Lily slept, exhausted, on the bed. Grant pushed the hair off her face for the umpteenth time and thanked God for sparing the life of his bride. Mrs. Hughes walked in and handed him a small bundle—the cleaned body of the stillborn infant, wrapped in a beautifully knit blanket. The midwife nodded for him to take it.
“Why? He’s dead.”
“He is your child. A beautiful baby who is now with the Lord. You and Lily need to name him, plan a funeral and move on, trusting God to give you more.”
Grant gingerly took the baby and held the bundle in the crook of his arm. It was late morning. He gazed into the face of this tiny person they had longed and prayed for. Perfect fingers and toes. Little cheeks and long eyelashes. Ginger colored hair, just like his. He touched a cheek tenderly. The body was still warm. He wished Lily would wake up to see their son.
Mrs. Hughes spoke softly. “Lily will be fine in time. She needs time to heal. I’ll return tomorrow, but you may come for me if you need me.” Her voice lost the confident professional tone as she continued. “Your son is beautiful, Grant. I won’t pretend to understand why God would take such a perfect child away so young. I never do. You are a father, even if you don’t get the pleasure of raising this little one.” She wrapped her scarf around her head and secured it. “God will bless you and Lily, Grant. Trust Him.” And with that, she left.
Grant gazed down at his little boy. God gave them a son and had taken the child away. The previous night had been a difficult one for Lily, and he’d prayed as he heard her cries from the other room. He’d wanted to be with her, but the midwife would not permit it. A man who helped heifers and mares give birth should surely be allowed with his wife during that process. He wife stirred next to him. He leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “He’s beautiful, sweetheart. When you wake up I will introduce you to our son.”
* * *
The funeral was a small one at the Wesleyan church in Hillsboro. Lily’s family refused to attend, believing the child was cursed as they had not baptized it. Those words cut deeply into her soul. She had not wept over the loss of their child. Instead, she held and rocked the baby before she’d handed it to Grant and returned to sleeping. After that, she never asked again to hold him. She couldn’t bear it.
Something within her vanished along with the spirit of the little person who’d died within her. In spite of the quicksand of grief she drowned in, Lily insisted they stick with their plan to name their firstborn son after her husband. So Grant Rudolph Anderson, Jr. was buried that early morning in October.
Mrs. Hughes visited two days later and encouraged Lily as she struggled with the changes in her body that continued to believe it was ready to care for a child that wasn’t there. Several women provided meals. But at night, they were alone with their mutual grief, a wall between them.
Lily had been quiet as she tried to go about the normal daily chores. Fatigue weighed her down. One night, Grant sat across the table from her and as he finished eating, he spoke.
“God will give us other children,” he said.
“You don’t know that,” she spat back.
“He has some kind of plan for us. I don’t understand what it is, but we can trust Him. Whatever happens, children or not, I will always love you.”
“You don’t care if our baby died? As long as I’m here, that’s enough?”
“Of course you are enough for me, Lily. Would I love for us to have a home bursting with children? Yes. But not without you to share it with.”
“So the child meant nothing to you?”
Grant’s jaw dropped. He shook his head. “That is not what I said.” He ran his fingers through his hair and stared up at the wood ceiling of the home he had built for her with his own two hands. “I meant that I could not imagine raising children without you by my side. I would not want to do that without you. I love you. I need you, Lily.”
“But you don’t need children?”
“No. I don’t. Not without you,” he pleaded.
She glared at him, fury tearing up her insides. How could he so easily minimize all they had lost? What if she could never bear any more children? The thought broke her. Didn’t he care? Had he wept over this child?
She really didn’t know. She’d slept a lot, and he would often head to the barn to care for the animals and complete the final storage of the harvest as they prepared for winter and readied the fields for spring. Or chopped wood. It was as if he was avoiding her. She had failed as a wife. Her body had failed her as a woman. God had failed her. She rose and went to the bedroom and crawled into bed fully clothed. For the first time in days, she wept for all she had lost. Not only a baby, but also the death of her dreams of a family, her hopes, her faith, and the closeness she once shared with Grant.
* * *
Grant cleaned up the kitchen. He was lost. They never argued like this. She thought he didn’t care? Grief beat him incessantly. As he milked the cows, the wound inside him bled. As he mucked out the stalls, he ached with loss. As he worked in the fields, dreams buried themselves in the soil. His wife had become a stranger to him. How could he go to bed with her so angry with him?
She didn’t return to the kitchen, and when he went in to try to talk to her she remained asleep. Of course, she was exhausted. Grant didn’t even bother to undress. Instead, he stoked the fire, made another pot of coffee, and pulled out his Bible to seek God and pray.
Fatigue weighed him down on Sunday morning as he went to milk the cows before preparing for church. Their soft moos and the smell of hay and manure, at least, were familiar to him and comforting in a way. Life continued even in their sorrow. He was grateful it was the Sabbath with no major tasks to accomplish. Perchance he could get a nap. He had only dozed a few times in the rocker. He figured this strange creature who used to be his wife would probably leave him alone.
First, they needed to get through the gauntlet of well-wishers at church. The pitying stares, hushed whispers, and acting like everything was normal. Afraid to say anything to Lily that would make her cry.
Worship began with the hymn “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” Lily sat silent and weeping through the song, and Grant longed to wrap his arm around her and draw her close. Given her refusal to speak to him that morning, he doubted it would be welcome. At the end of the service, Pastor Brown made an announcement.
“The O’Neill farm west of town suffered a fire last night. Please pray for the children who were orphaned as a result, especially for the infant born only a week past.”
Grant’s hand rose in the air without thought. “We’ll take in the children.”
Lily turned to him with her mouth agape, which she quickly covered with a delicate gloved hand. She rose from her seat and fled the small meeting room into the crisp fall morning.
Grant’s face grew warm. He nodded his head and stood to follow his wife as the pastor announced the final hymn.
He found her pacing next to the carriage. Her mouth opened and closed several times before her sharp toned words burst forth. “What were you thinking? We cannot take those children!”
“Why not? We have a roof over our heads. They need a home. The baby needs a mother’s milk, which you can supply. Just because we lost our son doesn’t mean that this child has to die too.”
“But…but…they are Catholic.” She shivered.
“Like your family. God still loves them. Why should that be a deterrent to them being part of our family?”
“You never even asked me.”
“Lily, I’m sorry. I never even asked myself. It was as if the Holy Spirit lifted my arm up. It was impulsive, but it’s the right thing to do.”
“Oh, Grant.” She launched herself at him, at first pummeling his chest with her small fists before collapsing against him with sobs wracking her body. He held her and waited. Cold seeped into his shirt, and he regretted leaving his hat inside. He withdrew a handkerchief and offered it to Lily as her crying wound down. She stood back, hiccupped, and nodded.
Sniff. “You are head of our household.” She straightened up and met his gaze. “We will take the kids. I will care for the infant. But you cannot make me love them.”
Grant nodded. “I will tell pastor, and we can head over to the Warner’s home to collect the children. Would you like to come back inside to get warm?”
Lily nodded and allowed him to escort her back into the church as the last hymn rang out amongst the small congregation.
* * *
Lily was quickly surrounded by other matrons in the congregation, offering commiseration over her loss and accolades for the willingness to take in another family’s children. Lily smiled weakly and nodded as the women gave her no chance to respond anyway. Mrs. Hughes pulled her away from the group to stand near the wood stove.
“Lily, dear. I realize this is hard for you. Maybe this is God’s bigger plan for your family. When I heard this morning of the death of their parents in the fire, my first thought was of you. You are the only woman in the area right now who could serve as a wet nurse.”
Lily shrugged and shook her head. “I told Grant I would allow this, but my heart rebels,” she whispered.
“Dear girl. You are young, and your loss has been great. But your son is in the hands of a loving God. We don’t know about the O’Neill’s souls. Those children don’t know about Jesus. The family didn’t attend church. Perhaps God preserved them for something better. Maybe this, dear sister, is your mission field.”
Lily swallowed hard. “I will obey my husband, Mrs. Hughes, but I don’t like it.”
“Nobody said you did. I will pray for you. I think you might be surprised at what God will do through the blessing of these three orphans.”
Lily turned away to find Grant. God may be up to all kinds of things, but she really wasn’t interested in His plans. He killed their son. He left three children orphans. What kind of God did these things? How could Grant believe so unflinchingly?