Several hours after Sable left her bedside, Lorna sat contemplating her life. She was glad Harry was not her father; she hated him. He had taken her innocence, her childhood, her strength. She felt so empty inside.
Everyone she’d ever loved had hurt her. Harry, whom she thought was her father. Nick, who always found fault in her, and her mother…her churchgoing, judgmental mother. Lorna hated her most of all. As Lorna was deep in thought…Jean Carter walked into the room.
“Oh Lorna darling,” she squeaked, leaning over to hug her. Jean had never hugged Lorna. “How are you? I’m so glad that you’re okay.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she began to rub Lorna’s hair as if she were a child.
“Get your hands off me.” Lorna said the words so quietly that Jean was not sure she heard her correctly. Pushing Jean’s hands away, “How dare you sit here acting like you care…get out….get out!”
Screaming the words repeatedly, Lorna’s hysterical voice could be heard at the nurses’ station. Rev. Thomas, Dr. Reed, and Nurse North came running into the room just in time to hear more of what Lorna was saying to her mother.
The venom in her voice coated the air in the room like thick smoke. “You,” she said, “allowed him to use me for years!” Crying, her voice cracking from pain. “You never did anything to stop him! You even blamed me for him not coming to you as a wife!” She screamed as tears rushed down her cheeks like rivers of angry waters.
“You allowed him to sexually abuse me…while you verbally abused me…and now you walk in here like you care! Get out! Get out!” So hysterical her heart monitor started to beep faster, and faster. Seeing the veins in Lorna’s temples expanding, the doctor ordered Jean out of the room.
Nurse North grabbed Lorna to silence her outburst, but she kept yelling for her mother to get out of her room. She yelled her hatred, and anger to the point of anguished violent tears. Tears that would not stop, even when Nurse North put her arms around her, rocking her as if she were a child having a bad dream. For Lorna it was more than a bad dream; it was a nightmare that she feared would never end.
How could her mother, the woman who gave birth to her, who was supposed to protect her, who was supposed to love her, do this to her? Lorna was crying with such anguish; Nurse North started to pray right then and there, and dared anyone to object.
This child needs God, she thought with absolute conviction. She needs to know that despite what she had to live through, there is hope in life. So Nurse North, who survived sexual molestation, only to marry a man who once beat her so badly both her breasts had to be removed; broke hospital rules, and risked public scorn, got on bended knees beside Lorna’s bed and silently started to pray. As far as Nurse North was concerned, God was Lorna’s only hope.
She knew this because if it had not been for a late night televised sermon, she would have pulled the trigger of the gun she had pressed against her temples, when she heard a voice saying, “Don’t do yourself any harm. You are important to God. He loves you.”
So surprised by what she had just heard, her broken finger had eased off the trigger. She did not remember falling asleep in front of the television with the gun still in her hands. But she did remember clearly how she felt when her eyes opened the next morning. She had hope, and that hope had started her on a new journey. Life.
Rev. Thomas, surprised by the nurse kneeling in prayer at Lorna’s bedside, was even more surprised that he didn’t think to do it first. Dr. Reed knew of Nurse North’s religious convictions and was not surprised; she openly lived as a Christian. He was a Christian too; he just did not bring it to work. He did not want to offend anyone.
While Nurse North continued to pray, Dr. Reed made notes in Lorna’s chart. Rev. Thomas sat on Lorna’s bed, holding his daughter, and cried with her. He silently prayed…God…God…help me…help US.
Jean Carter sat motionless in the hospital chapel. Every word Lorna yelled at her came to haunt her with all the dark memories of the past. She remembered hearing Harry leaving the bedroom in the middle of the night.
She remembered hearing Lorna crying and pleading in an anguished voice, so small…chillingly frightened. Putting her fingers to her forehead, she tried blocking out the memories as she had always done, but they kept coming.
She remembered putting her hands over her ears…telling herself that nothing was happening. She remembered the mornings at the breakfast table…Lorna looking devastated…Harry content.
Squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her fingers harder into her forehead, a small cry escaped her throat. She remembered seeing the bloodstained sheet on Lorna’s bed…her virginity lost.
She remembered the many nights hearing Lorna crying, pleading, and Harry grunting. She remembered. She remembered. And tears, crowding behind her tightly closed eyelids, silently eased down her taut face. She hugged herself and began rocking back and forth at a frantic pace. Where would she go for comfort? Richard?
After what seemed like several hours, and Richard had not come to comfort her, Jean had to finally face the fact that she intentionally let her daughter be molested because she could not face her own fears. Because she could not face the truth, Lorna had to pay for her self-denial.
She also could not deny that her anger toward Lorna, the morning in the bathroom, was because the look in Lorna’s eyes told Jean that Lorna knew that she’d known all along and did nothing. Not wanting to face that either, she blamed her daughter for the whole nasty sickness that went on in their home. At the time, it was easier that way.
It all started when Lorna turned five years old, asking if she had a daddy. Jean found it easy from that point on to blame her daughter for anything that was not going right in her life.
Jean Carter blamed her daughter for marrying a pervert, because Lorna wanted a father, who liked having sex with children. Jean knew it. She had always known. By the way Harry looked at children in the park, when they took Lorna there as a child. Jean chose to ignore it…after all…if you do not think about something…it will not manifest itself. Will it?
Denial. Jean had gotten so good at it that she started to believe the lies herself. If Lorna was not doing something to make her life a mess, it was someone or something else. She was the victim! She had not, not intentionally anyway, every hurt anyone.
Denial. It had cost Lorna her virginity and childhood innocence and Jean her daughter’s trust, love and respect.
Jean looked up at the figure of Christ on the cross, and wondered for the first time how she could sit in church every Sunday and say that she was a Christian. In one brief moment, she got her answer. She wasn’t listening to the sermons…she was going because it was the thing to do. Everybody went…no one took this stuff seriously…did they?
Then one morning in the pulpit, there stood Rick Thomas, her first love. He was a minister now; Jean had to prove herself worthy. So she joined the choir, the usher board, and worked on several committees. She even made sure that both she and Lorna dressed properly. No pants. All dresses mid-calve in length. He had to know that she was good enough. Good enough for him.
Jean stared up at the ceramic-made cross, wondering what went wrong. She did all the things she was supposed to do…didn’t she? Sometimes, she had worked so long and hard to please Rev. Thomas; it was to the point of exhaustion. Many times, he would compliment her on the good work she had done. What else was there to do? She’d done all that she could, she thought in despair.
Jean had lived in her world of denial and pretension for so long, that she had made it her truth and Lorna’s nightmare. Her truth…had plunged her into darkness. She had sacrificed her daughter. How could she live beyond this point? The pain was too much to bear.
Looking around the hospital chapel, Jean wondered who would comfort her, as the tears continued to fall.