Chapter 45
Remorse and Confusion

Almeda was quiet the rest of the day. It was hard to hear the kinds of things Katie had said to her. She had done so much for Katie, only to be spoken to so rudely because of it. I have to admit, as sorry as I was about the baby and for the grief Katie was feeling, her angry words toward Almeda got me more than a little riled. But Almeda kept saying, “It’s not me she’s angry at, Corrie. She needs our patience and our love now more than ever. The Lord is pushing aside her outer shell, and she needs us to stand with her until he breaks through to her.”

She asked me to go back up that evening to ask about Katie. Emily and I went. Uncle Nick came outside with us.

“She’s calmed down and is feeling better,” he said. “She slept most of the afternoon.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Almeda said to tell you that if you think she wants to talk again, to come get her.”

“I wish she would,” he replied. “I don’t ever know what to say when she’s feeling down and upset like she gets.”

We took Erich back down to our place with us for the night so Uncle Nick would be free to look after Katie and get some sleep. He looked tired.

Nothing much happened for another day or two. Uncle Nick was still downcast from worrying about Katie. Doc Shoemaker came out again. He pronounced Katie fit and said she could get up and about for a few hours a day if she wanted. But she remained glum, and stayed in bed.

He told Almeda to take care of herself. “Only three or four weeks for you now, Almeda,” he said. “Don’t you go getting any ideas about going back into town or doing anything around this house. You’ve got three daughters for all that. You just keep yourself rested, you hear?”

“Of course, Doctor,” she laughed.

The next day, early in the afternoon, Uncle Nick came running down to our place. His face looked more full of life as he came through the door than I’d seen it in weeks. Pa was outside, but he came straight to me.

“She asked to see you!” he said out of breath.

“Katie?” I said.

He nodded.

“Me?”

“You and Almeda.”

In an instant I was off to tell Almeda in her room. She was dressed but lying in bed. She got right up and came out to where Uncle Nick was still standing. The look on his face was bright and excited.

“Did she really ask to see us, Nick?” Almeda asked.

A sheepish expression crossed his face. “Well, we were talking,” he said, “and I happened to say as how I thought she’d been a mite hard on the two of you last time. She was pretty quiet, you know how she’s been of late. Then she just kinda nodded and said, ‘I suppose I was at that.’

“So after a minute I said, ‘What’ll you do if Almeda or Corrie comes calling again? You gonna send ’em away like you never want to see them again?’ I reckon it was a hard thing to ask her, but doggone if she wasn’t beginnin’ to try my patience with all her surly scowls and irritable talk.”

“She can’t help it, Nick,” said Almeda softly.

“I figured that,” replied Uncle Nick. “Well, anyhow I said it, and she didn’t say nothin’ for a while, then she said, ‘No I wouldn’t send them away.’ I figured that was about as good an invitation as you was gonna get, so I came down when she fell asleep to tell you.”

Almeda looked at him for a moment with a blank expression. Then her face broke into a laugh. “You are something, Nicholas Belle! You really love that wife of yours, don’t you?”

“I reckon so. I just can’t cotton to you and her being apart and for her to be angry with my own kin. Will you come?”

“Of course we’ll come,” she replied with a smile. “You go on home. We’ll come up for a visit sometime this afternoon.”

A couple of hours later we walked up. I had made some shortbread to take, which I knew was one of Katie’s favorites.

Uncle Nick met us at the door and took us straight into the bedroom. Katie was awake. I told her I’d made her some shortbread. She tried to smile, but it was one of those smiles that showed there was something on her mind behind it. I think she was embarrassed about what had happened before.

“How are you feeling, Katie?” Almeda asked.

“Oh, better, I suppose. You?”

“Very well.”

“How much longer?”

“The doctor said probably three weeks.”

“I hope . . . I hope it goes well for you,” said Katie. It was hard for her to say.

“Is there anything you need?” Almeda asked after a minute. Her voice was so full of tenderness and compassion, and her eyes so full of love as she stood beside Katie’s bed. Katie looked up at her and her eyes filled with tears.

“Almeda, I’m sorry for the things I said before,” she said.

“Oh, Katie, dear, think nothing of it.” Almeda sat down on the chair at the bedside and took Katie’s hand.

“It’s just that I was so afraid of dying,” Katie went on, trying to maintain her composure. “When I was lying here having the baby, it hurt so bad! I was more worried about myself than . . . than my little daughter! Every time I screamed out, I was sure it was going to be the last breath I breathed. It was so much worse than with Erich!”

“There, there,” said Almeda, running her hand gently along Katie’s head and smoothing down her hair. “It’s all right, dear.”

“And then when she came out, and the doctor told me she was dead,” Katie said, sobbing now, “I felt . . . I just felt so guilty! All I had been thinking about was myself! And all the time, even while she was inside me . . . my poor little daughter was—”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence, but let out a mournful wail of such bitter remorse that it went straight into my heart and my eyes filled with tears. Poor Katie!

“She was dead!” sobbed Katie. “Dead, and the whole time I was worried about myself! I can hardly bear the thought of how selfish I was! Oh God, why couldn’t you have taken me instead of her?”

I could hardly keep from crying. I wondered if I should leave and let Katie and Almeda be alone. But when I looked at Almeda as she stared down into Katie’s forlorn face, I could tell she was praying even though her eyes were open. I had seen her pray for others like that and I always knew when she was talking to the Lord. Then I thought maybe it would be best for me to keep sitting right where I was.

I closed my eyes and began praying for Katie myself.

“He wanted you to live,” said Almeda softly.

“But why? Why should he want me to live, instead of my baby?”

“I don’t know, Katie. He loves you, Katie. I know that. He loves you, and your baby.”

“Oh God!” Katie wailed again as if she hadn’t even heard. “How could I think of myself at a time like that!”

Almeda didn’t reply. Katie was sobbing.

“I’ve always thought more of myself than anyone else,” she said. “Nick’s so considerate to me, but I don’t show him half the love he does me! I’ve acted dreadfully to you . . . to both of you! I’m so selfish! I hate the person I’ve become! I’d rather it had been me that had died! You’d all be better off without me!”

“Don’t say such things, Katie. Don’t you know that we love you?”

“Love me! How could you love me? Look at me! There’s nothing to love!”

“God wouldn’t have made you if you weren’t special to him.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why should God care about me? I’ve never given him a thought! Why should he love me?”

“He loves us all.”

“You, maybe. But I’ve always told him to keep away from me.”

“Don’t you remember all I told you, Katie? I used to be further from him than you could ever be.”

“I don’t know if I believe half what you told me, Almeda.” I opened my eyes. One look into Katie’s face told me the old anger was coming back. Her voice had changed, too.

“Oh, Katie, I would never tell you something that wasn’t true.”

“Well, I don’t care anyway. I never had any use for God, and I certainly don’t mean to start now.”

“Oh, but Katie . . . dear! You need him now more than ever.”

“I won’t need him! I refuse to need him,” she snapped back. “If he’s going to take my baby, then he’s not going to have me! He took my parents from me! He’s taken everything I ever cared about. I’ve had to make my own way. It’s little enough he’s ever done for me! And now he’s taken my daughter! I won’t need him, I tell you!”

“Perhaps he took your little girl because he loved her so much he wanted to have her near him,” said Almeda after a moment, still speaking calmly.

“That’s absurd, Almeda!” said Katie angrily. “If there’s a God at all, which I doubt, then what right has he got to toy with our lives like that?”

“He doesn’t toy with us, Katie. We just can’t see how much he loves us. But everything works for good if we will only let—”

“There you go again, saying it’s good that my baby died!” interrupted Katie. “I suppose you’ll tell me next that it’s good I’m such a hateful and selfish person! If that’s your God, Almeda, then curse him! I hate him, too . . . I hate you all . . . I hate myself . . . God . . . just go . . . leave me alone . . . just let me die!”

She turned over in her bed, sobbing bitterly.

Almeda looked over at me, sick at heart. She closed her eyes again. Then after a moment she sighed deeply, rose from the chair, and together we left the room. Katie was still weeping.

“Your dear wife really needs you, Nick,” Almeda said to Uncle Nick. “Love her, Nick. Give her all the love you can. She’s more alone right now than she’s ever felt in her life. God is right at the threshold, but she doesn’t know it. That tough self-sufficient outer layer is nearly broken. And when it does break, she’s going to need you there to help her.”

Uncle Nick nodded. We left the cabin and started home.

We had nearly reached the bridge over the creek when Uncle Nick overtook us. This time he had a message directly from Katie’s lips.

“She told me to get you,” he said. Almeda looked him intently in the eyes. “She wants to see you,” he said.

We turned around at once and walked back up the trail. Almeda took Uncle Nick’s arm, and I followed behind them.