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“OH, THERE’S SOMEONE here. I was worried.”
Joy Holmes, one of the church’s only young mothers, propped the nursery door open with her foot. She held her one-year-old baby, who was laughing at her own spit bubbles, in one arm and dragged her three-year-old inside while she tugged against her mom’s firm grasp.
“Come on, Zoe. Let’s go in and play.” Her voice was breathy, as if she were winded from walking down the stairs. Or maybe she was trying to keep from losing her temper in front of the pastor’s wife.
Zoe shook her head and let her legs fall beneath her.
“Do you want a timeout?” Joy demanded and shot an unconvincing smile at Katrina. “I’m sorry. She’s in a mood today. Her father gave her and her brother too much pie at Thanksgiving, and I swear they’re both still on a sugar high. She’ll probably whine for a few minutes after I leave, but then ...”
Joy set her baby down on the carpet. “Here you go, Brielle. At least you know how to play quietly.” Two seconds later Brielle had dumped out an entire bin full of cardboard bricks.
“Oh, these kids,” Joy muttered.
“Must keep you busy.” Katrina forced herself to smile as Brielle banged two bricks against the empty box. Katrina would love the chance to get to know Joy better, but she was so busy with her three children and had another on the way and always seemed to have a flustered, I’m-too-busy-to-be-bothered kind of air. She straightened up, and Katrina could see the swell of her pregnant belly.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Joy exclaimed with another long sigh. “I’m just thrilled we’re not having twins. Ok, I’m taking off. I’ve got to get upstairs or I swear DJ’s going to drive his father insane. That boy has way too much energy. Don’t mind Zoe if she screams for a minute or two. She’ll calm down after that and be fine.”
Joy rested her hand on her abdomen, leaned over to give her daughters a hug, and waddled out the door. As soon as it shut, Zoe ran to it with a screech that would rival the sound of a first-time violin student.
What am I doing here? Katrina asked herself, eying the box of cheap, mismatched toys. Wasn’t there something in there she could find to distract a three-year-old? The only problem was she ached so much she didn’t want to get out of the rocking chair. She should be in bed. Not stuck here in this nursery. Another screech. She just needed the noise to stop.
“Come on, Zoe,” she whispered, certain the child couldn’t hear. “Want to go get a book? I’ll read it to you in the rocker.”
Zoe continued pounding on the door until someone propped it open, pushing her to the floor with an undignified thump. Zoe glared accusingly at Katrina, scrunched up her face, and started to cry.
“There, there.” Mrs. Porter hurried into the room, scooped Zoe into her arms, and ten seconds later had her seated at the table with a handful of crayons and a whole stack of papers to demolish.
Katrina stood up so she wouldn’t appear quite as lazy. She patted Brielle’s head absently while the baby ripped the pages out of a picture book.
“Good morning, dear.” Mrs. Porter pouted and stared over the top of her glasses. “I thought you were sick.”
Katrina blushed under the scrutiny. “No, I ... Well, I didn’t feel well when I woke up but ... It’s my turn in the nursery. I mean I switched weeks since ...”
Mrs. Porter frowned and traded Brielle’s ripped book for a cloth one. “PG called me just before service. Said you weren’t feeling well and asked if I could cover for you.”
Katrina couldn’t speak or sing in front of a crowd if her life depended on it, but she could play her violin without the slightest hint of stage fright. She did her best to draw from that same source of confidence to flash a convincing smile. “I must have miscommunicated with him. I’m sorry. I told him I would be ok down here, but he probably ...”
Mrs. Porter was staring over her glasses again, pouting as if she had just thrown a lemon quarter in her mouth, peel and all. “Are you having ...” She glanced ostentatiously at Katrina’s midsection, and the hint of a smile cracked through her usually stern face. “Is this morning sickness, dear?”
Katrina’s breath rushed out in a series of giggles that made her sound as silly as those high-school freshmen in Greg’s youth group so many years ago. “No, no. Nothing like that.”
A raised eyebrow. An unconvinced tilt of the head. “Really? Because I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since the women’s retreat back in September when your appetite was so poor.”
Katrina bit her lip. Stared at baby Brielle so contentedly eating the tag from the cloth book. Wished it were possible to disappear by sheer force of will. “It’s nothing like that.”
Mrs. Porter made a grumpy sound in the back of her throat. “Well, I had to ask. I remember one breakfast you got up to use the ladies’ room twice, so it got some of us wondering, that’s all.”
“Thanks for being concerned.” Katrina twisted her ring around her finger and glanced at the clock by the door. Might God have miraculously sped up the morning service to spare her this horrific encounter?
Mrs. Porter smacked her lips together. “Some of us were talking, you know. Wondering if you and PG were planning to get right down to business starting your family or piddle around and wait a few years like so many young folks do these days. And we hardly knew you back then, so none of us felt comfortable asking. But now that the subject’s broached, when exactly do you and PG plan to make a kid?”
Katrina swallowed, hoping the ever-observant Mrs. Porter wouldn’t notice the way her hands trembled. “We’ve decided to trust God’s timing for that.”
A haughty snort. Chin jerked upwards, sending her long Christmas tree earrings dangling. “If that’s your philosophy, it’s a wonder you’re not halfway through your second trimester by now! What month was it that you got married?”
Katrina bit her lip while Mrs. Porter chortled.
“I’m sorry.” She frowned. “I sometimes forget you’re new here and aren’t completely used to me yet.” She rubbed Katrina’s shoulder. “I say what’s on my mind, dear, but it’s only because I care. A few of the ladies and I were talking about it, that’s all. Saying how we’d love to see PG settle down with a baby or two of his own. And you.” She stepped back and gave an apologetic half-smile. “You’re such a tiny little wisp of a thing. Hardly more than a baby yourself. And there’s nothing like carrying a child of your own to turn you into a real woman, that’s all.” Another uninvited back rub. “Well, I can see I’ve embarrassed you, and I’m awfully sorry for that. We’ll get used to each other before long, I promise. In the meantime, you just ignore everything I’ve said, all right?”
She unwrapped a crayon that was giving Zoe a hard time.
“Well, sounds like the kids are calm here, so I’ll leave you be.”
Katrina held her breath, making a valiant effort to keep silent until Mrs. Porter left.
“Oh, speaking of kids.” Mrs. Porter paused in the doorway and turned around. “Did PG talk to you about the Christmas pageant?”
“The what?”
“He was supposed to tell you last week. We always have a Christmas pageant. Nothing fancy, especially since we don’t have as many children coming here these days. I don’t know what it is about these young families refusing to raise their kids up properly. It’s a real shame if you ask me. But anyway, what was I saying?” She strummed the doorknob with long, artificial fingernails that would have given any one of Katrina’s violin teachers apoplexy. “That’s right, the pageant. We always do some sort of musical. I figure with your background, it’ll be a piece of cake. Well, you stay after church today, and I’ll show you where the costumes are. I already told PG to put it in the bulletin that practices will start this Wednesday night. That way, I figured you could be down here to rehearse with the kids while PG does youth group upstairs. And if you need any more helpers, I told PG to find you a teen or two. They know what they’re doing.”
Brielle toddled to Mrs. Porter and tugged at her skirt. Mrs. Porter picked her up and plopped her into Katrina’s arms. “Well, if you don’t have any other questions for me, I’ll just go upstairs and hear whatever’s left of PG’s sermon.”
Brielle fussed and fidgeted in Katrina’s hold. By the time Mrs. Porter had shut the door, Katrina and she were plunked down together in the rocker, one hollering loudly, the other stifling silent sobs.