Was it Your will, Lord? I don’t understand. Why has this happened? Why is my life turned upside down?
“How are you sleeping?”
“Fine.”
“Come on, Dynah. You can talk to me.”
She clenched her teeth. Why did it have to be Joe asking? Ethan should be the one to want to know. Ethan should be listening and comforting, but then Ethan was personally involved, wasn’t he? He had lost the most, hadn’t he?
She looked away. “I have nightmares,” she said dully. Embarrassed, she looked down again. She shouldn’t be exposing her feelings to Joe. “I need to study.”
“Okay,” he said quietly and stretched out on his side. “We’ll study.” Propping himself up slightly, he pulled out one of his textbooks. Taking a highlighter out of his backpack, he pulled the cap off with his teeth as he read. Every now and then he ran the pen along a line of text or over a term.
Looking down at her own open textbook in her lap, Dynah tried to concentrate on the terms she needed to memorize. Midterms were coming, but she couldn’t seem to get the terms to sink in. She rubbed her forehead and started over, taking one term at a time, trying again, but her mind kept wandering.
“Do you think there’s a reason for everything that happens?” She felt Joe look at her. Afraid of his answer, she went on quickly. “I mean, Ethan thinks so. He thinks God must have a reason for punishing me.”
“Were those his exact words?”
“Something like that. Maybe not in those words. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that’s not what he meant.” Maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight about anything anymore. She rubbed her temple with trembling fingers.
“It wasn’t your fault, Dynah.”
“How can I know that? I should’ve listened to Mr. Packard. I could’ve asked for a ride from Sally or called Janet or waited until Ethan was finished with the Bible study. I could’ve—”
Joe sat up, halting her flow of words, and reached over to take her hands firmly. “Look at me.”
She did, hardly able to see his face through the blur of tears.
“It was not your fault. You didn’t do anything to deserve it.”
“There has to be a reason.”
“God didn’t send that man to rape you.”
“He didn’t stop him, either,” she said, pulling her hands free and clutching her book again. “Maybe He did send him, Joe.” He didn’t say anything, and she tried to explain her jumbled feelings. “Didn’t God send the Assyrians to destroy Israel? Didn’t the Babylonians conquer them, too? And Job. Joe, what about Job? What did he do wrong that he had to suffer that much?”
“He didn’t do anything wrong, Dynah. He loved God. He honored Him. That’s why Satan wanted to sift him, to prove he could break Job’s faith.”
“So I’m being sifted?” She saw him wince at the quick sarcasm of her response and blushed, ashamed that she could sit right here, dead center of a Christian college, and dare criticize God. She wanted to say she wasn’t like Job. She would break. Her faith could be crushed. A few words from Ethan and it was already unraveling. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? For being hurt and angry over what happened to you? You have reason.”
“God has a reason.”
Maybe she just wasn’t good enough to be part of His Kingdom. Her heart squeezed tight, shrinking inside her with fear. “Maybe Ethan’s right. I should try to forget about it. Put it behind me and go on like nothing happened.” She opened her book.
“Dynah,” Joe said, and the compassion in his tone made her stomach tighten in a painful knot.
“If we have to talk, Joe, let’s talk about something else. Please. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. Okay?”
Joe sat silent for a moment and then nodded. “You call the shots. I just want you to know I’m around if you need me.”
Ethan called that night and apologized. She said it wasn’t his fault, though his defection hurt deeply. She said she understood, and in part she did, though she didn’t want to look at it too closely. He said he didn’t understand anything himself. It was all a confusing mass of emotions inside him, and he’d have to deal with them. “I never meant you should blame yourself for what happened.”
“I know,” she said, giving absolution, knowing it was what he wanted.
He was different the next time they went out. “Joe and I have been doing a lot of talking,” he said, taking her hand between both of his. “Why don’t we take a walk tonight instead of going to a movie?” It was a nice evening. They didn’t say much as they wandered along the cobblestone pathways. Dynah didn’t tell him the shadows made her uneasy and every night sound made her heart jump.
They passed other young couples walking hand in hand around the manicured grounds of the campus. She supposed she should feel safe in the cloistered environment, but she didn’t. Not even with Ethan at her side.
He paused once and drew her close. Touching her cheek, he kissed the corner of her mouth. It was the first time he had kissed her in the weeks since the rape. He stroked her cheek and drew her into his arms.
“I still love you, Dynah.”
She knew he meant for her to be comforted by his words, but she wasn’t. “Still,” he said. He still loved her. Somehow, there was an unspoken despite in his words. I still love you, despite the fact that you’re defiled. I still love you, despite the fact that you didn’t stop the man. I still love you, despite the fact that you’re not what you once were. . . .
She pushed the thoughts away. She couldn’t believe them, not if she was going to hang on to the emotional equilibrium she strove so hard to maintain—not if she wanted to be able to look ahead to a future that was supposed to be secure.
But things had changed. The warm stirring of desire when Ethan touched her wasn’t there anymore. All she felt was a cold knot of fear and revulsion in the pit of her stomach. She was no longer comfortable in his arms, but she remained there because she knew it was what he wanted, what he expected. He held her and whispered tender words into her hair. Apologies. Promises.
She remained still, fighting the turmoil inside her, the rush of blood in her ears. She shut her eyes tightly when her mind flashed back to another man’s hands holding her, grabbing, hitting, yanking, tearing. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she couldn’t tell Ethan what she was feeling without destroying this brief, tenuous moment of tenderness—and maybe destroying whatever chance they had of working things out altogether.
He let her go slowly, looking down at her. She could see he was frowning slightly. He was perplexed. She forced a smile, clinging to the pretense that everything was fine. Or would be. Someday. Trust in the Lord. Trust in the Lord.
“Your hand’s cold,” he said as they began walking again. “Let’s get you something warm to drink.”
They went to the student union and found a table in a back corner. A few minutes after they ordered hot cocoa, students poured in, laughing and shouting.
“Basketball team must have won,” Ethan said, watching the wild antics of students marching around the room. “I forgot they were playing tonight.”
Dynah saw Joe among the throng, singing a boisterous song of celebration. His gaze caught hers, and his broad grin softened into a smile. Someone shoved him from behind as more whooping students swarmed into the union, scraping chairs and filling the place with pandemonium.
Ethan leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Want to leave?”
“No. It’s all right.” She preferred the raucous noise to the dark silence. She preferred a table between her and Ethan rather than his efforts to pretend everything was the same.
Joe came over and took a chair beside her. His eyes assessed her face before his glance took in Ethan, who looked grimly uncomfortable. “You guys missed a good game.”
“We weren’t in the mood,” Ethan said, his mouth tipping sardon
ically. “I take it they won.”
“It was neck and neck to the end. We beat them by three points. Almost brought down the gymnasium when the buzzer sounded.”
“Great,” Ethan said, his tone flat.
“Hey, Joe!” someone called from across the room.
He gave them a wave and pushed his chair back. “Want to join us?” he said, looking at her and then at Ethan. “We’re going to have a victory bonfire.”
Ethan gave a bleak laugh. “Yeah, right. Just what we need.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Another time. We’re going to sit here and talk for a while, and then I’ll take Dynah back to the dorm so she can get some rest.”
Joe’s expression was grim. “Take it easy.”
“There’s nothing easy about it.”
Joe didn’t say anything to that, but Ethan’s anger withered beneath his friend’s look. Standing up, Joe put his hand on Dynah’s shoulder, gave her a gentle squeeze, and left them alone.
“Sorry,” Ethan said. “I should have asked you.” Leaning forward, he put his hands around the mug of cocoa. “You want to go with them?”
“No.”
“You want to go someplace else? Someplace where we can talk in private?”
She didn’t want to be alone with Ethan. The realization hurt and roused doubts about their relationship. She was afraid to be alone with him, afraid of what he had to say about his deepest feelings. She was afraid she already knew.
She was so confused, the choir of voices in her head debating and running through a hundred painful scenarios. “No. This is fine,” she said bleakly, knowing it wasn’t.
He looked into his mug. “You want to talk about what happened that night?” He raised his head slightly and looked at her. “Maybe it would make things better.”
Feeling a flicker of hope, she did as he asked. After all, he was the one who’d had all the counseling classes. He was the one who was going to be a pastor. Relief swept over her. Ethan was a shepherd. He would see her for what she was—a lost and wounded lamb. Drawing a steadying breath, she told him slowly about her evening at Stanton Manor House, starting with Mr. Packard’s warning. She told him about her long walk down Maple to Sycamore. She told him about the man in the white car and Martha waiting at the bus stop. She told him about Charlie and the ride along Sixteenth. She had relived that night a dozen times at the police station with Officer Lawson. She could do it one more time for Ethan. Surely it would be easier with him.
It wasn’t.
“I walked up Henderson. When I got to the park . . . he was just there. In the shadows. A shape.”
“And?”
“He grabbed me.”
His knuckles whitened around his mug. “Did you fight?”
She raised her head slowly and looked at him. Angry words poured into her head, but she held them back. Her mother had taught her not to give in to anger, not to speak rashly. Walk in the other person’s shoes for a mile.
“Yes,” she said simply, giving no details of how hard she had fought to get free. She hadn’t stopped fighting until he dazed her with a blow to the head.
“And?”
She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “That’s all. You know the rest.”
“No, I don’t know the rest. What’d they do to you at the hospital? You were in that examining room a long time, Dynah. What was going on?”
She could feel the blood receding. “They were getting evidence,” she said in a low, shamed voice and bit her lip, praying he wouldn’t ask for details.
“Did they give you any tests while they were doing that?”
She went cold, the beginning of understanding striking her heart. Raising her head slowly, she searched his eyes.
“For venereal disease,” he said in a hushed voice, though no one was close enough to hear. “You know what I’m asking. Did they test you for HIV?” He looked down at his mug and then back up at her. “Well? Did they? You’ve a right to know if the guy gave you some disease.”
She wondered if it was her rights that worried him or something deeper, something more primeval. What he was really saying was he had a right to know. Tears burned. Of course, he was right. He did. “Yes. They gave me tests.”
“And?”
The hospital had called a few days later. “They were negative,” she said dully. For now. She’d have to be retested several times before they knew for sure she was okay. She pushed the mug away from her with trembling hands. If she tried to drink a drop of it now, she would throw up.
Ethan’s voice was tight. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just thought . . . well, I thought we ought to get that out in the open.”
“Now that it’s in the open, I hope you feel better.”
His face darkened. “Don’t take it out on me. I didn’t rape you.”
Her cheeks went hot and then cold again. She stood up and fumbled with the small shoulder bag looped over the back of her chair.
“Where’re you going?”
“Back to the dorm.”
He uttered a word under his breath, a foul word she was sure had never before crossed his lips. He never would have said it at all if he hadn’t been so overwrought by what had happened to her. So she supposed she was to blame for that as well.
She heard his chair scrape back as she headed for the doors. He caught up with her just outside and fell into step beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said tersely, sounding anything but sorry. “I get mad every time I think about it.”
Mad at whom, she wanted to say. She wanted to jerk free and hit him. She wanted to scream and scream, but she kept silent because she had been brought up to be polite. If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Don’t say anything. Pretend it doesn’t hurt. Especially when someone you love is doing the hurting.
She was wearing Ethan’s engagement ring. The wedding was set for August 17. She had already ordered her white wedding dress.
White.
For purity.
Only she wasn’t pure anymore. She wasn’t a virgin.
Pulling away, she walked faster, desperate to get to the dorm, to get away from him, to close herself in her room and cry.
He caught hold of her hand and pulled her to a stop. “Is this how you’re going to handle everything? By running away every time you hear anything you don’t like? Talk to me!”
It was a command, not a plea. All his anger aimed at her.
“I did talk to you.”
“In a monotone voice. Like you were talking about something that happened to someone else. Don’t you feel anything?”
“Feel?” she said stiffly, pushed by his insensitivity. “I feel, Ethan. I feel defiled,” she said in a choked voice. “I feel ruined. I feel raped. Is that enough? Does that satisfy you?”
Ethan caught hold of her. “Dynah,” he said, pulling her back against him and locking his arms around her. “Dynah,” he said again and wept. Was he crying for her or himself? It didn’t matter. Turning in his arms, she put her arms around him. She understood his grief, but she knew, far better than she’d ever wanted to, that some grief was too deep for tears to wash it away.
Things didn’t improve over the next week.
Dynah had just finished a calming shower when Janet came into the room. “Your mom called again,” she said as she set her books down. “She asked me if I knew why you were so down in the dumps.”
Dynah sat on the bed, her head wrapped in a towel and her body encased in a thick bathrobe. “What’d you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t convince her, Dynah. She knows something’s wrong. Don’t you think you should tell her what happened?”
Dynah unwound the damp towel from her hair. She didn’t want to think about that night. She didn’t want to think about the shattering effects it had had on her relationship with Ethan. He was just beginning to adjust. He was getting past it. Things were improving between them. A few more weeks, a
month, maybe two, and it would be forgotten. “She’d tell my father, and then they’d both worry. And what good would come of it? It can’t change what’s already happened.”
Janet studied her. “She knows something’s wrong. She said she’s thinking about flying back here and seeing you.”
Dynah let the towel drop around her shoulders.
Janet came over and sat on the bed beside her, brushing the tangled hair back from Dynah’s face. “Maybe Ethan could help you talk with them.”
Dynah gave a soft, humorless laugh and shook her head. “I’ll tell them I have the flu or something.” She smiled wanly. She had never lied to her parents before, but what other choice had she? They would go to pieces if they knew the truth. “It’s partly true,” she said, trying to excuse herself. “I’ve been feeling sick to my stomach for the last week.”
Janet stared at her. “Oh, Dynah! You don’t think . . .”
A chill crept over Dynah as she looked into Janet’s horrified eyes. “Think what?” she said softly, afraid.
“That you might be pregnant?”
Dynah’s heart began to pound with sickening beats. “No.” She clung to that word as it hung in the air. No! You wouldn’t do that to me, would You, Lord? Oh, please, God, no.
TRUST ME, BELOVED.
Dynah began to tremble inside. She knew. She didn’t have to take a test. Something told her already that the sifting hadn’t stopped. It had only just begun.
Janet stood up and began to pace. “You can’t be. There’s no way. They would’ve given you something at the hospital that night to make sure it didn’t happen. A morning-after pill. Or something! They did, didn’t they?”
“No.”
“You were in shock, Dynah. You probably don’t remember.”
She remembered every single detail of that terrifying night. She hadn’t been able to forget any of it. “They didn’t give me anything, Janet.”
“But that’s criminal! Didn’t they even ask?”
Dynah bit her lip, ashamed to admit the doctor had done more than ask. He had tried to convince her to have estrogen therapy. She was the one who had refused to face the devastating possibilities. It was her fault. It was all her fault.