All in One Place (29 page)

“That you didn't want.” I pressed my lips together. Hadn't I learned? Confrontation and contradiction were not how to deal
with Eric.

“That hurt, babe. How could I not want a child that we made together?”

Now I was getting creeped out. How could I have gotten involved with this guy? What had I been thinking?

I hadn't. Been thinking, that is. In the beginning, Eric had charm. He was attentive. And every time we went out, he had another
gift for me. He even hinted at marriage. I was taken in by it all, jealous of my sister and her stable life. I wanted some
of that stability myself. And I thought Eric was the one to help me achieve that. By the time he had moved in, I'd realized
my mistake.

But then he wouldn't leave, and he wouldn't leave me alone.

Just like now.

The very single-mindedness of his trip here made my heart pound. He had warned me the first time he caught me packing my bags
that if I ever left, he would find me and kill me.

What could I do?

Pray?

Wasn't I on the wrong side of the church doors for that to have any effect? Did I seriously think God would listen to someone
who hadn't spent any time with Him at all?

“Were you heading there?” Eric asked, angling his head toward the church behind us. He laughed. “Do you really think those
Christians want someone like you? Do you think God wants someone like you?”

I faced him down, my own insecurities fighting with what I'd been told by Jack, Cor, Leslie. My own reading of the Bible.

“I think He does. So please, move.”

“Please. That's a polite touch.” Eric smiled, and ice slivered through my veins.

“I'm going inside, Eric.” He moved to block me.

“Get out of my way,” I yelled, fear and anger propelling the words out of me.

Eric grabbed for me, and I ducked, screamed, and started running. I knew he was going to catch me, but I wasn't going to make
things easy for him. He wasn't going to take me without a fight.

“Get back here, Terra. You'll be sorry…”

Heavy footfalls behind me, a hand grabbing at my shoulder. So close. Too close.

I twisted away, spun around. I was tired of being afraid of this man. I made another quick turn, then ran up the church steps
and turned to face him.

He charged up the steps, but I had the high ground. I swung my purse and smacked him right across his face. He pulled back,
and for a split second stared at me in disbelief.

I hit him again, but Eric's volatile anger kicked in. He grabbed me and hauled me down the stairs. Or tried. I hit, I kicked,
I punched, I elbowed. I didn't care what happened to me. I would not go down without a fight.

And then, behind me, the church door slammed open.

“Stop right there,” I heard a rough and familiar voice call out.

My foot twisted to one side, and I fell onto my knees. Eric grabbed me by both arms as he tried to haul me to my feet.

“Gotcha now—” But the rest of what he said was cut off. His hand let go of me and I fell onto my chest, my chin scraping the
sidewalk. Through the sudden ringing in my brain I heard a thud, an exhalation, a few more thuds and grunts, and then Eric
was screaming at someone to get his knee off his back.

“Terra, are you okay?” I heard Jack call. “Are you okay? Someone help Terra.”

I dimly heard Eric yelling that he was going to sue as I tried to sit up. Then a grunt from him and silence.

Feet pounded down the steps. I caught a whiff of perfume and looked up to see Gloria, her forehead creased with concern as
she helped me sit up. She gently brushed my hair away from my face, then grimaced. “You need to have that checked out.”

I put my hand to my face, but she stopped me. “Don't. Your chin is all scraped up. It's bleeding.”

“How is she? How's Terra?” Jack's voice held an urgency that drew my attention to him. He was kneeling on Eric's back, Eric's
arms twisted up behind him. Cor was standing over them.

“Who do you think you are, huh?” Cor yelled at him. “Who do you think you are? Coming here and causing trouble for our Terra?”

“Dad. That's enough,” Jack said, not moving, his hard eyes flicking my way.

“I'm okay,” I said, wincing as Gloria helped me to my feet.

My neck hurt and as I turned, I saw a group of people standing at the top of the steps. Had they all seen what happened?

One of the young men came running down the stairs. “Do you need help, Jack? Can I do anything?”

Jack handed the young man his cell phone and gave him instructions, his voice brusque and businesslike as he tugged his tie
off then wound it around Eric's hands with swift economical movements.

This wasn't the same Jack who had held me on the bench in the park. Not the same Jack who had cooked dinner.

This Jack was serious business, and I was glad I wasn't on the ground, under his knee.

A couple of women came down the stairs toward me. “Are you okay, Terra?”

“Oh, no, you're hurt!” the other exclaimed.

A murmur rose from the group and grew as the news passed from person to person, and soon the entire congregation of the church
knew that Terra Froese, sister of Leslie VandeKeere, had just had a fight with her old boyfriend, who was subdued by Jack
DeWindt.

I'd have to leave now for sure, I thought as Gloria helped me to her car. All I needed was for the
Harland Chronicle
to get wind of this debacle, and I'd never live it down.

A
re you sure you're okay?” Leslie dabbed the abrasion on my chin with an alcohol swab. I winced.

“Yeah. My pride took a worse beating than my face did.” I gave her a wavery smile as I swung my legs onto the gurney. “At
least I got a few hits in.”

“So I heard,” she said, a note of admiration in her voice.

“I didn't want to be afraid of him anymore.”

Leslie put a bandage over my chin and gently taped it down. “I'm sure Eric has a few things to be afraid of himself. I heard
that Jack was a bit rough with him.”

“I hope Jack doesn't get into trouble over it.”

“I doubt it.” Leslie finished taping. “Well, you're good as new. Now you just have to wait for Sheriff Diener. He wants some
kind of statement from you.” Leslie tossed the alcohol swab into a garbage can and made a quick note on my chart. She stripped
off her gloves and pitched them in the garbage as well, then gave me an encouraging smile. “Are you okay?”

The aftermath of the morning pressed down on me. “I was on my way to church, you know,” I said, drawing in a shaky breath.
“I was going to meet Jack there.”

Leslie gently stroked my hair away from my face. “So I understand. I'm so glad. You're a good person, big sister. You really
are.”

“Well, not really, but thanks for saying so.”

“You are. I heard what you did for Amelia.”

“I didn't do anything for her.”

“You were a friend to her. You stood up for her. You're the one she went to when she got hurt. That means something.”

“What's going to happen with her and Madison?”

Leslie shook her head. “She finally agreed to let us run the tests on Madison, to nail down the failure to thrive issue. I'm
fairly sure that Amelia, given the right support and help, will be able to take better care of Madison. Rod wants to stay
involved.”

“I feel a little dumb about Rod,” I said quietly, picking at a broken nail. “I was so sure he was exactly like Eric. I was
so sure he didn't want Madison, just like Eric didn't want that… our baby. But I didn't deserve…”

No. I shouldn't go there.
I was feeling too vulnerable to bring that up.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Tried to fight down the relentless undertow of emotions that threatened to swamp me.
I'd been feeling shaky ever since I heard Eric's voice on my phone. I couldn't get a grip on the loose ends long enough to
pull it all together.

“Didn't deserve…” Leslie prompted.

Still I hesitated. What would she say if I told her? I had held the secret so close for so long. Would she understand?

“I've got time.” As if to underline her point, the gurney squeaked as she sat down beside me. She took my hand and laid it
palm up on hers. “Talk to me.”

Would releasing the words so long held down change anything?

“I love you, Terra. You need to know that.”

I acknowledged her gift with a nod, took a deep breath to center myself, and began. “I was going to have a baby.”

The sorrow on her face made me feel bad that I hadn't told her before.

“I didn't connect with you when you were having your troubles with Nicholas because my own life was such a mess.” I took a
slow, shaky breath, trying vainly to find equilibrium. “I got pregnant. Eric didn't want the baby, and I wasn't sure I wanted
to bring a child into that messy relationship. So he drove me to the clinic and dropped me off.” I stopped there, trying to
read some reaction from Leslie, but she continued holding my hand, her fingers gently stroking it, as if drawing my confession
from me.

“I waited until he was gone and then started walking around, thinking. I couldn't do it. I thought maybe if I waited he would
get used to the idea. Then two months later, I miscarried.” Hot tears coursed down my cheeks.

“But you didn't follow through with the abortion. Losing that baby wasn't your fault.”

“Maybe it was.”

“What do you mean?”

I thought of what Cor had told me. That our sins were an abyss between us and God, and when confessed, they became a bridge.
I needed to tell someone the story I had held close all those years. Who better than my own sister?

“I was sixteen,” I began. “Just a bit younger than Tabitha is now. I was dating Corey Schroeder. We… we were intimate. I got
pregnant.”

Leslie's hand tightened.

In the background I heard the rattle of a cart being pushed down the hallway. Life moving on while for me, here in this small
confessional, time moved backward.

“I was scared. I didn't know who to talk to. Mom wasn't around much, so I went to a guidance counselor at school who put me
onto a social worker. This guy must have taken a bunch of sensitivity training courses because he kept telling me I was a
victim, I had rights, and I had a right to take care of me. I was valuable. The whole schmear. Then he laid out the numerous
ways a baby would ruin my sixteen-year-old life. How I wouldn't be able to finish school. How I would end up in a dead-end
job, practically on welfare. Living Mom's life. He had me shaking. So when he suggested an abortion, it made sense. Seemed
easy. So I agreed.”

“He didn't give you an alternative? Adoption?”

“Not protocol, I guess.” As the words rolled off my tongue, the old feelings of fear and guilt washed over me once again.
The disorientation I had felt when I walked out of the clinic looking, from the outside, as if nothing had happened. But inside
I had a hollowness that I'd tried ever since to fill.

“When I decided to keep this baby, I thought this was my chance to atone for what I had done. To right the wrong. Eric tried
to make abortion sound so easy, but I know better. It's not like pulling a tooth. It's like pulling out your soul.” I looked
up at Leslie. “No one ever wants to acknowledge the side effects, you know? I've met women who have had two, three abortions
and they act like nothing happened. But there's an echo of pain, guilt, and even a bit of fear that you can push down, but
it never really goes away. It didn't for me. God knew I didn't deserve that baby. I did wrong. I was punished.”

When I'd insisted on seeing the baby, the nurses brought me a tiny, fragile creature with underdeveloped skin that had darkened
after birth, but she had eyes, lips, ears, and fingers as tiny as a grain of rice.

And when I held her, I realized that what I had previously swept from my womb was not tissue or the euphemistic product of
conception.

It was a child.

And then the guilt, suppressed so long, had washed over me in a wave that threatened to pull me under.

“Life for a life, I figured. That's why I can't judge Mom. She kept us both. She kept us together. After I lost the baby,
I realized I didn't deserve to have her because of what I had done before.” My throat closed off as grief sluiced through
me, pulling me down into the guilt and pain once again.

“Don't talk like that. God doesn't work that way.” Leslie blew out a sigh. “I don't know where in the Bible the passage is,
but I remember something about God not punishing us as our sins deserve. God is like a Father. He loves us so much that He
gave His Son so we could live. I know I sound like the televangelists we used to poke fun at, but I know it's real. I've experienced
that love. That comfort. It's there for you, too. All you have to do is just what you've done. Confess. Acknowledge that you've
done wrong.”

My mind slipped back to Father Sam.
Confession. Absolution.

The words lingered, tantalizing with their promise of comfort.

“It sounds too easy.”

“Forgiveness is too easy. We don't deserve how easy it is.”

I closed my eyes to absorb better what Leslie was saying. And as she spoke, the tears came again. And again, I couldn't stop
them.

Sorrow is not graceful,
I thought as I took the tissue from Leslie's hand and started mopping up. I heard the swish of another tissue being pulled
out of the box that had magically appeared on Leslie's lap, and I took it and tossed aside the soggy mess of the first one.
Then I took another.

And another.

My eyes were thick and sore and my nose raw by the time I was done.

I sniffed, and finally dared to look at Leslie.

Leslie, who had endured her own storm of sorrow for a child. But she had been praying for health, for recovery, for a child
she had wanted. She had gone through that dark valley with her child and come out the other side, her family intact and bound
together by their experiences.

I was a ragged mess with a medical bill I had finally paid off and nothing to show for my experience. Nothing outwardly, at
least.