22

 

 

Karen moved to the front of the church and scanned the large group that had assembled. The rehearsal with the four participating choirs and the solo performers had gone well—including her own song—and the event was sold out. Between ticket sales and ads for the program, Hope House would have adequate funds to weather its financial crisis.

All the hard work had paid off.

She did one more sweep of the back of the church. Still no Val. Margaret’s bridge club dinner must be running late—as usual. If her sister didn’t finish her chauffeur duty soon, there’d be no opportunity to run over her remarks.

However, Val was a pro. With or without a rehearsal, she’d do fine.

Karen stood behind the mike. “I want to thank all of you for coming and for participating in this worthwhile effort. You did a great job tonight, and I know everyone will enjoy the program. Please be here by seven tomorrow and as­semble in the fellowship room. I’ll be around for a few more minutes tonight, if there are any questions. If not, break a leg tomorrow.”

As she descended the steps from the stage, Melanie Thomas approached her. The director of Hope House was beaming.

“I’m overwhelmed! The outpouring of support has been unbe­lievable. I had no idea we’d end up with an event of this scale.”

“It’s gratifying, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her purse. “I know this is last minute, but I received this yesterday. It could be very powerful if the emcee read it at the end of the evening.” As Karen took the sheet, a glint of blonde hair at the back of the auditorium caught her attention.

“Speaking of the emcee, she’s arrived. Will you excuse me for a minute?”

Karen hurried toward the back, calling out to David as she passed the tech booth. “Could you hang around a few more minutes? Val’s here, and I’d like to run through her comments and set sound and light levels. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure. My neighbor is watching Victoria, and I told her I could be late.”

With a wave of thanks, Karen continued toward her sister.

“Sorry about this.” Val jogged over. “I had no idea Mom’s quarterly bridge dinners dragged on till all hours.” She scanned the emptying auditorium. “I missed the rehearsal, didn’t I?”

“David’s waiting around to set sound and lights for your part. Do you want to run through it once?”

“As long as I’m not holding anyone up. I read over the script. It shouldn’t take long.”

“That’s what I figured. Start whenever you’re ready.”

With a nod, Val dropped her purse on a chair and walked to­ward the stage.

As she prepared to follow her sister, Karen caught sight of Scott approaching. She hadn’t had a chance to talk with him after their choir sang, and while her efforts had been passable to her ears, it would be reassuring to have that confirmed.

His heartening smile did the trick even before he spoke. “You were terrific.”

“If I was, you deserve the credit. Without your support and coaching I would never have been able to stand up there and sing alone. But the real test will be tomorrow.”

“I have every confidence in you.”

“I wish I did.”

He rested his fingers on her arm. “You’ll be fine.” He main­tained contact a moment longer, then dropped his hand. “How’s everything else?”

“Busy—and I don’t expect the pace to lessen anytime soon. Once Val leaves next week, I’ll have to pick up all the responsibilities for Mom again too.”

“Remember my offer of help—for anything, anytime.”

Gratitude flowed through her. What had she done to deserve such a caring, considerate man?

“I will. Thank you.”

Steven wheeled up behind them, and Scott motioned toward him. “Here’s the other star of the evening.”

The teen grimaced. “I made some mistakes.”

“Only ones you and I would notice.”

“You sounded wonderful, Steven.” Karen touched his arm as she added her own reassurance. “I’m glad we have a piano solo in the pro­gram. It adds some variety.”

Scott pulled out his keys. “I promised Steven a ride home. Try to get some rest.”

“Not likely. I have a full day scheduled, including my last Satur­day afternoon coffee with Val—and I’m not going to skip that.” As her sister began to run through her comments, Karen motioned toward the stage. “Speaking of Val…”

“I know. Duty calls.” Scott entwined her fingers with his and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “See you tomorrow.”

As the two of them set off for the door, she rejoined Melanie in front as Val began breezing through her remarks.

“What did you think?” Melanie motioned to the sheet of paper in Karen’s hand.

“Sorry. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.” She dropped into the empty chair beside the Hope House director and skimmed through the typewritten document. “I agree with your assessment. It would be a touching wrap-up for the evening. Where did you get it?”

“From the director of a similar program in Kansas City. It was sent to them by a former client who ended up choosing another option. She wanted the staff to know she was sorry she’d given in to the pressure to end her pregnancy, and she sent along a donation to support their work.”

“I’ll ask Val to read through it as soon as she finishes.”

Setting the sheet in her lap, she listened as her sister ran through the emcee remarks. As she’d expected, Val’s poise and confidence would put a professional polish on the evening.

And with all her training and experience, she’d be able to do justice to the compelling testimonial Melanie had brought with her.

 

* * *

 

Val closed her folder and shaded her eyes from the bright lights. “How was that?”

“Perfect. The consummate pro.” Karen rose and walked toward the stage. “The director of Hope House suggested this be read this at the end of the evening, as part of your closing remarks. Sorry to dump it on you cold, but she just handed it to me. Could you give it a try? We’ll write a short intro for it too.”

“Sure.” Val took the sheet Karen handed her and returned to the podium. This whole emcee gig was going far more smoothly than she’d anticipated. “We’ve got one more brief piece, David.”

“Okay.” His voice echoed from the back. “I won’t power down until you’re finished.”

Val set the paper on the podium and skimmed the heading.

“A Letter to My Unborn Child.”

Seconds ticked by as her lungs locked. What was this all about? She was only supposed to say hi, good-bye, and do a few intros. No one had said anything about reading a personal docu­ment like this.

“Val? Whenever you’re ready.”

At Karen’s prompt, she gripped the sides of the podium. Fought for control.

Pretend it’s a script. Pretend this is a play, with no basis in real­ity and no connection to your life. Stay objective. Be professional. You’re an actress. Think of this as another role.

Summoning up every vestige of her training, she began to read.

“My dearest child: I wish I could tell you all that is in my heart today. To cuddle you gently in my arms, to whisper in your ear, to stroke your soft, silky hair and feel the steady beat of your heart as I hold you close to my breast.

“But that is never to be. You are gone now, and all that remains is regret and guilt and pain. Not a day goes by that you are far from my thoughts. Each morning, I awaken to the vain hope that the empty place in my heart will be filled once more. Each evening, I go to bed with a prayer on my lips for mercy and forgiveness.”

Her voice caught—but she soldiered on. “Today is especially hard. It’s the fourth anniversary of your due date, and I’m wondering what we would have done to celebrate your birthday, had I not robbed you of the gift of life our Creator gave you. I’d have baked a cake, of course, with five candles. Four for your age, and one to grow on. There would have been presents to open too, wrapped in colorful paper and decorated with shiny bows.

“After that, the two of us would have gone on a picnic. Chased a butterfly or two. Picked some flowers. Lain on our backs in the grass and searched for cloud pictures. Simple but precious things. Things I would have remembered all my life as I watched you grow into a fine young man or woman and began to make your own unique contributions to the world.”

As she finished, Val fought anew for control. She’d made it through—but she felt as if someone had delved into her heart and written down the emotions and thoughts she’d carried there for nearly eighteen years.

“Val? There’s more on the back.”

More?

Please, God, no!

Fingers shaking, Val turned the page over. The words blurred, and despite some rapid blinking they remained fuzzy.

She couldn’t do this.

“Val?”

Another prompt from her sister.

She gritted her teeth.

Just do it! Keep going! You’ll be better prepared tomorrow. You're only having trouble because this is unexpected.

In a halting cadence, she started to read again.

“But there were never any birthday parties. Or candles. Espe­cially ones to grow on. I took away the future God had planned for you. I stole your life a few short weeks after it began. Though I couldn’t see you or hold you or stroke your cheek, you were with me, nestled near my heart, growing and developing and waiting for the birth day that never came.

“Oh, my dear child, I’m so sorry. If I had it to do over again, I’d…”

Her voice broke, and the words blurred again as silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

She made one more valiant effort to regain control—but it was no use. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in two, and she was out of pep talks.

Jerking back from the mike, she stumbled toward the steps that led down from the stage. She tripped on the first one but somehow regained her balance and clambered down as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She had to get out of here.

Fast.

She was halfway across the auditorium when Karen grabbed her arm.

“Val, what is it? What’s wrong?”

She lurched to a stop. “I... I can’t do this.”

Pulling free, she whirled around to flee...only to find David blocking her escape route.

“What’s going on?” He aimed the alarmed query at Karen, who appeared baffled, then grasped her arms. “Val, what is it?”

“I...I don’t feel well.” She shrugged him off. “I have to go home.”

“I’ll take you.”

“No! I’ll be fine.”

And with that lie vibrating in the air, she ran from the building.

 

* * *

 

David dimmed his car lights and pulled to a stop in the park by the river. Not the one where he and Victoria had shared their lunch with Val the day she’d emerged, shaken, from the woods. Instead, she’d led him to the main park in town. The one with benches close to the river’s edge.

Too close, considering the benches were her destination.

After Val’s frantic flight from the rehearsal, he hadn’t needed Karen’s panicked plea to convince him to follow her. You didn’t desert someone you cared about in their darkest hour.

Killing the engine, he switched off the dome light and opened his door as she approached the water, prepared to bolt from the car at the slightest indication she was going to do anything other than sit on a bench. And she might, given the anguish and utter desolation and desperation he’d glimpsed in her eyes.

To his relief, she dropped onto a bench and hunched forward. But he kept his door open, just in case. Besides, he intended to join her soon.

First, however, he had to sort through his own emotions.

Fingers clenched around the wheel, he acknowledged the truth.

Val had had an abortion.

The woman he was falling for had found herself in trouble and chosen convenience over con­science.

The stark, ugly reality twisted his gut.

No matter how much he’d come to care for her, he could never condone her choice. It went against everything he be­lieved about the sanctity of life.

Yet as an image of the abject misery and pain and soul-stirring regret on her face flashed through his mind, it was clear her choice had extracted its pound of flesh in unremitting tor­ment and guilt and grief.

Suddenly Val stood, and a surge of adrenaline shot through him. As she began walking toward the river, he vaulted from the car and sprinted toward her until he was within grasping distance.

“Val?” He tried for a calm tone, but her name came out hoarse and uneven.

She jerked toward him, her whole body trembling. Her eyes were less wild and frenetic now, the earlier agitation replaced by bleak emptiness and dull resignation, but her mascara-streaked cheeks were pale as death.

David held out his hand. “Sit with me awhile.”

She didn’t budge.

“Come on, Val.”

“You don’t want to...to sit with me.” Her response came out in a broken whisper.

“Yes, I do.”

She shook her head, and her wretched sadness pierced him. “Trust me. You don’t. It would be better if you left and forgot all about me.”

He kept his hand extended. “Forgetting about you isn’t an op­tion—and I can’t walk away when someone I care about is hurting. Please…sit with me.”

She regarded his outstretched hand. Hesitated.

Please, Lord, let her trust me on this. Give her the courage to share her story, and give me the courage to listen without reproach—and to put judgment in your hands.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out to him.

Twining his fingers with hers, he led her to the bench. As they sat, he switched hands and draped his arm around her shoulders.

Several minutes passed, the silence broken only by the distant, plaintive whistle of a train.

At last she spoke, keeping her gaze on the restless river below. “I guess you’re wondering what that was all about to­night.”

He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “You had an abortion.” He did his best to banish censure from his tone. “Long ago, I suspect.”

She squeezed her eyelids shut, but a tear slipped out and rolled down her cheek.

David wiped the trail of moisture away with a gentle finger.

“If you figured it out, why did you follow me?”

“I care about you.”

“In spite of what I did?”

It was a simple question—but the answer was complicated.

“If you’re asking me whether I approve of abortion, the answer is no. My position on that was formed long ago, after my younger sister died of leukemia. I was eight, and I remember as clear as if it was yesterday how devastated we all were. My parents wanted more children, but none ever came. They researched adoption, but the cost was out of reach for our blue-collar family. Yet more than a million babies are aborted each year in this country.”

He swallowed past his revulsion. “That statistic always disturbed me, so as I got older, I became active in the pro-life movement. To this day I do whatever I can to protect the unborn. That’s why I agreed to help with the Hope House benefit.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast.

“Val, look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

After several eternal seconds, she slowly complied.

“I care about you. A lot.” He let that sink in a moment. “Because of that, I want to be honest. The truth is, I’ll never change my opinion about abortion. But people are human. They make mistakes. They yield to pressure. It’s not my place to judge anyone’s actions. What you did is between you and God. All I know is you paid a high price for the decision you made. I can see it in your regret and your pain and your sorrow.”

A flicker of hope ignited in her eyes. “Does that mean you...you don’t hate me?”

“Not even close.”

She searched his face. “I never e-expected this. Do you want…” Her breath hitched, and she tried again. “Do you want to hear what happened?”

“Very much—if you want to share it.”

With a nod, she once more directed her attention toward the dark river.

He listened in silence as she relayed her story in a tremulous voice. It played out as he expected.

Near the end, she dropped her volume. He had to lean close to hear the end.

“I still have the ultrasound printout, showing a perfect baby. My son or daughter, who would have been seventeen this year. The same age I was when I...I took that tiny life.”

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as the pieces began to fall into place. “That’s why you came back this summer, isn’t it? To try and make peace with what happened.”

“That was part of the reason.”

He listened as she told him all she’d done during her weeks in town—the visits to the river, the health center, the back-alley clinic.

No wonder she’d often seemed haunted. She’d been liv­ing a nightmare. Facing the demons of her past.

Alone.

“That took a lot of courage, Val.”

“No.” Her response was immediate, her tone firm. “Everything I did was motivated more by desperation than courage. Like going back to church. But nothing worked.” She choked back a sob. “At least someone healed this summer. Mom’s improving every day.”

“You may need to give yourself more time.”

“I’ve had almost two decades. This trip was my last hope. I guess I’ll have to keep living alone with the guilt, like I always have.”

All at once, the truth hit David like a punch in the midsection.

Val didn’t think she deserved a husband—or children. She was atoning for her mistake by consigning herself to a solitary life, depriving herself of what she most desired. That self-imposed sentence explained the sadness behind her obvious yearning as she watched him and Victoria—and her unwillingness to stay in Washington and toss her hat in the ring for the teaching job. Her decision had nothing to do with her career being more important to her than creating a family.

David stroked her cheek, wishing he could erase her pain. “What­ever happened to forgiveness?”

At his quiet question, her brow knotted. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it possible you’ve suffered enough for your choice? That it’s time to forgive yourself—and let God forgive you as well?”

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness isn’t about merit. It’s about repentance and God’s unconditional love.”

“I don’t know if I believe in unconditional love.”

He locked gazes with her. “Believe in it. It may be rare, but it’s real. May I offer a sugges­tion?”

She gulped in some air. Swiped at a stray tear. Nodded.

“Why don’t you talk to Reverend Richards?”

“I doubt that will help at this point.”

He took both her hands in his. “Would you give it a try? I want you to find redemption, to be able to move on with your life, as much as you do—partly for selfish reasons.” He let her think about that for a moment. “Besides, running back to Chicago isn’t going to solve anything—and that teaching job at the high school hasn’t been filled yet.”

Watching her, he held his breath and prayed she’d have the courage to take this one last step.

Finally, she gave a slow nod. “All right. I’ll talk to Reverend Richards.”

Thank you, God!

“I don’t think you’ll be sorry.” He checked his watch, wishing for this one evening he didn’t have any other obligations—but his daughter needed him too. “I have to pick up Victoria. Do you feel up to driving?”

“Yes.”

Her voice was stronger now, and she was steadier. She could probably handle the short trip home.

But she didn’t have to make it alone.

“I’ll follow you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“Humor me. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re safe. I also promised your sister I’d stick close until I was certain you were okay, and I can’t do that if I don’t see you pull into your driveway.”

He rose and extended his hand. She took it.

They walked in silence to her car, and once there he drew her into his arms and wrapped her in a gentle, comforting embrace.

For a full minute they stayed that way, her cheek nestled on his shoulder, his chin resting on her soft hair. She felt good in his arms. As if she was meant to be there. For always.

And when she at last got behind the wheel and he returned to his car, he resolved that always was a goal worth pursuing.

Whatever it took.