Chapter
Sixteen

“There are all sorts . . . of pieces missing.”

Henry’s progress had seemed awfully slow to Christine, but he was gradually looking and sounding more like himself. He was allowed wheelchair visits to see Amber and was now able to do most things for himself. The doctors were even speaking of discharge.

But Christine could tell he was worried.

“It takes time,” she tried to reassure him. “The doctors all say—”

“I know what the doctors say. But some of the fog should have cleared by now.”

“Much of the fog has. Think back. Even in the past few days you have improved tremendously.” She was talking to herself as much as to her brother.

He grinned wryly. “I appreciate your attempt to humor me—but I’d be careful how I use the word ‘tremendously.’”

“You do admit there has been improvement?”

Henry nodded.

“Well . . . to my way of thinking . . . any improvement is tremendous.”

“Okay. All right,” he said with a chuckle. Then he sobered. “But I’m ready for a lot more tremendous improvement. It’s just not happening fast enough, Chrissy.”

Her eyes dropped to her hands that held the magazine she had been perusing. “I wish I could . . . do something.”

“Hey,” he responded, reaching out to lift her chin like he had often done over the years when they were growing up and she was sulking or feeling down. “You are doing something. Just being here—encouraging and cheering me on—that’s doing something. Far more than you might realize.” Before Christine could even respond, he went on, “And looking after Danny for us—that’s doing something.”

“The truth is, it’s Aunt Mary who is doing most of the looking after Danny—and loving every minute of it.”

“It makes Amber feel so much better knowing he is happy and busy—and loved.”

Christine nodded and smiled, thinking about how quickly this little boy had made his own place in their family.

“This has been really tough for Amber,” Henry noted soberly. “She feels so bad about losing the baby. I worry that she feels . . . feels almost guilty about it.”

“It certainly wasn’t her fault.”

“No . . . no, but there’s some . . . some strange . . . I don’t know. I don’t really understand it. But . . . well . . . a woman sort of sees her body as the . . . the protected dwelling of her unborn child. She . . . she nurtures and loves and helps it to grow and become . . . someone . . . a person. When something goes wrong, she feels she has somehow failed. Failed to be the protector she was meant to be. It’s hard for Amber. It’s hard for me too.

“I already loved that child,” Henry went on, gazing out the hospital room window. “I wanted him . . . or her . . . just as much as Amber did. But there’s a difference, someway. I don’t feel guilty—just angry. Angry at that driver who drank too much and dared to get behind the steering wheel. To take another life even before it had a chance to fully live. To injure and maim and cause total disruption of lives. To bring pain and concern to many more people than were in the car he hit.”

Christine could see that Henry was getting upset. She reached out a restraining hand. “Don’t think about it. Try not—”

“How can I not think about it?” Henry stared into Christine’s face. “My son is being taken care of by others in a home not his own. My wife is lying with a broken pelvis and an even more painful broken heart. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to work again, Christine. Maybe I’ll just be a . . . a useless lump for the rest of my days. I wasn’t on the job, so there won’t be compensation for my wife and family. I—”

“Henry—don’t,” she begged him, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. “Please, don’t. This . . . this doesn’t help. . . .”

He leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes. Christine could see his jaw working and knew he was struggling with his anger. She did not speak. What could she say?

Many minutes passed in silence. Christine closed her eyes as well and leaned her head back on the tall chair. It had been a horrendous time—for all of them. Henry was right. One man’s carelessness had certainly brought pain to many people. The planned family celebration had never transpired. Her folks finally had taken the train back home, once the danger was passed. Her father was needed at his post, and Christine gathered that her mother insisted on going along simply because she could not bear to be separated from him at a time when she leaned on his strength. So now it was Christine who made the daily treks to the hospital after her day’s work was done. She had not even been to Hope Canteen since the accident. She missed it, and she thought they might be missing her.

At length she opened her eyes again, but she did not lift her head. “Last week—when we were terribly concerned that you . . . that you might not come out of your coma, I was in this little room . . . just down the hall. As I sat there, a radio in the room was playing. I don’t know the program. It was all hymns. Just one after the other, played on a piano. I was feeling . . . really down, and then I recognized the hymn being played.”

She lifted her head so she could watch Henry’s pale face, now tight with emotion.

“The song was ‘Count Your Blessings.’ At first I didn’t even think I had any to count, and then I got to thinking of . . . of how much worse things could have been. I started to count. I really did—and like the song says, it surprised me. We do have things to be thankful for, Henry.”

His nod was barely visible.

“Then this doctor—Dr. Carlton, I think he said his name was—suddenly appeared with a cup of coffee—really awful coffee.” Christine managed a smile. “And a stale cookie. And I added that to my list. Oh, not the coffee and cookie—but the understanding. The reaching out of someone.”

Henry’s jaw had relaxed.

“It gave me a lift—it really did.”

“Dr. Carlton?” Henry asked.

“I think that’s his name.”

“Yes, I know him. He’s a good man. He’s given me a lift, too, on more than one occasion.”

Christine rubbed her hands together, wondering if she dared to speak further. At last she swallowed and plunged on. “Aunt Mary and I were talking a short time ago. About her fall—and all. And about the verse that says, ‘All things work together for good.’ Well, she said she didn’t see her fall as God’s doing or part of His plan or anything like that. But she did see good that came later—good that maybe wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t fallen and gotten hurt.”

“So you’re saying I should see this as some kind of good?”

“No. No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just . . . I’m just trying to say that . . . even in this, God can make something good result—if we let Him.”

She heard Henry’s deep sigh. When she looked at him she noticed tears had squeezed out from under his closed eyes and were sliding down his white cheeks. “I needed that,” he said in a half whisper. That was all.

Henry was discharged first. Because of the circumstances, the RCMP headquarters allowed him to stay in Calgary to be near his wife and further medical treatment if necessary. Christine thought each day he was remembering more of the missing pieces of his life, but she wasn’t sure. Perhaps he was just very good at bluffing.

Much of his time was spent at Amber’s bedside. The doctors seemed pleased with the progress of the healing bone, and gradually she was working through her grief as well.

Christine went to the hospital after work to be with Amber, and Henry and Danny spent that time in the evening together. Danny was not allowed hospital visiting privileges, so little exchanges were carried back and forth. Christine was sure an actual visit would have been beneficial to all, but rules were rules.

She was just leaving one evening when she nearly collided with a hurrying doctor in a white coat. While both were apologizing, Christine realized it was Dr. Carlton. When he recognized Christine, he smiled.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “Most of the staff have learned to get out of the way when they see me coming. I have this bad habit of being totally preoccupied.”

Christine returned his smile.

“You wouldn’t have time for a cup of great coffee, would you?”

“The visiting-hour bell has already rung,” she answered.

“Oh, that. Yes, well, that rings to clear the rooms so the nurses can prepare the patients for the night. It has nothing to do with the visitors’ room.”

Christine tipped her head slightly, sure that the bell meant visitors were to leave the hospital premises.

“The cafeteria? No one gets tossed out of the cafeteria.”

Christine had to smile again.

“I’d really like to hear more about Hope Canteen.”

“I . . . I haven’t been able to get there lately.”

“No—I wouldn’t imagine.” Somehow they had fallen into step and were heading toward the cafeteria. “Instead of helping others to prepare for battle, you’ve had a battle of your own to work through.”

Christine nodded.

“How is Henry since his discharge?”

“I don’t know,” Christine admitted after giving her answer some careful thought. “At times, I think just fine. And then he . . . he hits a mood. Henry was never moody. Never.”

“It’s not unexpected.” He sounded all doctor now. “Many people with Henry’s type of trauma go through that emotional crisis.”

Christine was alarmed. They had not been told. “Will it go away?” she asked.

“Usually. Almost always, in fact. But it takes time. Henry took quite a blow to the head. Brain bruise, we call it. There’s a much more technical term, but folks get the idea when we call it brain bruise.”

Christine nodded. She did get somewhat of a mental image of the injury.

“How long—?”

“We can never say. It depends on so many factors.”

They had reached the cafeteria door, and he held it for her.

“The coffee here is a shade better than it is upstairs. But you might like to try the tea.”

“Actually, I was thinking of something cold. Maybe a cola.”

“Cola sounds good.”

He held her chair while she settled at the small table, then ordered two colas from the young waitress in the striped apron and stiff cap.

“Your folks have left the city?” he asked as the young woman—“Molly” from her name tag—placed the frosty glasses in front of them.

“Yes. They went home last Thursday. Dad had to get back to work. He suggested that Mom stay—but she surprised me. She insisted on going home. I guess that means her mind is quite a bit more at ease about Henry.”

“Mrs. Delaney seems to be doing well.”

“Amber? Yes. She was quite cheerful tonight. Counting the days until she is able to be released.”

“I can’t understand it,” he said, throwing up a hand in mock distress. “Here we take such good care of them. Bring them breakfast in bed every morning, rub their backs every night, wait on them hand and foot—and they still can’t wait to check out of our hospital.”

Christine sensed his light banter was meant to help her relax.

“Except one dear old soul,” he chuckled. “We had to practically push her out the door, and every time we turned around she was back in again. Her shoulder ached or her toe hurt—anything. Anything at all. I was told she kept her hospital suitcase packed so she’d be all ready to go should she feel a twinge. Dear Miss Ache-a-lot.”

“That was her name?”

“No—not officially.”

Christine laughed.

He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Tell me about Hope Canteen.”

“I haven’t been there for so long I feel out of touch,” she admitted.

“Almost two weeks,” he said. “Two weeks tomorrow.”

She was surprised.

“I’ve gone a couple times. Wanted to see it for myself. It’s quite a place. They told me they miss you.”

Christine felt her cheeks flush.

“Do you think you can make it back before too long?”

“I . . . I hope so. Henry spends the days with Amber, but he . . . he likes to have time with Danny in the evenings. So I visit the hospital then. Not that I wouldn’t anyway,” she hastened to add.

She toyed with the glass in her hand. “It’s just . . . well, everything has been so . . . so disrupted. Sort of . . . fallen out of routine. It’s hard to get back in step again.”

He nodded.

“They have a batch of fresh recruits who are regulars now,” he informed her.

“They do?”

“Fresh off the farms. And city streets, too, I would imagine. Just kids.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Some of them look scared. The cocky ones might be scared, too, but their bluff is better.”

Christine shook her head. “It’s the really young ones that bother me. Sending them off to war like that.”

“I think the day will come when we’ll look back and realize just how much we owe them.” His words were solemn.

“I wish the war was over. I wish . . . I’m so afraid—they won’t come back.”

She was glad he didn’t try to reassure her with empty, foolish words. They both knew many of the young soldiers would not be coming back. The grim reality of war meant someone’s husband, someone’s brother would shortly leave the shores of Canada for the last time.

“Another cola?” he asked.

Christine stirred. “No. Thank you. I must be getting home.”

She stood and he stood along with her.

“I plan on going again whenever I can find the time,” he said softly. It almost sounded like an invitation for her to join him.

“I hope to go back, too, when things . . .”

“Don’t wait too long. They need you.” He smiled. Christine gave a little nod and gathered her purse.

At long last, Amber was discharged and brought to Jon and Mary’s house by a relieved Henry and exultant Danny. “Look,” he cried before he was even in the door. “My mom is here.”

Amber was helped in and led to the couch in the living room. “I’m absolutely hopeless on crutches,” she admitted with a laugh. “I just can’t seem to find the right rhythm.”

“There is no right rhythm for crutches,” Mary responded. “I’m quite convinced of that.”

They celebrated by making ice cream, which they ate with canned strawberries and chocolate sauce. It was still too early for fresh strawberries from the back garden.

“This is the best I ever tasted,” Danny announced. Christine was sure that even spinach would have tasted good to the youngster in his excitement. “Are we going home now, Dad?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Henry smiled. “We’ll see.”

Henry had a visit to make to the local RCMP office the next morning. After consultations with his doctors, they would decide what would be done with Henry. Christine knew Henry was undoubtedly anxious. She prayed inwardly that things might go well.

Amber retired early after her exhausting day. Christine was sure they were all feeling it. She would have liked to slip off to her room as well, but she did not want to leave Henry all alone. Mary and Jon had left for a meeting at the church.

“Amber is looking much better,” she noted as they settled in the living room after tucking Danny in.

Henry nodded. “I think she finally has accepted the loss of our child. Pastor Blessing—isn’t that an interesting name for a pastor—has called on her a number of times. It has helped.”

“She told me.”

“For one thing, he told her the baby could have been severely damaged by the accident. It was much kinder of God to take the little one home than for the baby to suffer with some awful handicap.”

“Do you believe that?”

“What? That the baby could have been injured? Of course.”

“That it was kinder to take it?”

Henry shook his head. “I’m not sure. Amber and I would have loved and accepted him—or her—regardless. As to the handicap bringing suffering—it depends. Many handicapped people live a full, rich life. I wouldn’t take that away from them. We just don’t understand their world, that’s all.”

“There’s a young man who helps at Hope Canteen. He . . . has Down syndrome, I guess . . . but he . . . he’s always happy. He pours coffee and passes out sandwiches, and everywhere he goes he is grinning and calling out to people. I sometimes think he brings more joy to others than any of the rest of us do.”

“I guess it would depend on whether the handicap also brought unbearable pain.”

“Yes—but even then, how do we know if the joy of just being alive—of interacting with others—outweighs the pain?”

“I’m glad the decision is not mine—but God’s.”

Christine let the minutes tick by.

“I met that young doctor again. Did I tell you?” she said eventually.

“Eric Carlton?”

“Eric? Is that his name? Well, I literally bumped into him at the hospital. We had a cola. He’s been going to Hope Canteen some. He’s as disturbed over all those young people going off to war as I am.”

“They’re not all young, you know. Many husbands and fathers are also—”

“I know. But it is basically the young ones whom we see at the canteen. They are the ones who are looking for some way to fill their evenings. Something to distract their attention.”

“I’m glad he’s going over there. He should be good with them.”

“Yes. I think so. He said—perhaps it was just meant as an encouragement—but he said they are missing me.”

“I’m sure they are.” Henry stretched out long legs and leaned back. “Well, your life should soon be able to return to normal.”

“And yours?”

“It depends what they say tomorrow. I do feel a bit better about it all. I seem to be able to concentrate better, and I don’t . . . well, I’ve been able, with God’s help, to work through the anger. I must admit I still worry some. If I’m not seen to be fit for work, I’m not sure what we’ll do. I sure wouldn’t want Amber to have to support the family by cutting hair all her life.”

“Oh, Henry—it won’t come to that.”

He smiled but it looked a bit crooked. “Well, whatever comes, I have finally been able to leave it in God’s hands. I love my work—you know that. But if I am not considered fit enough to continue, I’m sure God, as you said, can work out some good. At least I still have my wife and son. After an auto accident like we had, I am truly blessed.”

The chorus of the song started through Christine’s mind once more.

“You know, Chrissy,” Henry went on quietly, “if I am allowed to continue with the RCMP, I’m not sure how I will ever handle it if I have to walk up to some door and inform parents—or a wife, or husband—that someone they love has just been killed or badly injured. I had to give that awful message to Amber those many years ago. I thought I had empathy then, but being through the accident myself, I know what devastation it brings to so many lives.”

“If that time comes, you’ll find the strength. He’ll give it to you.”

“He’ll have to. I’ll not be able to handle it on my own.”