Chapter 17

Andrew’s shrieks of laughter echoed on the evening air. “Make her do it again, Dad!”

Joe moved the hose away from the flower bed he was watering and sprayed an arc high into the air. Trixie leapt and spun in midair, baring her fangs and snapping at the water.

“Isn’t she hilarious, Mom?”

Shielding her eyes from the dazzling sunset, Emma looked past the marigolds that this dog had uprooted and forced herself to focus on Andrew’s beaming face. “She is pretty funny. I just wish she didn’t poop so much. Or bark at everything that moves. Or eat my flowers.” The marigolds had stood sentry around the perimeter of the garden, supposedly repelling pests with their peculiar odor. But they’d been no match for Trixie, the ultimate pest.

As much as Andrew enjoyed Trixie, Emma couldn’t help resenting her. Just as she’d expected, feeding and cleaning up after the dog was her responsibility. Joe urged her to make Andrew do it, but she found it a lot easier just to do it herself rather than endlessly nag Andrew.

Still, watching Joe and Andrew having such fun with the dog was a welcome change from the melancholy that had shadowed her entire day.  

***

When she picked up the journal for the second night in a row, Joe made no complaint, just flipped on the television.

“I won’t be long,” she promised.

                Thursday 1/15/98 PMThe most incredible thing has happened. I rested through the weekend and then stayed off work Monday and Tuesday, but I had to return Wednesday. I hadn’t told anyone about the miscarriage yet, but I’m sure no one could miss my depression.

Erin Lindley, a seventh-grade reading teacher, dropped in on my planning period, looking almost terrified. She sat down in Javier’s desk on the front row and seemed to be searching for the right words.

“Are you okay?” she began, looking at her fists bunched up in her lap.

“Sure,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but I have to tell you…”

“Go on.”

“You’ve been on my heart since Friday. When you weren’t here on Monday, I was worried. So I’ve been… praying for you.”

She asked if I was familiar with Psalm 103, and I said no. Then she said a verse had been coming to her mind over and over when she prayed for me. She said she was praying that God would redeem my life from the pit and crown me with love and compassion. “Does this mean anything to you?” she asked.

Even though I hardly know Erin, I couldn’t hold back the tears. Next thing I knew, I was sobbing in her arms. When I could speak, I told her all about both miscarriages. I even told her about thinking God was punishing me.

She looked straight into my eyes, and I felt like God himself was speaking through her. “God loves you, Rachel. He loves you just as you are. He wants to remove your sins from you as far as the east is from the west.”

I wanted to hear more, but I had to pull myself together before sixth period. As soon as I got home, I looked up Psalm 103 in Dad’s old Bible. It’s all in there, about redeeming my life from the pit and removing my sins. I’ve read that chapter over and over. I’m not sure what to do next, but I feel like… I’m emerging into the light. I don’t mean just about the miscarriage; I mean… everything.
                 Sunday 1/18/98 PMI called Aunt Karen and told her what happened with Erin. She said the Holy Spirit must have spoken to her. She gave me several more scriptures to look up, and she encouraged me to find a church. I think I’ll ask Erin where she goes.

So this was how Rachel found religion. Emma read on through a month of entries, including a few fervent and joyful prayers. Rachel had joined Erin’s church and her ladies’ Bible study. She walked with Erin every Saturday, and marveled that God had sent her a friend when she needed her most.

The only area in her life that caused her sorrow was her marriage. Evan had grown more withdrawn after the second miscarriage, and although he came to church with her on Sundays, he couldn’t seem to understand her passion for God. He felt faith belonged at church, not in daily life.

Yawning, Emma started to put the journal away but stopped when she saw her name on the next page.

                Monday 3/2/98 PM…I know God wants me to forgive Emma, but I don’t know if I’m ready. Yes, I hurt her terribly when I married Evan, but did that give her the right to cut me off forever? She’s pushed me away over and over, and I’m tired of trying. I’m angry at her. Angry that she has everything she wants, everything she planned. Angry that she still has a baby kicking in her womb, but mine is empty.
                 Wednesday 3/5/98 PMOkay, God. I hear you. I need to forgive Emma now. But what then? Do you want me to call her? Write her a letter? Finish the baby blanket? Oh God, not that. Please, I don’t want to look at that blanket….                 Thursday 3/6/98 PMLast night I got out the blanket I had started for Emma back in December. Just touching the velvety fabric brought tears. I was crying so hard I could hardly see, but I sewed on another fluffy lamb. I cried for my babies and for the time I’ve lost with Emma. When I went to bed an hour later, I felt completely at peace. Maybe this blanket will bring peace to Emma too.
                 Sunday 3/9/98 AMEvery time I work on the blanket, I feel like I’m letting go of a little more pain. And I feel God’s love resting on me, satisfying my soul with good things (another promise from Psalm 103). Surely Emma will feel our love when she holds this blanket, and her baby boy will too.
                 Tuesday 3/11/98 PMI called Emma today and told her Mom and I want to give her a baby shower. She said it’s not safe for her to travel. I told her I’d love to fly down for a week, maybe after the baby’s born so I can help her. She said she’s really not up to company right now, and Joe’s mom is supposed to help her when the baby’s born.

Why, God? Why does she have to keep hurting me like this? I want to throw away that stupid blanket!…                 Wednesday 3/12/98 PMI mailed the blanket today, along with a little card. I wrote that I wished her and Joe many blessings, and that I couldn’t wait to meet Andrew when he arrives. I don’t know how she’ll react.

God, I’m trusting this to you. Help me not to worry.

Emma dropped the journal on the floor and jumped off the bed, startling Joe, who’d started to doze.

“Where are you going?” he asked, but she didn’t take time to answer. She ran down the hall to the linen closet and threw open the door, sinking to her knees.

“What are you looking for?” Joe stood beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged his hand off and leaned into the closet, scanning the bottom shelf. “It’s got to be here.”

“What does?”

She threw aside extra sheets and beach towels and at last pulled out a thick blue blanket, still neatly folded and wrapped with a cloth ribbon. She slid the ribbon off and spread the blanket over her lap, and then she raised it to her cheek, her tears falling on a fleecy lamb.

“Oh Joe,” she choked out between sobs that racked her entire body. “I didn’t know!”

“What? What didn’t you know?” He rubbed her back.

“That she was… g-grieving for her baby… while she made a blanket for mine.”

“So Rachel had a miscarriage?”

“Y-yes. Two. I never even knew she was pregnant.”

He pulled her to his chest and rocked back and forth with her. “Of course you didn’t know. How could you?”

“But how could she love me so much when I… And I never even used the blanket. I said I wanted to keep it nice, but really I just didn’t want to look at it.”

Joe let her cry until her sobs faded away, and then he pulled her to her feet. “Come to bed.”

She laid a hand on his drenched T-shirt. “I got you all wet.”

“I don’t mind. I think you’ve been needing that cry for weeks.”

She nodded and laced her fingers through his, clutching the rumpled blanket in her other hand. He led her to the bedroom and pulled the covers back for her. She curled onto her side, cradling the blanket as tenderly as if it were an actual baby.

Climbing in beside her, Joe pulled her against his now bare chest and wrapped an arm around her. She rested her head on his chest and let the warmth of his skin and the steady thump of his heart soothe her.

This is what marriage is about, she thought as she sank into sleep.

When the weak morning light filtered through the curtains, Emma woke up smiling. One hand rested lightly on Joe’s belly, and both her legs were entwined with his. She ran a hand lazily over his chest, and he shivered in his sleep. She smoothed away the goose bumps, only to raise more when she nibbled his ear.

He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, and then jumped when he saw her staring down at him, her face so close to his that her eyes were a bit crossed.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“Mmm. This is a good morning!”

***

“What are you so happy about, Mom?” Andrew swirled a bite of French toast through a lake of syrup.

Emma’s smile widened, and she felt the pink suffuse her cheeks as she exchanged glances with her husband.

“I’m just… happy, Andrew. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

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