The Road to Mercy (16 page)

She tugged the heavy green wooden chair from her antique desk in the corner of the room, dragging it across the carpet and placing it in front of the closet. Then, standing on the tips of her toes, she clawed her way through the quilts and pillows that obscured the benign, brown shipping carton.

He had been relegated to a box
. Among other things that no longer applied to her life, like a high school letter sweater and college term papers.

She stretched her arms high above her head, with the ball of her foot resting on the edge of the chair, but could still only touch the box. Although the chair began to tip, Beth was determined to wrap her hands around the container and pull it out. When she finally grasped it, the box responded too easily. It released, throwing her off balance. She caught her breath,
steadied herself, and then scrambled down from the chair with the carton in her arms.

Beth placed the box on the white flokati wool rug near the bed and lowered herself to a cross-legged position in front of it. With adrenaline-induced strength, she popped the tape that sealed the carton. An excess of emotions tumbled out when she lifted the lid. Her elementary school class photo. A piggy bank filled with silver dollars her grandfather had given her. And her high school diploma.

The rust-colored bear lay in the corner of his cardboard tomb, covered with dried flowers from an old corsage. She lifted him—or was it her?—gently, stirring up the smell of dust and deceit. Beth realized that he represented everything she withheld from her husband. The life she had lived before him. The lives she had extinguished, her own along with her child’s.

She thought back to the woman in front of the abortion clinic that day. The one who had pleaded with her to reconsider her actions. But the women inside had told her it didn’t matter, and she had chosen to believe the lie. Now, just like Eve, she had come to understand the price.

Beth hugged the lifeless bear and cried. Its button nose and dark eyes reminded her of what she had lost. And what she had to look forward to, if God granted her the child within.

“Bethany, are you okay?”

She had been facing the wall and had not heard Alex come into the room. Beth ran her hand over her eyes and turned, still clasping the bear in her arms.

“What’s wrong?” Concern swept across Alex’s face.

Beth hoped her eyes didn’t give away the tears. “I’m fine. I was just—”

“Crying.” Alex stepped toward her. “Have you been crying?”

“Yes. I was just—”

“Worried about the baby again?” Alex asked, staring at the stuffed toy.

Beth swallowed hard. “Yes. I guess I was.”

Her secret was safe.

“Let me fix you some hot tea.”

Alex reached out to help her up, and Beth took her hand.

“I saw Buster sitting by the door for a long time, and I got worried about you. That’s why I came back early. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Thanks for checking on me.”

For as long as Beth could remember, her family had driven to Southern Illinois to celebrate Christmas Eve with her grandparents. She had never broken the tradition. Even during her rebellious, college years, she would drive on her own from Nashville or meet her parents halfway, at their home in Kentucky, and ride with them the rest of the way.

This year would be no different. Josh had finished his tour in time for them to make the trip together on Christmas Eve morning. They would return tomorrow for an intimate Christmas on their own.

In the meantime, Beth couldn’t wait to see her family and share the excitement of her pregnancy. Christmas was one of those rare occasions when everyone—including aunts, uncles, and cousins—from her mother’s side of the family got together. Her parents; her brother, Scott; Grandpa and Grandma Randall; and Uncle Jim and his family would fill her grandparents’ small house with lots of love, laughter, and controlled chaos. Josh had joined the festivities for the first time three years ago, shortly after they had started dating.

The Randall clan tradition was to gather for a big meal and a small gift exchange on Christmas Eve, and then everyone would attend worship service at her grandparent’s church the following day.

Grandma, Aunt Jean, and Beth’s mom contributed to the holiday feast each year. Beth looked forward to the food, the fellowship, and the worship. The tradition touched her heart in a special way. It also left her stuffed and determined to diet after the New Year.

She couldn’t imagine what it would be like when her grandparents were no longer able to host this special occasion. Each year, Beth’s mother, her aunt, and now Beth and her cousin Mandy, contributed more in the way of food. Even though her grandmother had relinquished some of the responsibility, she remained determined to prepare her signature dishes, especially those she knew her grandchildren enjoyed. Beth’s mother and Aunt Jean always prepared haute cuisine made from the latest recipes they had seen on the Food Network or in a food magazine, and there was often two of everything—the old-style fare and its gourmet cousin.

Grandma’s staple menu included a spiced, pineapple-glazed ham and marshmallow-covered, candied sweet potatoes. Beth’s mother always baked a prime rib roast of beef cooked medium rare and served with garlic mashed potatoes. Grandma’s green bean casserole was made with mushroom soup and French fried onion rings. Beth’s mom prepared Green Beans Almandine.

Grandma Randall served chilled jellied cranberry sauce from a can, sliced and presented on a special, silver server, while Beth’s mom made a fresh cranberry-orange peel relish served in a glass compote. Although Beth would never tell her mother for fear of hurting her feelings, she preferred the old-fashioned style of her grandmother’s cooking.

This year, despite having been recently hospitalized, Grandma managed to contribute many of her regular foods, including homemade dinner rolls she served with butter and honey. The bread by itself would have made the meal special.

Grandma’s kitchen, although small and only semimodern, smelled like culinary heaven at Christmas. Grandma covered the table with a white linen cloth, one she used only on rare occasions. She set out her Spode Christmas Tree Grove pattern dinnerware, which had been a Christmas gift from Beth’s parents many years ago. The dishes would one day be passed along to either Beth or her brother, Scott.

An old wooden buffet that had belonged to Beth’s maternal great-grandparents, held a variety of desserts. Homemade cherry pies, Aunt Jean’s coconut cream pie, and Beth’s mom’s special Burnt Butter Bundt Cake. Her cousin Mandy always made a cheesecake. In recent years, Grandma had added peach cobbler to the menu because she knew it was Beth’s favorite.

The Randall family’s perspective on Christmas set the tone for the coming year. They celebrated the presence of family and food, exchanged small gifts, and ended the weekend worshiping together. This year was especially meaningful because Beth’s brother, Scott, had been given furlough from the military base where he was stationed in Germany.

The cousins, all in their late twenties or early thirties now, still brought their sleeping bags for the overnight stay. After the older family members went to bed, the younger set commandeered a corner in the main part of the house and talked for hours. It was their one time each year to catch up with one another.

A list of concerns crowded Ben Abrams’s consciousness as he drove away from his house on Christmas Eve morning. Frost clung to the corners of the windshield of his new Mercedes G550 SUV, a direct result of last night’s decision to avoid the cluttered garage. Something he would tackle on Saturday.

The weekend wouldn’t come soon enough. His office was closed today. But, as the doctor on call for the Christmas holidays, he would have an erratic schedule for the next four days.

Ben switched on his headlights as he wound his way out of the Belle Meade neighborhood where he had lived for more than a decade. The morning fog hung low, eliciting a subtle and much-needed peace. He had combined a recent business trip with a short visit to his grandmother, and seeing her frail condition had provoked a dreaded dose of reality. The knowledge that he might be losing her soon weighed heavily on him.

He had tried to convince her to move to Nashville, to stay with him. But she had adamantly denied the need, as she always had. Forcefully uprooting her from her home of more than fifty years didn’t seem right.

The desire to be independent was something he understood. He was thankful he had found a way to use the self-discipline that came with it to help others. Working as a physician had brought him much fulfillment. And, despite an early distrust of people that had come from his unorthodox upbringing, he had grown to love the kinder side of humanity.

Some of his patients made a deeper impact on him than others. Bethany Harrison came to mind. He had honed his skills, and he was adept at the most innovative of procedures, but microsurgery, which might be required in her case, was still challenging. He would hate to see the life of such a vivacious young woman cut short because of her religious beliefs.

On Christmas morning, Beth’s stomach churned as she and Josh returned to her grandparents’ house after church services. She had plans to tell him about the abortion on their drive back to Nashville, and the dread had begun to set in.

Less than an hour later, while Josh carried their luggage to his Jeep, Beth hugged her family and said her tearful goodbyes.

“We’ll see you in a month or two, honey,” her mother said, with a worried look on her face. “Sooner if you need us.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Beth said. “Really. Alex is taking good care of me.”

“I love spending time with your folks,” Josh told Beth, as he held the car door open for her. “They make me feel like part of the family.”

“You
are
part of the family.” She crinkled her nose at Josh’s humble personality.

While they were stopped for fuel and a bathroom break in Paducah, Kentucky, Beth worked up her courage. If she was going to talk to Josh, now was the time.

She pulled the seatbelt over her ever-widening midsection and snapped the buckle securely. Her husband laid his hand gently on her tummy. “Maybe we should talk about names on the way home.”

The happiness in his voice broke her heart. “I need to tell you about something first,” she said, watching as he merged the car into traffic on I-24 East.

“Let me guess.” He winked. “You’re pregnant?”

“No, silly.”

“It’s twins?”

“No!” She laughed.

He tensed. “Triplets?”

“No. It’s not about our baby. She—or he—is doing fine.” Beth took a deep breath. “It’s about what happened when I was in college.” The tone of her voice changed the mood in the car.

Josh gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t understand.”

“This is not my first pregnancy. I should have told you before now.”

“What do you mean?” His mouth twitched, as if wanting to smile but holding back for a punch line.

“I made a mistake when I first moved to Nashville. I ran with the wrong crowd. Not bad people, but not believers.”

Josh’s potential smile faded.

“I began to doubt some of the things I had been taught. You know, that everything your parents say is best.”

“I think we’ve all been there,” he said.

“But I decided to act on it. I was lonely. Feeling different than everyone else. My friends partied into the night. Some even experimented with drugs. I started to feel like the last good girl on earth, like I was setting myself up to be better than everyone else.”

Josh shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Honey, don’t—”

“No, I have to tell you . . . should have told you a long time ago.”

God, why do I have to tell him?

She composed herself. “I know now that it was just an excuse, a lie I told myself.” She folded and unfolded the tissue in her hands, trying to pick her words carefully. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only lie I told myself. I made the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I got pregnant.”

She studied Josh’s face for a reaction. His jaw was set, and he kept his eyes straight ahead.