Cynthia understood the protective gesture. “I’ll get you a cool cloth.”
Surprise and simple gratitude touched the young woman’s features. Dynah thanked Cynthia quietly as she went to get the cloth. When she returned to the room, Cynthia saw that the girl had finished the water and set the glass carefully on the side table. Cynthia brought the damp cloth to her, watching as Dynah dabbed her forehead and held the cloth over her eyes. “I’m sorry to be a bother,” she said in a faint voice.
“No bother.”
“I shouldn’t stay long,” she said, looking up at Cynthia again, uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m on my way home.”
“Jim should be here soon,” Cynthia said. “Why don’t you lie down and rest until he gets here?” The young lady looked tired, so terribly tired. “I need to start dinner anyway.” Hunkering down, she untied the girl’s ankle boots and helped her slip them off. She noticed how swollen her feet and ankles were, so swollen she doubted the girl would be able to put her boots back on again. “Lie down now,” she said gently, taking a pillow and putting it beneath Dynah’s feet to elevate them as much as possible. Taking up the afghan, she draped it over the girl. “Try to sleep if you can.” On impulse, she stroked the damp strands of blonde hair back from the girl’s forehead.
“You’re very kind to strangers,” Dynah said softly.
“Not usually,” Cynthia responded frankly. In fact, under normal circumstances the door would not have been opened, let alone anyone invited into the house. Jim said looks could be deceiving, and he didn’t want to take any chances.
“Mommy!” Patricia called. “Can I come out now?”
Cynthia went down the hallway and shushed her. “Yes, you may come out, but the young lady is resting on the sofa. I want you to play outside. Take Arnold with you.”
I hope you get home soon, Jim, she thought as she watched her daughter skip away. And I hope you can help that poor girl.
Jim pulled into the garage and punched the remote, closing the door behind him. As he came in the side door, Cynthia met him. She kissed him in greeting and took his medical bag. “You look tired.”
“I am.” He could feel himself sinking into his Wednesday depression. “I’ll take a shower and be down in a while.”
“We have company.”
“Who?” He didn’t feel like entertaining anyone for any reason.
“Dynah Carey.”
“Dynah Carey?” The name sounded familiar, though he couldn’t place it.
“She said she met you in San Francisco. Her mother went to college with you.”
He remembered and dread filled him. Was she here to ask him to perform a late-term abortion?
“What’s the matter, Jim?”
“Nothing.” He’d do it if the girl asked. Considering the circumstances of her pregnancy, how could he refuse? He would arrange to perform it at the hospital. It would be safer there.
Entering the family room, he saw Dynah Carey asleep on his sofa, his dog, Arnold, lying in guard close by, his children playing quiet games in the middle of the room. They came to him in greeting. “Dynah’s sleeping,” Cricket whispered, a finger to her lips. Even Todd was cooperative.
“Her ankles are swollen,” Cynthia whispered, “and she was perspiring.”
“Did she complain of cramping?” Maybe she’d be lucky and miscarry.
“No, but she had a headache.”
“Did you give her anything?”
“I offered, but she said she wasn’t sure she should take anything. I think she’s worried about her baby.”
Frowning, he nodded. If she was worried about her baby, why had she come to him? He approached the girl as Cynthia told the children to play in their rooms for a while so Daddy could talk to the young lady. Leaning down, he put his hand lightly on her shoulder. “Dynah?”
She roused. Opening her eyes, she focused on his face. “Oh,” she said groggily, pushing herself up. She was so tired. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“That’s all right. What can I do for you?” The sooner she was on her way, the better he would feel about it.
She rubbed her forehead, trying to think clearly. She had just had the strangest, strongest dream. Raising her head, she looked at him again, sensing his impatience. Clearly, he wished she wasn’t there.
“I know I’m intruding, Dr. Wyatt, but I have to talk with you.”
“About what?”
“Me.”
Frowning, he waited, tense. “How’d you find out where I lived?”
“C. Wyatt. The address was in the telephone book.”
Odd. He knew they weren’t listed, but why would the girl lie? Glancing at Cynthia, he saw her shrug. She was as perplexed as he.
Closing her eyes, Dynah prayed. Lord, I need to know if this is You working here. Say through me whatever You have to say to this man. Then let me go. Let me get out of this place and away from this man. My mom and dad are waiting.
Watching her face, Jim pulled the hassock close and sat down in front of her. “Are you in pain?”
She opened her eyes. Like his wife, he was concerned. She saw it in his eyes just as she had the first time she met him. “No. Not the way you mean.” She studied his face for a moment and, with startling clarity, she knew what she had to say. Would he listen? Would he heed? Would he submit to the word of the Lord? Or would he think she was crazy?
It didn’t matter. She knew only one thing: she had to obey God, even when He didn’t seem to make sense.
“Dr. Wyatt, you said you began doing what you do because of what happened to your sister.” She saw the anguish fill his eyes. She saw, too, how his wife moved closer in quick defense, a look of horrified pain filling her face. They were both expecting an attack.
“Miss Carey,” Cynthia said stiffly, hoping to stop her.
Dynah reached out impulsively and took Jim Wyatt’s hands. “Think of me as your sister. James Michael Wyatt, brother of Carolyn Cosma Wyatt, the Lord forgives you. The Lord loves you.”
“How did you know her full name? How did you know?”
Her eyes widened, startled and yet filled with understanding. “I didn’t know. God did.”
Gooseflesh rose over Jim’s entire body, pricking the hair to the top of his head. He felt a presence he couldn’t deny. Dynah Carey’s hands were warm and strong, and there was a light in her eyes that offered the promise of hope. How long had it been since he had felt hope about anything?
Her hands tightened. “Please. I think God sent me here to tell you He wants you to turn back to Him. He wants you to be the doctor He meant you to be. I believe you want to help women. And so I’m asking you. I’m pleading. Help me. Please, Dr. Wyatt. Help me have this baby.”
Pierced, he couldn’t breathe.
The message delivered, her appeal made, Dynah felt at peace. She saw in Jim Wyatt’s eyes that God’s plea had been received, and joy grew inside her until she felt filled with it. “‘He has removed our rebellious acts as far away from us as the east is from the west,’” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said softly. Oh, God, yes! Please! came the anguished cry within him. And in that instant, James Michael Wyatt felt the burden of years of sin lift, like a dense fog evaporating.
Above shone blue heaven.
“Is she all right?” Hannah said, her voice trembling, full of pain.
“She’s at risk right now,” Jim said, trying to be reassuring and firm at the same time. “She’s going to stay with us for a few days. She needs bed rest and a special diet. We’ll see to everything, Hannah. I don’t want you to worry.”
How could she not? “Does she still want the baby?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with a soft laugh. How long since he had felt so light he could fly? He knew it came from being a part of bringing life into the world rather than taking it. “She wants the baby very much. That’s why we’re taking these precautions.”
“You’re the last person I would’ve expected her to ask for help,?
?? Hannah said, and he heard the loss and rejection in her tone.
“Considering where you found me a few weeks ago, I can understand that. I swear to you—I swear on my life—I won’t do anything to harm Dynah or her child. I’ll do everything I can to safeguard her and the baby. And there won’t be any expense. Whatever comes, I’ll take care of it.”
“What happened to you, Jim?”
“Redemption.” He couldn’t speak for a moment. “Dynah brought me a message—one I’ve been waiting to hear since I lost my sister.”
There was a pause, then, “May I talk to my daughter?”
“She’ll call tomorrow morning. Right now, I’ve ordered her to bed. Cynthia’s bringing her dinner. Dynah said she wasn’t sure you and her dad agreed with her decision, and I don’t want her upset about anything.”
“You can tell Dynah I support her completely in her decision to have the baby.”
“And Doug?”
“Her father will stay out of it.” The response was firm—and cold. “What about the clinic, Jim? Are you still working there?”
He wondered if she meant for the sarcasm to seep through. “I’ve made two calls this evening. One to Elizabeth Chambers tendering my resignation, the second, to you.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that—”
She broke off, but the implication was clear. She had sinned less than he. She had killed only her baby; he’d killed hundreds. Thousands . . .
“He has removed our rebellious acts as far away from us as the east is from the west.”
He closed his eyes in gratitude. Thank You, God. Thank You.
“I understand,” Jim said quietly. “Believe me, Hannah, I understand.” His life had made a complete about-face in the last hour. He was free. After so many years, he could scarcely take it in. He gave her the address and telephone number. “If you and Doug want to come up, feel welcome. Our house is open to both of you. Anytime.”
Hannah hung up the telephone, her fingers trembling.
“Redemption,” Jim had said. Hannah wanted to be happy for him but found herself feeling jealous instead. If he could find redemption, why couldn’t she? And why was Dynah with him instead of her parents? The irony of the situation struck Hannah’s heart. She supposed she couldn’t blame Jim for his suspicions. After all, she was the one who had brought Dynah to the abortion clinic.
She turned and saw Doug standing in the archway between the family room and the kitchen.
“Stay out of what?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“Nothing,” she said rigidly, letting her anger show clearly in her eyes. “Your briefcase is in the family room, where you left it last night.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, whether from pain or anger, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. She was past caring what he thought about anything.
“Was that about Dynah?”
“Yes.” She looked at him, her mouth tipping in a bitter smile. “She’s staying with Jim Wyatt.”
“Who is Jim Wyatt?”
“An old friend from college days.” Her eyes were hot, challenging. “Go ahead, Doug. Ask me if he was one of my lovers. Wasn’t I supposed to have had a drove of them?”
He let it pass. “How does she know him?”
“He’s a doctor. We ran into him at the clinic where you sent us. The abortion clinic. Funny, isn’t it, Doug? Our daughter wants to save her baby, and where does she go for help? To him. She couldn’t come home to us, could she? Not knowing how you feel about the thing she carries.”
Turning away, Hannah went into the family room. She stood with her arms around herself, fighting for control. She felt as though she were drowning in a storm-tossed sea.
Doug went to the notepad near the telephone and tore off the top sheet. Stuffing it into his pocket, he went for his briefcase. “I might be home late.”
“Take your time.” Turning slightly, she glared at him. “In fact, I don’t care if you take the rest of your life.”
Doug walked through the family room and out the back door.
“Joe?”
Joe’s heart jumped at the sound of Dynah’s voice. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doing?”
“Better. I’m not home yet, but I’ll be there soon.”
“Are you still in Fort Bragg?”
“No, I’m staying with friends in Mill Valley.” She gave him the telephone number and address. “Jim’s a doctor. So you don’t have to wonder if I’m getting proper care.”
“Do your folks know where you are?”
She was quiet so long, he was afraid he’d lost the connection. “Dynah?”
“They know. Daddy called this morning.”
“And?”
“I need you to pray for them, Joe. I don’t know if they’re going to make it through this.”
Evie returned from an afternoon Bible study to find a message on her answering machine. “Mom, Dynah called. She’s coming home in a few days. Right now, she’s under the care of a doctor. She’s decided to have the baby.”
Sitting down in her swivel rocker, Evie wept in relief. She sat for a long time, hands covering her face, allowing the news to sink in and revive her spirit. She had been so afraid for Dynah, so afraid for Hannah and Doug and all the rest who didn’t understand the destructive effects of a single decision.
Oh, God, only You are faithful. Hannah gave Dynah to You before she was born, as did I. Bring her through, Lord. Bring her through for all of us. Give us a handhold. Draw us up out of the pit we have dug for ourselves. Oh, God, help us climb toward the light above and not fall into the darkness below.
The telephone rang.
Scrubbing the tears from her face, Evie rose and answered, disgruntled at the interruption.
“Is everything all right?”
Nosy old coot. “Everything’s fine, Glad. Why are you calling me again?”
“I don’t know.”
“We talked this morning.”
“So what? We can’t talk now?”
“You’re turning into a pest.”
“Don’t be such an old crab.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m going to be heading south again.”
“You’re turning into a yo-yo, Evie.”
“Well, when I bob back up, I hope I’ll have Dynah with me.”
“She’s home?”
“On her way. She’s going to have the baby.”
“Good for her,” Gladys said with a lilt in her voice, then more solemnly, “You okay?”
“I think I will be.” She was shaking inside, her throat tight. “Finally.”
“What do you say we get the girls together?”
“They don’t know the whole story.”
“Maybe it’s time they did.”
Pastor Dan Michaelson stepped from his car and breathed a quick prayer for wisdom. He knew the conversation he was about to have wouldn’t be an easy one . . . but he was ready for it. And not just because of his recent talks with Doug Carey. It seemed he’d been preparing for this for the past few years.
He knew the emotions Hannah Carey was feeling. They were the same emotions he’d felt from so many others who suffered as she was suffering. Several women in his congregation had approached him for counseling over the past few years. But he was a preacher, not a counselor. And so, feeling ill-equipped and time-pressed, he had recommended a professional—a Christian counselor he knew well and trusted.
Several of those he’d referred had been helped greatly. They’d come to him, gratitude shining in their eyes, thankful that he had directed them to someone who could understand their turmoil in light of God’s Word, someone who had helped them begin to deal with the pain and find God’s healing. With such successes, it only made sense to continue referring women who struggled as Hannah did to others who had the training to help them. Then his counselor friend called to tell him he couldn’t take any more new patients, so Dan decided to call area counseling centers for a list of Christia
n counselors. He’d felt a tinge of unease at sending his charges to someone he didn’t know, but he pushed the concerns aside. These people were Christians, after all, and professionals. They knew what they were doing.
Then, four days ago, one of his deacons called. In a broken voice the man explained that his wife was in the hospital after attempting suicide. Shock ran through Dan as he realized she was one of the women he had sent to a counselor on the list. When Dan visited the woman in the hospital, he asked what had brought on such despair. She said she had tried to come to the point where she would feel no guilt or remorse. She had tried to justify what she had done. She had tried to see that she wasn’t to blame. Failing, she wanted to die.
Stunned, he called his friend, who gave him a list of questions to ask Marsha’s psychologist: Did she use Scripture? Had she prayed with Marsha? Had she come alongside Marsha and tried to guide her back into obedience to God? Dan contacted the counselor—and within moments learned Scripture had no place in her therapeutic sessions, nor did prayer. As for coming alongside her patient, the woman said Marsha needed to learn to stand alone.
Dan shook his head. “Without God, who can stand?”
“Religion is part of her problem, Dan. Marsha needs to love herself more. She needs to realize her full potential and value. The goal is to remove her guilt, not increase it.”
Remove God and the guilt is gone? How do you remove the Almighty?
He chose his words carefully. “But she feels the guilt for a reason. She is guilty.”
“In your opinion, perhaps,” the woman said in a patient tone. “But, Dan, she did nothing illegal, nothing that our society doesn’t condone.”
“God doesn’t condone sin.”
“Your view of God, you mean. I see God as tolerant, merciful, loving. He wouldn’t condemn Marsha for doing something she felt she had to do. Her circumstances were difficult, Dan. Perhaps you don’t understand how difficult.”
“Financial difficulties.”
“Yes, financial and emotional. She couldn’t cope with a crisis pregnancy, so she took the avenue open to her. God loves her anyway. Isn’t that what you preach on Sundays? She need not make any sacrifices. Jesus has already done it. Isn’t that so?”