A Test of Faith (4 page)

Just like they did now.

“Fine!” Anne choked on the angry word, her throat constricted with the hurt that wrapped itself around her like barbed wire. She laid Faith back in her crib. “Fine! Just … just—” Anne kicked out, sending one of Faith’s stuffed animals flying—“
fine
!”

“Whoa, Annie!”

She spun around. Jared was in the doorway, holding the stuffed animal. His lopsided grin held a tinge of concern. “First time I’ve ever been nailed with an elephant.”

“Ohhh …” Anne shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jared.”

He came to stand beside her. “What’s wrong, hon?”

Anne couldn’t hold back the hurt any longer. “What’s wrong with me? Babies love to cuddle with their mothers. It’s the most natural thing in the world for every other baby!” She paced in front of the crib. “Am I some kind of monster?”

Jared couldn’t have been more astonished if she’d sprouted wings and laid an egg on his shoe. “Of course not, Annie. You’re a wonderful mother.”

“Well, tell
her
that!” Anne knew how childish she sounded, but she couldn’t help it. She rubbed her fist at the sudden tears running down her cheeks.

“Faith loves it when you sing to her, Annie. And when you read to her. She gets all giggly when you read that book of kids’ bedtime Bible stories.”

“I know, but she never wants me to hold her. That’s not normal, Jared. And she won’t nurse, either. Every time I try to feed her, she turns her head away. Or cries and makes angry little fists.”

“The nurses warned us she was strong-willed, remember? That she had a definite mind of her own from day one.”

When he reached out to stroke a soothing hand down her arm, Anne jerked away. His lips twitched. “Kind of like her mother.”

Anne directed a glare at him. “Meaning?”

He wasn’t the least bit put off by her temper. “Meaning when she’s got a head of steam built up, nothing will placate her until she’s good and ready to let it.”

Anne started to shoot back a retort, then clamped her mouth tight. The man’s logic was so irritating! Especially when he was right.

Like now.

She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension. “She won’t even let me cuddle her, Jared. She just pushes me away.” She flung her arms out. “What kind of baby pushes her own mother away?”

Jared went to stroke Faith’s brow, as though it were as furrowed as his own. “But Anne, Faith loves to cuddle. You’ve seen her at Bible study. She’s fussy until I pick her up and walk her—”

“Exactly. She loves to cuddle with
you
. Which means the problem is with me.” She all but spat the words out, and he turned to her, brows lifted.

Anne opened her mouth, then closed it. What was she doing? Why was she attacking Jared? It wasn’t his fault their daughter adored him and hated her. It was hers. It had to be.

Jesus, You created women to be mothers, so what’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t my own baby love me?

She sank into the rocking chair next to the crib. Jared knelt in front of her, taking her hands.

“Annie …” He spoke her name as a caress, and all the fight went out of her—but not the hurt. That clawed at her heart, burrowing even deeper. “Honey, the nurse told you that some babies just don’t take to nursing. We’ve been feeding her with the bottle, and that seems to be working well.”

He was right, of course, but there was little comfort in that. “But nursing is supposed to be one of the most natural things in the world.”

“Says who?”

“Says Allyson.”

Jared groaned. “Annie, Allyson is a nut!”

“She’s not a nut.”

He held up his hands. “If you say so, but all that flower child babble sounds nutty to me. She walks around with flowers in her hair and enough beads to weigh down a freight train.”

“But she’s had three children—”

“Who she named Unity, Harmony, and Licorice!”

Anne ignored him. “And she says nursing is a wonderful part of being a mother, of bonding with a baby.”

“Do all women nurse their babies?”

She frowned. There he went, being logical again. “No, of course not—”

“But they bond with their babies?”

Anne sighed. “Yes, of course.”

“Then there you go.” He gentled his tone. “Annie, hon, it’s 1969. No one can say how things should or shouldn’t be done. You need to figure out what works for you and Faith. That’s what matters most.”

But that was just it. Anne couldn’t figure it out. And if she hadn’t failed at nursing, then it meant Faith had no desire to bond.

Not with her.

Anne’s lip quivered, and she leaned forward to bury her face in Jared’s shoulder. “I’m a terrible mother.”

His arms came around her. “Sweetheart, you’re exhausted. You’ve been up almost every night with Faith, and she doesn’t nap long enough for you to get rested.”

Anne sniffled.

“Why don’t you go take a nice, hot bath, then crawl into bed?”

“I have to feed the baby.” She spoke the words into his shirt and felt him chuckle.

“I’ll feed her. You try to get some sleep.”

She straightened, then pushed through her weariness to extract a smile for her husband. “I must be the smartest woman in the world.”

The sparkle in his eyes wrapped around her chilled heart, warming it. “And why is that?”

Anne leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Because I married you.”

“Then you are indeed a woman of great insight and wisdom.”

Though Jared was laughing, his love came through loud and clear. And if he loved her so—undeniably and unequivocably—she couldn’t be all bad.

He stood and pulled her to her feet as well, hugging her before he propelled her toward the door. “Go get some rest. And don’t worry about the baby. We’ll be fine.”

She knew it was true. Her husband and daughter would be just fine without her. And that thought should be a comfort.

But it wasn’t.

Instead, it did something Anne hadn’t thought possible.

Made her feel more rejected than ever.

Anne woke with a start.

She sat up, blinking in the darkness, every sense alert. She’d heard something…

A quick look told her Jared wasn’t beside her. Maybe he hadn’t come to bed yet. She’d followed her husband’s prescription and soaked in a nice, hot bath. She even added fragrant oils and bubbles. Lots of bubbles. Amazing how comforting being surrounded by bubbles could be.

By the time she slipped into bed, she was relaxed and yawning, though it had been barely 6 P.M. She managed to read two Psalms before her eyelids drifted shut. Giving up, she turned off the light with a sigh. It was always so encouraging to be reminded she wasn’t the only one who struggled. Within moments of snuggling into the pillows, she dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Now Anne glanced at the clock on her nightstand then frowned. Nearly midnight. Jared should be beside her, his soft snores providing a familiar cadence to the night.

She listened again. The sound was barely discernable, but
when Anne slipped from bed and cracked open the door, she recognized it immediately.

Faith was crying. Wailing, really. That shrill, gasping infant shriek that brought a mother running to provide comfort. Anne hurried down the hallway to the nursery door and pushed it open.

The darkened room was lit by the pale glow of a Winnie-the-Pooh nightlight and soft moonlight peeking in through the open blinds on the window. When Anne’s sight adjusted to the dim lighting, she realized Jared was in the rocker next to Faith’s crib. He rocked back and forth, his inconsolable daughter stiff against his chest. His large, work-roughened hands patted the baby’s back.

“Come on, baby, hush … hush … it’s okay.”

Her husband’s weary crooning brought a smile to Anne’s face. If there was one thing she knew, and knew well, it was that struggle to maintain a soothing tone despite utter desperation. How many nights had she sat like that, trying to coax their little girl to sleep, to relax in her arms? More than she cared to count.

Strong-willed
? Faith gave the term new meaning.

But instead of dejection at the thought, Anne just chuckled. Jared had been right—all she’d needed was some sleep. And now that she’d gotten some, things didn’t seem nearly so hopeless.

She padded across the thick carpet and laid a hand on Jared’s sagging shoulder. “Honey, let me take her.”

Jared jumped slightly and turned to her. Regret seeped from his bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry. I tried not to let her wake you.”

Anne brushed a kiss across his lips, then slid her arms around the red-faced, anger-stiffened infant. “It’s okay.” She raised her voice to be heard over Faith. “I’m feeling bet—”

Pure astonishment trapped the word on Anne’s lips. She and Jared stared at one another, eyes wide.

It was quiet.

No screams. No crying.

Just … silence.

As if following some precise choreography, Anne and Jared looked down at their suddenly soundless daughter. She lay there, cuddled in Anne’s arms. The fingers of one little hand circled Anne’s index finger. With one soul-deep sigh, Faith closed her eyes.

Within moments she was fast asleep.

Anne raised stunned eyes to Jared. He leaned back in the rocker, a smile easing its way across his features. “I guess she wanted her mommy.”

A silly grin spread across her face, but she didn’t care. “I guess so.”

Jared pushed himself from the rocker. “I’m guessing you’re not ready to put her in the crib.”

Anne was still grinning. “Good guess.”

He nodded as she lowered herself into the chair and started rocking. Jared put strong hands on her shoulders and kissed her hair. “Enjoy, hon.”

Anne leaned her head against him for a moment. “Count on it.”

She watched him leave the room, then looked down at her sleeping baby, taking in the long lashes resting on chubby cheeks, the tiny mouth puckered.

A hymn drifted into Anne’s mind, and she started to hum it, then sing the words, soft and low. “
Shepherd of Love, you knew I had lost my way…
” She loved that song, cherished the image of a loving shepherd tenderly guiding a lost sheep back on the path, back to safety.

Rocking with gentle motion, she sang to Faith, letting the beautiful words wash over her as well. When Anne finished, she realized Faith’s little fingers still held onto her as though they’d never let go.

But Anne knew better. As precious as this moment was, as much as it nurtured her battle-worn soul, it was most likely a temporary reprieve. So she focused on every detail, savoring, absorbing, consigning to memory the fact that, at long last, her daughter needed her. Wanted her.

Only her.

And no matter how brief this moment was, it was enough.

four

FAITH WAS RELENTLESS
.

“Again, Mommy.”

“Sweetie, we’ve already played four games.”

“Play again. Please?”

Anne started to refuse, to say she had things she had to do—vacuuming, dusting, dishes—but tears sparkled in her daughter’s eyes, turning them an even deeper green. Faith might only be five years old, but if there was one thing she’d perfected, it was turning on the waterworks. Jared liked to tease, saying they had a budding Drama Queen on their hands.

Budding nothing. Faith had blown past budding and gone right to full bloom.

“Pleeeeaaaase, Mommy.”

Patience … give me patience, Lord
. Yes, five games of Chutes and Ladders was above and beyond the call. But her little girl was growing up so fast. Wasn’t spending time with her more important than keeping her house spotless?

Your mother managed to do both
.

Anne pushed the thought away. Her mother hadn’t had to deal with diabetes. The disease had taken more of a toll on Anne in the
last year. The worst part of it was how she kept gaining weight. No matter what she did, she simply could not get rid of fifteen wretched pounds that had taken up residence on her frame. For some that might not be such a terrible thing. But when one was just barely five-foot-four, it was horrid. Her doctor had warned her going on insulin would make it harder to maintain her weight. Well, he’d been right.

Of course, it has nothing to do with the way you eat, right?

Anne refused to listen to that irritating inner voice. So she snuck a few treats now and then. So what?

So, it’s not helping. It’s making you more and more tired
.

Anne grimaced. As much as she hated to admit it, it was true. Yesterday had been especially bad. She’d given in to the lure of a plate of brownies, and before she realized it, she’d finished them off. The lethargy set in within the hour. She knew there was cleaning to be done, but she couldn’t get herself off the couch to do it.

By the end of the day, it took all of her effort to get dinner ready and the table set just right. After dinner? Well, she’d gone to bed earlier than she could ever remember. She’d actually left last night’s dirty dishes sit in the sink overnight.