“Dynah,” her mother said in that gentle tone she always used when trying to draw her out, “you can tell me anything. You know that.”
“I know, Mom. Haven’t I always?” This was exactly why she had put off calling for so long. Her mother always knew when something was wrong. She had some second sense about her daughter. Maternal radar, she jokingly called it. But it was no joking matter, not this time.
“Are your classes going well?”
“Classes are going well.” Classes would go well with or without her presence.
“Ethan?”
“Healthy.” Biting her lip, she hesitated and then went on. “He’s still on the dean’s list. He’s teaching Bible studies two nights a week.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Bother me? Why should it?”
“I suppose his activities cut into your time together.”
“We still have time together. Every afternoon. Most evenings.”
“Are you having any second thoughts about getting married so young?”
“No.” Was Ethan having second thoughts? Second, third, and fourth thoughts?
“Dynah,” her mother said, her tone hesitant, even cautious, “are you and Ethan . . . well, are you getting a little more involved than you intended?”
Dynah frowned, wondering what she was talking about. “We’re engaged, Mom. We’ll be married in August.”
“Yes, and with our blessings.”
“You like Ethan, don’t you?” They had met him only once. They had flown back for that express purpose the moment she told them she was in love with a young man on campus.
“Your father and I like him very much. It’s just that . . . well, I guess we’re feeling protective.”
Protective. The word jarred.
She had always felt protected, safe. Her mother and father had watched over her and loved her so well she had never had reason to be afraid. Now her life seemed permeated with fear. Fear of what happened. Fear of what she carried. Fear of what to do. Fear of the future and all its unknown pain and anguish. Unending fear. It stretched out ahead of her, a lifetime of it.
“Ethan’s a healthy young man,” her mother said. “Your father and I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be young and very much in love. Sometimes, well, sometimes spending so much time together can cause . . . temptation.”
Dynah knew her mother was testing, gently probing, trying to draw out reasons for her long silence. It was a moment before she understood what her mother was trying to say. She thought they were sleeping together. Shocked and hurt, Dynah closed her eyes. “Oh, Mom . . .”
“Honey,” her mother said, distressed. “I didn’t mean to upset you more than you already are. If that’s what’s wrong, you can stop it.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” Ethan couldn’t even bring himself to kiss her the way he used to.
“I know something’s wrong. I assumed . . . I’m sorry I assumed. Oh, honey, you’ve always called us every other week, and we’ve been playing telephone tag for over a month. We love you. If you and Ethan have gone . . . well, gone further than you intended, we can understand.”
Dynah sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and staring at the wall. “We haven’t.”
“Dynah, I—”
“We haven’t, Mom.”
“Okay,” her mother said slowly.
She sounded so unconvinced, Dynah felt driven. “I swear before God Almighty I have not slept with Ethan. It’s nothing like that.” It’s a hundred times worse.
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to assume the worst.”
The worst. Her mother couldn’t even imagine the worst. Thank God. Dynah didn’t dare even think what her mother would feel if she told her she had been raped, let alone tell her the awful news that she was pregnant. It would shatter her parents. It would destroy all their dreams for her.
But how could she not tell them? How could she hide what happened from them and spare them hurt? She was going home in June, spending the summer with them before she married Ethan in August.
In August she would be in her seventh month of pregnancy if she went through with it.
Horrified, she imagined herself standing before Ethan’s father, resplendent in his pastoral robes, as he officiated at their marriage. And behind them, a church filled with relatives and friends all wishing them well.
Oh, God! Oh, God, I couldn’t bear it.
And it came to her with cold clarity. She didn’t have to bear it. Her parents didn’t have to know. Nobody had to know. If she did exactly what Ethan wanted, she could protect her parents and his from knowing how truly terrible the world was.
“You and Ethan both have a strong set of values,” her mother said. “Purity is a precious gift to give one another on your wedding night.”
Purity.
Smashed and broken.
What gift would she have to give Ethan when she married him? A body scraped clean of a rapist’s begat?
Scraped clean but still ruined. She saw it in his eyes. Her parents and his need never know, but he always would.
“What’s the matter, honey?” her mother said. “Please trust me.”
“Oh, Mom. The pressure, the pressure’s so awful.”
“What sort of pressure do you mean?”
“Everything,” she said dismally. She couldn’t unburden herself and burden her mother instead. What good would it do? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make her forget the rape. It wouldn’t make this thing inside her disappear. There was only one way to do that. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it, Mom.”
“Of course, you’ll make it. You have everything it takes, honey.”
“You don’t understand.” How could she? And Dynah couldn’t explain.
“You’ve always expected so much of yourself. You’ve expected to do everything exactly right. Sometimes life gets in the way, honey. Sometimes you just have to do what’s necessary.”
“Necessary.”
“Prioritize. Remember how we used to talk about the ant that ate the elephant?”
Abortion first; then everything would fall neatly into place. Once it was over, she could get back to doing what she was supposed to be doing: finishing a year of college, keeping her grades up so she’d still have her scholarship next year, finishing plans for her wedding, looking ahead to a bright, happy future.
“Set your mind on getting through what you have to do,” her mother said.
“I guess,” Dynah said, rubbing her temple. She supposed that was what she would have to do. Set her mind on having the abortion. Set her mind on getting through it. Set her mind on going on with her life. Set her mind on keeping what she had done a secret forever.
“You can do it,” her mother said gently. “I know you can. Sometimes when you break things down into small pieces, they’re easier to handle than looking at the thing as a whole.”
Dynah’s eyes filled with hot tears.
“Have you spoken with a counselor, honey?”
She had spoken with the doctor and Ethan and Janet and Joe. Did they count as counselors? “No. Not really.”
“I always go to Pastor Dan when things seem to get squirrelly,” her mother said with a soft laugh. “Sometimes an objective eye can help bring things into focus.”
She couldn’t go to the dean or the pastor of the church where Ethan taught Bible study. Maybe Charlie’s pastor. No. Charlie did a lot of volunteer work at the church. He might see her there. He’d want to know why she hadn’t been on the bus. She’d have to find another church, another pastor, someone who didn’t know her or Ethan. Maybe she could go into Chicago.
“Why don’t you come home for Easter? We can send you plane tickets.”
“I don’t know if I can, Mom. I doubt the library will give me the time off.”
“Library? I thought you were working at Stanton Manor House.”
Heat flooded Dynah’s cheeks as she realized her b
lunder. “I quit.”
“Quit? That’s not like you.”
“It was a long bus ride, Mom, and the hours weren’t that good, and—”
“Bus? Is your car acting up again?”
Closing her eyes, Dynah wished she hadn’t said anything about the bus. “A little, but it’s fixed now.” The car had a new fuel pump and battery, but it was going to need new tires soon. That would use up most of what she’d saved.
How much did an abortion cost? The doctor had said nothing about it, but she was sure he wasn’t going to do the procedure gratis. Would her insurance cover it?
She couldn’t use her insurance. If she did, the statements would be sent to her parents. That’s how they knew she had been x-rayed in October when the campus doctor suspected she had walking pneumonia. She could just see her mother’s face when she opened the mail and found a statement from the insurance company saying her daughter had had an abortion.
“Well, I can’t imagine a Christian college keeping their library open on Easter,” her mother was saying.
“They don’t. Not for that weekend. But I still can’t come home, Mom. Ethan’s expecting me to go to Missouri with him.” She calculated how far along she would be by then if she didn’t go through with the abortion. Not quite four months, probably not far enough along to show, but her mother would know in an instant. She noticed everything.
What if Ethan’s parents were the same way? What would Ethan say if asked? “Yes, Father, she’s pregnant, but I assure you it wasn’t of my doing. She got herself raped when she walked by Henderson Park one night.”
Would they believe it? Or would they, like others, make assumptions about how far her relationship with Ethan had gone?
Like her mother and father had assumed . . .
His reputation would be compromised.
“You went back on December 27 so you could be with his family for the New Year, Dynah. I think Ethan can spare your company for Easter. We’d like to see you.”
“I’ll talk to him about it, Mom.”
“We miss you, honey.”
“I miss you, too,” Dynah said, her throat closing up.
Silence.
“You’re sure you’re okay, honey?”
“I’m sure. I’ve gotta go, Mom. I’m . . . I’m late for class.”
“We love you, Dynah.”
“I love you, too. Bye.”
Dynah stood in the middle of her dorm room, the phone clutched in her hand, feeling as though her last connection with safety and understanding had been broken.
Chapter 3
Joe leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs beneath the table. He’d been studying for two hours, preparing a paper due in his linguistics class. He could have done the work better in his apartment. Ethan was off on another of his good works. He could have turned up his music and worked there. Instead, he had opted for the library.
Because of Dynah.
He saw her come in, her shoulder bag laden with books. She was pale and wan but smiled when someone said hi to her on the way out. She opened the gate and went behind the counter. Depositing her things in a cabinet against the back wall, she set to work immediately, sorting books and arranging them in Dewey decimal order on a push cart. Her supervisor spoke with her for a moment. Dynah blushed, nodded, and set back to work.
Joe watched and waited, willing her to look up and see him. When she did, he saw the unease in her expression. Immediately he understood: she’d felt someone staring at her and was frightened. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. When she spotted him, relief flickered, along with a smile to meet his own. But only briefly. Another look came into her blue eyes, and she lowered her gaze from his.
Leaning forward slowly, he looked dismally down at the book in front of him.
“I know what you care about, Joe. Saving the unborn.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
Raking one hand through his hair, he picked up his pen and made a couple of notes. He read a few more lines.
“Do you mind?” someone snarled from across the table, and he realized he was tapping his pen.
“Sorry,” he muttered, tossing it onto a stack of notes. Dynah wheeled her cart through the gate and headed down the aisle, disappearing behind several high metal shelves of books.
Scraping his chair back, Joe encountered another annoyed look from the guy across from him. He raised his hands. “Sorry,” he muttered again and set the chair back carefully before following Dynah.
There were so many uptight people. Even on this campus, where he expected stress to be in small, measured, healthy amounts. If anything, he found it more intense. Everyone wanted to be the best. Best student. Best servant. Best Christian. They got caught up in it, pressing and pushing until they forgot whom it was they were trying to please.
Like Ethan.
Dynah was leaning down over the cart, her long blonde French braid swinging gently. She glanced his way and then focused her attention on the books again. Selecting one, she turned and reached up, pushing a book aside and sliding the one she held into its proper place.
She stood there for a long moment, her hand still resting on the shelf. “I haven’t done it yet,” she said in a flat tone. She glanced at him, eyes flashing briefly.
Joe winced.
Turning her back on him, Dynah took hold of the cart and wheeled it down the aisle. Pausing, she looked up and then wheeled it back a few feet, shelving two more books. She had to concentrate. She had to get it right.
Joe followed. “Shelve that issue, would you, please?” he said softly. “I’m concerned about you.”
She shoved another book into place, looked at it, pulled it out, pushed a book to one side, and shoved it in again. He saw her hand tremble slightly as she ran her finger over the letters and numbers, rereading them to make sure she had put the book in the right place.
Leaning against the metal shelf, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Did you see Ethan this morning?”
“No. We talked on the phone. He said he’d be busy today. He’s got classes and work. And he has to prepare for the Bible study tonight.”
Joe knew she was making excuses for Ethan. She was isolating herself against the hurt. Anger stirred. Frenetic activity seemed to be Ethan’s forte. And safety valve. When he didn’t want to face something, he served, mightily, as for the Lord. But not really. It was easier to teach God’s Word than to live it.
Pushing his hands into his pockets, Joe admonished himself. He had no right to criticize, even in the privacy of his mind. Sorry, Lord. He’s Yours, I know. And he’s doing the best he can. But I wish he’d open his eyes and take a good look at Dynah and see what’s happening to her.
Joe felt caught between two people he loved. He’d spent hours over the past few months listening to Ethan vent his anger and disappointment and disillusionment.
“I’d like to kill him!” Ethan had said again last night, crying at the power of his rage. “I’d like to hunt that animal down and kill him with my bare hands for what he did.”
Joe hadn’t felt it would be productive to say he shared the same feelings. When he’d seen Dynah’s face that dark January night, the wounded, demolished look in her eyes, emotions he had thought long washed away with his rebirth in Christ returned full force. Heat like the fires of hell surged through his blood. His heart pounded. He shook with the power of anger, a killing, bloodthirsty wrath. It was the kind of emotion he used to feel when he was a teenager running with a rough crowd in Los Angeles.
Civilization was a thin veneer.
God knew.
Maybe Christianity was the same way.
He’d wondered about that a lot over the past weeks as he struggled with his own feelings, facing some he hadn’t dared face before.
“I still love her,” Ethan said, tormented. “I mean, I look at her, and she’s so beautiful, but I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” He shook his head. “She looks the same. She’s still Dynah, but every time I t
ouch her, I get this sick feeling, Joe. I know what happened isn’t her fault. I know it in my head. But it doesn’t help. I mean, what if she has AIDS?”
Dynah’s pregnancy added new dimensions to Ethan’s confusion, while focusing his anger. With the rapist gone and little chance of his being apprehended, there was only one person on whom to focus his wrath: the child Dynah carried.
“It’s not a child,” Ethan had erupted in rage last night. “Don’t tell me it is! This thing she carries is an abomination before God. It’s a sucking parasite! The sooner she gets rid of it, the better.”
Joe wondered if his roommate had shared those feelings with Dynah. Ethan had always been perceptive and sensitive to others’ feelings, careful in how he dealt with people. Was he being careful with Dynah?
It didn’t look like it.
Dynah glanced back at Joe. He looked so grim, that muscle working in his jaw again. Was he angry with her, too? Ethan was. He said she was vacillating. She said she couldn’t help it. When she told him this morning that she was going to seek counseling before making any kind of decision, he’d slammed the telephone down in her ear. Oh, he’d called back a few minutes later to apologize. She knew because she stood listening to the message he left. “Dynah, look, I’m sorry. Pick up. Please. I know you’re there, Dy. You’re being unreasonable. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Can’t you try to understand how I feel? I can understand how you’d like to think things through, but we’ve been over and over this. You’re just making the whole thing worse for both of us.”
She’d turned it off before he finished.
Sometimes she wondered if she knew him at all.
“Never marry a man until you’ve seen how he handles getting a flat tire,” her aunt had joked once.
Some flat tire, Lord.
And now here was Joe, looking grim. She knew what side he’d be coming from. He was as adamant against abortion as Ethan was now for it. The only thing she didn’t know was where she fit into the equation.
She pushed the cart farther down the aisle, shelving books carefully, afraid she’d make a mistake. “Go away, Joe. I don’t want to talk to you.”
When he did, Dynah went on shelving books, gripped by guilt. She shouldn’t have been so rude to him. He had never said or done anything to warrant it. When she finished shelving all the books on the cart, she wheeled it back down the long aisle between the stacks of shelves. Joe was still sitting at the same table, books and papers spread out around him. He looked up when she paused at his table. “I’m sorry, Joe.”