jerked away, not wanting Frank that close to her.

"Go ahead, cry. You hurt and you need to release the pain." The nurse's voice was soothing, her fingers gentle.

"He was a beautiful boy," the nurse said.

"What will I do? How can I live with his father after this? He didn't want the baby and never even spoke about him. 'The words poured out of her, rushed by the tears that never seemed to stop.

"You'll find a way." The nurse tucked the wet strands of hair behind her ears. "Women have suffered pain through their children since Eve. Your husband also hurts and you can heal together." She pul ed the covers around Marian's shoulders. "You won't forget this little one. But you'l go on, for his memory's sake."

She handed Marian a pil and held a cup of water to her lips. Grateful y, Marian slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She was stil groggy when Frank returned. He carried a smal bouquet of roses, which the nurse set on the window sil . He sat down beside Marian's bed, his hat in his hands.

"Marian, I've been thinking al afternoon. I can't change what happened, but I can make a change for the future. The doctor says it's possible there were complications, and that's why you woke up."

His eyes were on the ground, his voice barely audible. "The doctor doesn't know if the fal caused you to lose the baby or if it was something else. It doesn't matter now. What does matter is that we've lost our son and I will carry the burden of that—of not being with you—for the rest of my life."

A twinge of the love she'd felt for him stirred and tried to come to life. But David's tiny face came back to her and she pushed the feeling away.

"Marian, I don't blame you if you hate me. I turned my back on our marriage, on you. But, please, can you give us another chance? I want to go away from Davenport, leave the bad memories and start fresh."

"To Winston?" She had a strong desire to see her mother, to hear her father quote comforting words from the Bible.

He nodded. "If that's your choice."

They could stay with her parents. She had written them again after Thanksgiving, secure in her marriage and unwil ing to continue hurting the two people who'd raised her and loved her. Since then, she had received several letters. They would welcome her back with open arms.

"Jobs are stil hard to come by, "he was saying, "but not as many people are trying to find work there as in other parts of the country. Your father will help us, Marian."

Tears misted her eyes. "Yes, Frank, I want to go home. Please, take me home."

He moved to her side and put his arms around her. "Honey, no one wil ever take the place of David. I'm so sorry he's gone. But we can start over, and this time things wil be better. I promise."

She closed her eyes, wil ing the tears to go away. "I loved that little baby, Frank. Every night, when he moved, I felt so good. I feel empty now."

He pressed his lips against her forehead. "We'll go to Winston, Marian. You can heal there. And there'll be other babies. Babies we'l both love. You'll see."

She couldn't think of other babies. Not with David's face so clear in her mind.

But she would go home to Winston.

Chapter 9

Winston, Missouri

April 1930

"Thank you for bringing her back to us." Mrs. Cooper stopped near Frank, carrying the basket of towels she'd just taken off the line.

Frank looked up from the newspaper article he'd been reading in the back garden. He was glad she had the basket in her arms; her constant pats and hugs were sometimes more than he could handle, especially after a long day at the feed store. He'd slipped outside to enjoy a few minutes of quiet. "You don't need to thank me every day."

"Oh, but I do." She dropped the basket on the ground and took the chair opposite him. "We missed her so much. Her father could barely write his sermons, al that sorrow and guilt weighing on his heart. His actions were what drove her off."

Frank's own guilt weighed on him. "We didn't do right by you, Mrs. Cooper. We should never have stolen away like that. At the very least, we should've told you where we were."

Her eyes reared up, and the sight tore at his heart. Marian would look like this when she was older, a lovely woman with experience and life etched on every inch of her face. How many tears would his wife cry because of him?

He had vowed that their life would be different, that he would pay constant attention to her, that she would hear how much he loved her. The image of her in that hospital bed, her face pale and wan from the loss of their child, would haunt him forever. He would make it up to her, every single day.

He had told her parents about losing the baby, not sure she'd be able to talk about it. Her mother had said she'd speak to Marian. "It's the lot of the women in our family," she had told him, her narrow hands patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "We seldom can carry a baby to term. That's why Marian is our miracle."

She'd said something similar to Marian, because she'd dismissed al his attempts to talk about future babies.

"We won't have any, Frank," she'd muttered once, her tone flat and bitter. "And you needn't feel guilty about David's death. You weren't responsible. My family was."

He had tried to gather her into his arms, but she'd pushed him away. They'd spent the first few nights in separate rooms, Marian in her old room, Frank in the guest room. Her parents had believed it was because of Marian's recent loss, and Frank didn't contradict them. With steady and gentle wooing, he had convinced Marian of his love, and moved into her room.

"Reverend Cooper says you and he are going away for a few days." Mrs. Cooper snapped a towel in front of her and deftly folded it.

Frank nodded. Marian's father wouldn't say where they were going, just that he had a plan for Frank's future.

"He's concerned about you, Frank." She didn't glance up from her towels. "He thinks you have too much talent to be working in a feed store. That you can do great things, if you put your mind to it."

Frank stared at her in surprise. He had not expected the reverend to ever regard him with favor. Tolerance, perhaps, for his daughter's sake. But the idea that Reverend Cooper thought he could make something of himself...

"I'm humbled, ma'am," he said. "I hope I live up to Reverend Cooper's trust."

She placed the last towel on her pile and stood up. "You wil , Frank. Didn't you win your way back into Marian's room? Her father isn't near as stubborn as she is."

His cheeks flushed at her light chuckle. He buried his head in the newspaper again, waiting several minutes before he ventured into the house.

"We saw Brother Grimes," Frank told Marian several days later. They'd returned from their trip and he stil couldn't believe his good fortune. He paced around their tiny room as he talked, ducking slightly whenever he came to the pitched roof to one side.

"But why did Father take you to see him?" Marian was unpacking his suitcase. He had offered to do it himself but she'd assured him it was a wife's duty.

She was tucking his clean shirts back into the dresser drawers, her bright curls tumbled around her shoulders.

A wife's duty. He was counting on that wifely duty now, that awareness that he was the head of the household.

"I've been accepted into the seminary," he said. "Your father sent my name to Brother Grimes. I had an interview with the board, and they accepted my application."

Her hands stil ed. She had her back to him so he couldn't see her expression. He stepped closer, then stopped, waiting for some sort of response.

"You were accepted at the seminary?" Her voice was quiet, a whisper in the room. Her hands held his shirts, her body frozen as if in a tableau.

He nodded and cleared his throat. "Yes. I start my courses next month. That should give us time to pack and let Mr. Bates find a replacement. If he needs one," he added. He'd never been able to shake the feeling that he only had the job out of respect for Reverend Cooper.

"Next month."

A long moment passed. She final y put down the shirt, closed the dresser drawer with a decisive push, and stepped back. "A month. Wel , I suppose I should start sewing some new white shirts for you. Your suit will have to see you through the first term. Wil you take the train to Des Moines again?"

He frowned. "You're coming with me, Marian. We already have quarters in the married housing unit."

She turned around slowly. Her lips were curved but he didn't think he'd ever seen a colder smile. "I won't be joining you, Frank. I didn't leave this parsonage to move into another one for life."

A burning ignited within his stomach and spread outward to his hands. He clenched them at his sides. "You married me to escape the parsonage?"

Her tril of laughter grated on him. "Of course not, Frank. I loved you. Leaving here was just a bonus."

Her words were like a bucket of water on the fire of his anger. "You loved me? Are you saying you don't love me now?" What about those sweet words she whispered in the privacy of their bed? Those tender touches?

Were they al lies he'd wanted to believe?

"Of course not." She gathered up his pile of dirty clothes. "I would've appreciated some say in the course of our life. That's al . You made this decision without even giving me a hint of what was coming."

He blocked her exit. "Your father gave me no hint when he took me away. We can't spend the rest of our lives in your parents' house, Marian. Do you want to settle in Winston? Des Moines is a good-size town, a place with lots to do. And you can make friends in your classes."

Her arms tightened around the clothes. "My classes? No, thank you."

"So I go to Des Moines alone? How will that affect my ministry, Marian, if my own wife won't accompany me?"

She shrugged and dodged around him, grabbing the doorknob with her left hand. "I don't know, Frank. I do wish you the best. But I can't go with you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Does it matter? I won't be on that train, and I won't share your married-couple quarters. I can't do it, Frank."

She pul ed open the door.

"So, will I tel your parents or will you?"

She stopped abruptly, her hand on the knob. "Tel them what?"

"That you aren't going with me. That we're getting a divorce."

She spun around, the door swinging shut with a bang. "A divorce? I didn't say anything about a divorce!"

"If a wife won't go with her husband, then it seems divorce is the only answer. Can't expect a man to live his life in limbo, not married and not single."

"I can't get divorced! It would kil my parents. "They'd recovered from her elopement, relieved she was legally married. But a divorce...

"Then what are we going to do, Marian? I've already accepted the position at the seminary. They have an apartment assigned to us."

She brought her hands to her chest, trying to breathe. "I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't live in a parsonage again. Living here was temporary, it was never to be our life."

He watched her, unblinking, his mouth in a straight line.