Twilight's Serenade (28 page)

She rushed to the baby’s bed, but her mother took her hand before Britta reached Darya. “Britta, stop. She’s gone.”

Mother’s gentle but firm statement was enough to halt Britta’s movements. She looked to her mother for strength—reassurance.

“Why? What did I do wrong?” Still the tears would not come. Britta felt as if her body had stopped all normal function. She could no longer feel herself breathe. She couldn’t feel the beat of her heart. “What did I do wrong? Tell me.”

Lydia led her daughter to the kitchen table. “Sit here.”

Britta did as she was told, but only because she didn’t know what else to do. Her mother went to the stove and lifted the coffeepot. It was only another moment before she returned with a cup of cold coffee, urging Britta to drink.

“I can’t. I can’t.” Britta clenched and unclenched her hands. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

“Sweetheart, you had nothing to do with Darya’s death. This happens sometimes. I lost a child after Dalton.”

“No. I . . . no, you didn’t.”

Her mother sat beside Britta at the table. “I did. He was just a few weeks old. We never talked about it much. Babies are fragile. They sometimes die for what seems no apparent reason.”

Easing against her mother, Britta found it impossible to speak. Nothing about this made any sense at all. How could a baby be living one moment, happy and healthy, then be dead the next?

After what seemed an eternity, Yuri and the doctor arrived with Kay. Britta watched her mother take charge. She went and spoke to Yuri and the doctor in hushed whispers while Kay came to her side.

The two men disappeared into the back room with Mother, while Britta tried to rationalize the moment. Her stomach churned and bile rose in the back of her throat. Yuri would blame her. He would think that she killed the baby—his baby. No, Darya wasn’t his child. Would that matter? Would he think Britta unfit to raise Laura?

“Are you all right?” Kay asked.

Britta looked at her friend as if she’d lost her mind. “Darya is dead.”

“I’m so sorry, Britta.” Kay reached out to touch Britta’s shoulder. “I feared that was the case.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Britta surprised them both by jumping to her feet. “I can’t understand this. I can’t.” Her voice rose. “It isn’t supposed to be like this. I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know why this is happening.”

“There are no easy answers,” Kay said, reaching out again.

Britta pushed her away. She turned to go, knocking over the chair as she did. “It has to be a mistake. I won’t let this happen.”

She headed back to the girls’ room and stormed inside. “She isn’t dead. Give her to me.”

“Britta, you have to calm down,” Lydia said, coming alongside her.

“No. This isn’t right. She wasn’t sick. I’d have known if she was sick. I’m a good mother.”

The doctor pulled the stethoscope from his ears. “I’m sorry, Yuri, Britta. She’s been gone for some time. Probably passed in the night shortly after falling asleep.”

“No!” Britta tried to rush forward, but Yuri stopped her. He held her fast, but Britta fought him. “She’s not gone. She can’t be gone. She’s my baby.”

As her hysteria mounted, Britta felt all reason and control leave her. She pummeled Yuri with her fists. “Let me go to her. She needs me.”

Yuri pulled her tight against him. He tried to calm her, but Britta could only think of Darya. They were keeping her from her baby. They knew she could help, but they were keeping her away.

“Britta, it was crib death. There’s nothing you or anyone else could have done,” her mother explained.

She began to flail all the harder at her mother’s comment, but Yuri wouldn’t let her go. His arms felt like steel vises around her, but Britta wasn’t deterred. “You have to let me go to her.” A wailing sob broke from her throat and tears began to flood her eyes. “I have to help her.”

“You can’t help her now, Britta,” Yuri whispered.

“Let me give you something,” the doctor said, reaching for his bag.

Britta shook her head again but felt the strength drain from her body. “I don’t need something—Darya needs it.”

“Darya is gone.”

Britta stilled for just a moment. “No. She’s just sleeping.”

He shook his head sadly. “Sweetheart, she’s with God.”

Yuri watched Britta sleep and wished fervently he could undo the events of the day. He felt consumed by guilt. He had never given Darya the love she deserved. Because she wasn’t his, Yuri had kept himself from getting too close. Now she was gone.

Could a baby die from a lack of love?

Well, it wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed love. Britta had adored Darya, as did most everyone who came in contact with her.

“Why couldn’t I love her?”

Of course that was the age-old question for him in regard to so many people in his life. He had always pushed people away. Only Britta had found a way to break down his defenses.

Well, there was Laura. Lydia had arranged for her to stay with Phoebe and Dalton. She had no idea that her baby sister was dead. He couldn’t help but wonder how it might affect the child. Would she miss Darya?

Britta moaned in her sleep, and Yuri put aside thoughts of his daughter and turned to his wife. He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her into his arms, finding that he needed her comfort as much as he imagined she needed his.

Nothing in life had prepared him for the death of a child. Even a child that he couldn’t quite accept.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he whispered.

Darya had done nothing wrong. It was all his stupid way of looking at things. His anger and frustration over what Marsha had done. Now they were both gone, and he could either let that anger continue or let it go. He seemed to be standing at a crossroads . . . and thankfully, God was standing there with him.

I can go on feeling this fear, this rage,
he told himself,
or I can
leave it here and move on without it.

He sighed and felt Britta stir in his arms. How in the world would they ever get beyond this moment? Things were just starting to look up for them. He and Britta were finally able to open up to one another, to enjoy marriage the way God intended. And now this.

Yuri hadn’t realized that he’d dozed off, but when he awoke, he found Britta sobbing softly in his arms. He pushed back her damp hair and stroked her cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Britta. I’m so sorry you were alone. So sorry Darya . . . that she . . .” He couldn’t say the words.

“It’s not fair. She did nothing wrong.”

“No one did anything wrong. Not you or Darya.”

“I must have. I must have missed something. She needed me and I didn’t know it. I should have known.”

Yuri lifted her face so he could see her eyes. “Britta, you don’t control life and death. Not for yourself or for the children.”

It was then that she seemed to remember Laura. “Where is she? Where’s Laura?”

“She’s with Phoebe and Dalton. She doesn’t know yet about Darya. I thought we’d wait until you were feeling better.”

Britta tried to sit up. “She must be upset. She could see that something was wrong. We need to go to her.”

Yuri pulled her back down. “Your mother and father just saw her. She’s fine. She’s having a lot of fun. Phoebe is keeping her busy.”

For several minutes, Britta said nothing, and Yuri thought she’d faded back to sleep. He eased his chin against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

“What if this happens again?” Britta asked in a barely audible voice.

“What do you mean?”

She pulled away and looked at him. Her eyes were swollen from crying. “What if I have a baby and that baby dies, too?”

He hadn’t considered them even having children. For some reason, it hadn’t been uppermost on his mind. They had been intimate for such a short time that the concern had not been real before this.

“I suppose . . . well, it’s possible. Life is so fragile.”

“Everyone dies,” she said almost flippantly. “Illiyana died. Aunt Zee. Marsha. Darya. I’ll die . . . you’ll die.” Her voice broke. “Everyone dies.” She fell back against the bed in a fresh flood of tears.

Her pain pierced Yuri’s heart. He had mourned so much of his life that death had never frightened him. Until now. Britta was right. Everyone would die sooner or later. The thought filled him with sorrow. Laura would die someday—and hopefully he would be long gone before that happened. But it would happen.

Britta would die. In fact, what if she died in childbirth as Marsha had? The thought terrified him more than he wanted to admit. If she died giving birth to his child, how could he not blame himself? And then he would be alone again. Alone without anyone to turn to—to love.

For the first time in a long while, Yuri wanted a drink. He wanted to forget what had happened, and he wanted to forget what might happen.

O God, I’m so weak. I cannot bear this alone. Please help
me—help us.

Chapter 23

B
ritta sat near the tiny casket as the pastor spoke of God’s mercies and love. She had bolstered herself for this day with a sort of numb resignation. Nothing she did or said was going to change the fact that her daughter was about to be buried in the ground.

Yuri sat solemnly beside her, looking rigid and awkward in a suit he’d borrowed from Dalton. Everyone else stood nearby, while Laura moved back and forth between Britta and Lydia. Britta’s mother and father had explained Darya’s death to Laura. She seemed curious, but not overly grieved. It was impossible for Laura to understand the full implication of the situation or even to be afraid, and for that, Britta was thankful.

“It is never easy to say good-bye to a loved one,” the pastor began, “but even harder when that loved one is a child—an infant.” He opened the Bible and recited several verses about Jesus being the resurrection and the life, but Britta found no comfort in them.

“Little Darya Belikov was only eight months old, but in observing her at church I have to say she was one of the happiest children I’ve ever known,” the pastor continued. “And I’ve had the pleasure of watching a great many children in my years as a minister.

“Darya had a joy and light about her that seemed to penetrate even the gloomiest moment. She was full of laughter and adventure. Her grandmother told me she was just learning to walk, even though she was very young. Perhaps she sensed her life would be short and wanted to accomplish as much as possible in whatever time she had here.”

Britta twisted a handkerchief around her fingers until she felt pain and slowly released the tourniquet again. Such action kept her from weeping or thinking too much on the words that were said. It was the only way she could make it through the funeral.

“Sometimes we face situations like this and we can’t help but ask ourselves, ‘Where was God? Why did He not keep this child from death?’ ”

Yes,
Britta thought.
We ask those questions, but we get no
answers. God is ever so clear on a great many things but strangely
silent when bad things happen to the innocent.
She looked up, almost afraid she’d voiced her thoughts aloud. No one seemed to notice, however, and the pastor continued.

“Many folks will ask these questions, and often we will hear things like, ‘This is a fallen world. Adam and Eve brought sin into it and because of this, death.’ And while that’s true, it offers little comfort.”

Britta could vouch for that. She didn’t want to hear all the well-rehearsed Christian answers. The pain she felt could not be eased by remembering that the world suffered because of sin. The rest of the world’s pain was not hers to contemplate when her own was eating her alive.

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe that God is good and compassionate when something like this happens,” the man went on. “Some would even call God cruel for having robbed a mother of her child.”

Or a child of her mother,
Britta thought. Of course, she hadn’t felt that way when Marsha passed away. The woman hadn’t cared properly for Laura, so there was no reason to believe she would have been a decent mother to Darya. Still, Marsha’s death had been nothing but relief to Britta. Her death had freed Yuri.

Maybe that’s what this is all about.
It felt as if Britta’s heart had tightened into a knot. Was this some kind of divine punishment for having coveted another woman’s husband?