Four

Even though Josie insisted she could walk, Art swept her up and carried her from the backseat of the Packard into the apartment. After he ignored her protests, she’d gone still, almost listless. They’d lost a child, but now he felt like he was losing her, too. She’d retreated so far inside herself he wasn’t sure how to find her.

How could it hurt so much to lose one they’d never met? And with Josie lost in a place she’d created, he didn’t have anyone to share the pain with. What should he do? This was virgin territory for him. So he prayed. Surely God knew exactly what they each needed to move forward. There would be other children. Art had no doubt of that. But that didn’t erase his pain.

No, if anything, the pain led him straight back to the main question. Why? God could have prevented the loss. But He hadn’t.

“Here we are, Josie. Do you want to lie down in the bedroom?”

She didn’t respond. She burrowed deeper into his chest. He eased on to the couch and settled her next to him. Dr. Nathan had said she’d be back to normal in a few days. Maybe physically, but Art wondered about the rest of her.

In this unchartered water, he desperately wished someone could hand him a map.

❧

Josie tried to rouse herself. Art needed her to pull out of the pain. Could she share the depth of where her thoughts took her? Had they lost the baby because of something she’d done? Had she not been excited enough? Not appreciated the growing gift inside her?

Her thoughts were at war. Her head told her it was nonsense. But her heart felt bruised. Josie needed a reason, but there was none.

Dr. Nathan had said it was too early to know whether the baby was a girl or a boy. She’d had dreams of a little girl dressed in pleated dresses with hair a mess of blond curls. Art had sounded so certain it was a miniature him. It hadn’t really mattered, though, because in a few months they’d know. Now she wondered. Was it a daughter or a son she’d never hold? She felt tears fight for release, but she refused to succumb. She’d done nothing but cry since the cramps had begun. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, but tears trickled down her cheeks anyway. Yet another sign of her body betraying her.

Art rubbed small circles in her shoulders and upper back. She relaxed against him. She had done nothing to deserve his gentleness, yet he continued to pour out his love on her. So like Jesus serving others.

“Read me something.” The words squeaked out. A plea for something to soothe her.

The kneading slowed. “What would you like?”

“Anything full of hope.” How she needed that.

He reached for the Bible on the small side table. She turned her head to watch him flip through the gently worn pages. “How about a Psalm?” Without waiting for her acquiescence, he began reading.

“ ‘Be merciful unto me, O God: for man would swallow me up; he fighting daily oppresseth me.’ ” Art’s rich baritone reached deep inside her, making her believe because he believed. “ ‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee. In God I will praise his word, in God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me.’ ” Oh, how she needed that: the certainty that she could trust in the God she’d praised all her life. Surely, He was still there, still worthy of praise even when her heart was broken.

“ ‘Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book? When I cry unto thee, then shall mine enemies turn back: this I know; for God is for me.’ ”

God was for her. What a comforting thought. She could trust that promise. She would trust that promise. Despite what her heart felt at that moment in time. God was for her.

“ ‘In God will I praise his word: in the Lord will I praise his word. In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me. Thy vows are upon me, O God: I will render praises unto thee. For thou hast delivered my soul from death: wilt not thou deliver my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of the living?’ ”

Fresh tears wet her cheeks as she listened to the familiar words of Psalm 56. God held all of her tears. The thought was somehow comforting. He had never promised that her life would be pain free. As she wiped her cheeks, how she wished He had. No, He’d promised He would value each tear she cried. What an amazing—and absolutely humbling—thought. The God of the universe cared enough to watch and collect each tear.

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.