Waiting For Rachel: A Christian Romance (Those Karlsson Boys) (11 page)

Mari still hadn’t reappeared by the time Rachel had finished in the kitchen, so she wandered into the living room where they’d spent the morning unwrapping presents. The room was dimly lit with only lights from the Christmas tree and one small lamp. Rachel flicked the switch to turn on the gas fireplace, standing back to watch as the flames burst to life.

“Rachel?”

“I’m in the living room,” Rachel called out, turning towards the door.

Mari appeared in the doorway, a box in her arms.

“Another present?” Rachel asked with a smile.

“Maybe,” Mari replied cryptically. “Can we sit?”

Rachel wondered if Mari was going to share memories of her family with her. Silently she sat down next to Mari and waited for the young woman to begin.

Mari took an envelope out of the box and fingered it, her gaze not meeting Rachel’s.

“What’s wrong, Mari?”

“I lied to you,” The words came out in a rush.

“Really?” Her confession surprised Rachel. Mari had always seemed honest and up front. “About what?”

“I’m not really nineteen years old.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t the answer Rachel had expected. “How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Seventeen? And you’re out on your own?”

“I’m a mature seventeen year-old,” Mari said, her chin lifting. “Or at least that’s what they tell me.”

“Well, I never would have guessed you were seventeen, so I guess they must be right.” Rachel frowned. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Mari shook her head. “I graduated early. My mom was home schooling me up until she died. When I enrolled in high school I was way ahead of everyone in my class, so they skipped me two grades.”

“Wow, you must be smart. Are you going to go to college?”

Mari nodded. “But I needed to take some time off to work on a couple of things first.”

“Is money a problem? I guess tuition is pretty high these days.”

“Money’s not an issue. My parents had been setting aside money for me for years. Plus, the inheritance they left me when they died was…significant.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s rough having to work and go to school at the same time.”

Mari didn’t reply, her gaze on the envelope she held. “There’s more.”

“More?” Rachel asked, wondering what it was this time.

“This has been more of an omission. Something I didn’t tell you, even though you never asked.”

Curious, Rachel looked at the young woman sensing tension in her. “I’m not going to get upset with you.”

“Here.” Mari thrust the envelope at her.

Cautiously Rachel took it and opened the flap. She pulled out the folded paper. “What is this, Mari?”

“A birth certificate.”

A thought hit Rachel with such force it took her breath away. A birth certificate. Her fingers shook as she unfolded the paper and stared at it, searching for the date.

There it was. August fifteenth, seventeen years ago. The letters blurred as she stared at the date. Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking up at Mari.

The young woman sat rigid next to her, apprehension on her
pale face.

“Are you telling me that you’re my daughter?”

Chapter Eleven

Mari didn’t respond right away so Rachel asked her again. “Are you my daughter?”

The young girl captured her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly looking more like a seventeen-year-old than she ever had. Then Mari nodded.

“Oh, my.” The words slipped out through trembling lips. Rachel had always hoped, had always dreamed this day would come.

She stared at Mari, searching for any part of herself in the young girl’s slender face. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“Our eyes,” Mari said. “We’ve got the same eyes.”

Rachel looked closer and saw the similarity, grateful that a small part of her existed in her daughter. “I guess we know you didn’t get your metabolism from me.”

Mari smiled then, the apprehension fading from her eyes.

“How did you know about me?” Rachel asked the first of a million questions that tumbled through her mind.

“My parents told me.”

“They told you? How old were you?”

“I’ve known forever that I was adopted. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know. My parents always told me I was the child they had prayed for and never thought they’d be able to have. I was their miracle baby.”

Rachel thought back seventeen years. She had such fuzzy memories of that whole time. The delivery had been a nightmare, and the days that followed had been no better.

But one memory lingered.

“It’s best you don’t hold her, sweetheart,” the nurse cautioned. “It will only make it harder to let go.”

“I have to see her,” Rachel pleaded. She’d gone through so much. She just needed to see it was worth it, that her child was perfect.

Frowning, the nurse left the room, hopefully to do as Rachel had asked.

Rachel tried to sit up. Pain from her C-section gripped her, taking her breath away. She panted, trying to keep on top of the agony. She’d ask the nurse for something to take the pain away later, but first Rachel wanted to see her baby without the dullness of the drugs clouding her mind.

“Here she is.” The nurse walked into the room pushing a bassinet on wheels. She bent over and picked up a swaddled bundle. Before handing her to Rachel, she asked one more time, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure.” Rachel held her arms out, eager to hold her daughter. The weight of the tiny baby filled her arms. Pain still coursed through her body, but Rachel ignored it.

The baby opened her eyes wide momentarily before squeezing them shut again. In that brief glimpse Rachel saw they were a deep brown, just like hers. The light fuzz of hair on her small head wasn’t brown like Rachel’s though. It looked almost red in the light shining through the window.

Rachel tried not to think of whom the baby resembled. She pushed aside those memories as she ran a hand over the downy softness.

Gently she laid the baby on her lap and began to unwrap her. The nurse moved forward, but Rachel lifted a hand towards her. “I need to do this.”

The nurse retreated a step. Rachel slowly examined the baby’s tiny fingers and toes. She looked at the stump of umbilical cord attached to her tiny belly, the place they’d once been connected.

“She’s perfect,” Rachel whispered.

With one last lingering look at the tiny body that had grown within her own, she closed the blankets and lifted the baby back into her arms.

Rachel closed her eyes as she cuddled the baby close, inhaling her scent, feeling the softness of her skin. Suddenly her chest ached, a truly physical ache. Rachel didn’t want to let go, but she knew that in order for this precious baby to have the best in life, or at least better than what she could offer, she had to.

Slowly Rachel lowered the baby from her chest and gazed at her one last time. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked rapidly not wanting moisture to cloud her last look at the baby.

“You can take her now,” Rachel told the nurse in a trembling voice. Eyes still glued to the small face, she held out her daughter.

The nurse took the baby and placed her back in the bassinet. She started to leave, then turned back and placed a hand on Rachel’s arm. She met the nurse’s gaze and saw tears in her eyes.

“She’s going to be just fine. I’ve seen her parents, and they look like nice people.”

Rachel looked one last time at the bassinet as the nurse pushed it out the door. She closed her eyes, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Cold spread across her chest and Rachel shivered. She crossed her arms and hugged herself. Feeling dampness Rachel looked down and touched her gown where it lay against her breasts. It was damp.

Confusion gave way to understanding. Her body had reacted to the baby’s nearness, readying itself to provide nourishment for her. But Rachel had not been able to offer the nourishment contained there.

Seeing her body react to the loss was just too much for Rachel. Never again would she get to experience this. She’d never again be able to nourish a child from her body. Everything had been taken away from her.

Why God?

Ignoring the waves of pain from her incision, Rachel curled onto her side, pressed a fist to her lips and wept.

“Rachel? Are you okay?” Mari’s voice broke through her memories. “You’re crying.”

Rachel lifted a hand to her cheek and found it damp. “I’m okay. Just remembering the last time I saw you.”

“The day you gave me away,” Mari stated matter-of-factly.

Rachel nodded. “I saw you just before your parents took you. The first and last time I got to see you.”

Mari nodded. “My parents told me about that day. They said the nurse told them you were brave, that you clearly loved me but knew it was best you give me up.”

“I did. You were my child. It was hard to hand you over to strangers without knowing anything about them. I’m so glad God allowed you to go to Christian parents who did a great job raising you.”

“You’ve met them, you know,” Mari said.

“I have?” Rachel asked in surprise.

Mari nodded. “They visited the bookstore a couple of times. Somehow they knew everything about you. I guess money opens a lot of doors. They never planned to approach you and tell you who they were, but they wanted to make sure you never lacked for anything. My dad said you’d given them the most precious gift on earth, and in return they wanted to make sure your dreams came true.”

“The loan for the bookstore,” Rachel said, amazement filling her.

Again Mari nodded. “Dad found out you’d been turned down. He approached the bank and said he would be responsible for the loan should you default, which he knew you wouldn’t, but he had to say that to the bank officer. His only requirement was that you never know that he had guaranteed your loan.”

“I never knew. I was shocked when they called me back after rejecting my loan and told me it had been a mistake. I thought maybe my dad had had something to do with it. But then I never heard from him so figured it had just been a paper mix-up at the bank. In my favor, for a change.”

“My folks wanted you to have a chance at your dream after giving them theirs.” Mari cocked her head. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad?” Rachel laughed and shook her head. “I’m just relieved and thankful you had such wonderful, caring parents. They were all I prayed they would be and more.”

Rachel stared at Mari, reality suddenly hitting her. This was her daughter. The baby she’d held and kissed and said good-bye to. Reaching out she grabbed Mari in a tight hug, tears once again flowing.

“I can’t believe this,” Rachel whispered against the silkiness of Mari’s hair. “I’m just so sorry it took the loss of your parents to bring us together.”

As she held Mari close, Rachel felt her slender frame shake and heard soft sobs. Wondering if Mari had ever really taken the time to grieve the loss of her parents, Rachel continued to hold her, unwilling to let her go when Mari needed comfort.

Finally Mari pulled back, using her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “Thanks, Rachel. I wish Mom and Dad were here to meet you, really meet you. They liked you, even though they didn’t know you very well.”

“If they loved you, I know I would have liked them, too.”

“Want to see some pictures?” Mari asked, gesturing to the box on her lap.

Pictures! Rachel leaned forward, eager to see the years she’d missed.

They spent the rest of the evening pouring over the pictures. They moved to the kitchen to eat when they got hungry, still sharing stories and memories. Mari seemed as eager to learn all she could about her birth mother, as Rachel was to get to know her daughter.

Rachel went to the closet in her old bedroom and retrieved the box from beneath the floorboards. She showed Mari the hospital bracelet she’d kept, the paper with tiny footprints on it, and the Polaroid picture the nurse had taken for her. Also in the box where sixteen pressed pink roses. Each year on August fifteenth, no words were spoken of the significance of the day, but when Rachel would wake that morning there would be single pink rose in a vase beside her bed. Even last year when her mom had been so sick there had still been a rose. This had been the first year with no rose, but better than that was having her daughter in her arms.

Mari didn’t leave that night. They stayed up late talking and slept in the next morning. Rachel woke to bright sunlight, wondering if she’d dreamed the past twenty-four hours. Was her daughter really sleeping in the room just down the hall?

Slipping out from under her blankets, Rachel pulled on her robe and left the room. She moved quietly down the hallway, then paused in front of the room Mari was using. The door wasn’t fully shut, so she reached out and pushed it open a few more inches. She immediately spotted Mari, still curled up in bed.

The carpet muffling her steps, Rachel moved to the side of the bed and looked down at her sleeping daughter. She’d never had a chance to watch Mari sleep when she’d been an infant or a toddler. Rachel had never brushed a silky curl from her smooth cheek as a young girl.

She mourned the lost years. The only thing that made the loss less intense was knowing that Mari had had parents who’d loved and doted on her.

Mari stirred, then opened her eyes. She looked surprised to see Rachel, but smiled as she sat up.

“Sorry,” Rachel said with a sheepish grin. “Just had to make sure I hadn’t dreamed last night.”

“No dream.” Mari drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them. “I’m so glad you’re happy about this.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t know. I wanted to be sure.” Mari tilted her head, an inquiring look on her face. “Am I the reason you won’t get together with Damian?”

“What?” Rachel looked at Mari in surprise. She sank down onto the bed. “No. Well, maybe that’s not quite true. There is more, and indirectly I guess it’s related to you.” Rachel plucked at the blanket. How much should she tell Mari? Revealing the rest of the details surrounding her birth might make Mari feel bad. And that was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Can you tell me about it?” Mari asked. “I want to know more, but only if you’re comfortable telling me.”

Rachel gnawed her lip. “You haven’t asked me who your father was.”

“I assumed you didn’t know. No father was listed on my birth certificate. Do you know who he is?”

Rachel hesitated briefly before nodding her head. “Yes, I know who he is.”

“Does he live around here?”

“I don’t think so. We were living in Chicago at the time. My dad had left, taking my brother with him. My mom retreated into a depression. Not that I blame her. Anyone who goes through losing a husband to a younger woman and doesn’t feel depressed in some way has got to be emotionally stunted.” Rachel often wondered how her mother had survived that time.

“I started dating this guy, he seemed nice at the time. He promised me love…and the world. Or so I thought. The day I told him I was pregnant was the day my world crashed down around me. He told me to take care of it, and he never talked to me again.

“I’m sure he meant for me to have an abortion, but I couldn’t. I was overweight at the time and hiding the pregnancy wasn’t too hard. I hid it until I was eight months along. My mom found out when she walked into my bathroom one day and saw me without the baggy clothes I normally wore.”

“Was she mad?”

Rachel could clearly remember the look on her mother’s face, right before she’d burst into tears. “No, she wasn’t mad. Sad and disappointed mostly, I think. Just one more disappointment for her. I told her everything then. After I had you, we moved here from Chicago. I started in a new school and put it all behind me.”

“And now I’ve brought it all back,” Mari commented, furrowing her brow.

Rachel reached out and smoothed her fingers over the lines in Mari’s forehead. “I don’t regret it at all. I wish the circumstances around your conception were different. But at least I can tell you this, though you weren’t conceived in love, you were certainly carried with love and given away with love.”

“And my parents loved me,” Mari said, her eyes bright with tears.

“An answer to my prayers.” Rachel leaned back on her hands. Her fingers sank into the softness of the quilt covering the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me right away who you were?”