Beginnings (27 page)

“Good. Then you can take me. Let’s go.” She pushed the door wide and started to step through. But a glance at Andrew’s face stopped her. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go. Dad needs me to work today, especially since he isn’t here.” He shifted his gaze toward the platform. “And you have the window to finish.”

She stared at him, her jaw hanging open. How could he even suggest she work on the window while her mother lay in a hospital bed, and the babies...

Beth couldn’t complete the thought.

He turned back to face her. “Will you be able to meet the deadline if you don’t work today?”

The full impact of his question nearly buckled her knees. If she missed the deadline, she wouldn’t have the contract for more windows. If she didn’t have the contract, how many people would be affected? She ticked them off one by one.

The McCauleys, who were planning on her meeting their needs for windows.

Andrew, Catherine, and Livvy, who were planning on the studio providing jobs for them.

Her grandfather, who had willingly given her the money to expand the studio.

Even the men who were now arriving, preparing to pour concrete. They had postponed their own work in order to help her. Would they resent the time spent away from their own pursuits if she didn’t follow through on the expansion?

Beth’s head spun, and she clutched the door frame. How could she let all of those people down? But how could she stay here, knowing her mother or her unborn brother and sister might at this very moment be slipping away? Tears spurted into her eyes.

“Andrew, I have to go!”

Andrew’s brows formed a fierce V. “But what about the studio? All the plans?”

Suddenly Beth knew the answer. “If the studio is God’s will, it will happen with or without the McCauley contract.”

Andrew gestured toward the platform. “And what if the McCauley contract is God’s way of making everything available to you, and you throw it away? What will God think?”

“What will God think if I turn my back on my mother for some ... some window?” Even she knew that was a simplification—the window was merely the representation of the whole of her dreams. Still, she shook her head wildly, her ponytail slapping her shoulder. “If you think God can’t make it happen without my help, without that window, then you’re underestimating Him.” She smacked the doorframe with her open palm, creating a sharp sting that shot to her fingers. She grimaced, coiling the hand into a fist. “There’s no way I’m staying here today, Andrew. I’m going to Wichita.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond. Charging out of the building and past the two men who stood, silent and watchful, at the edge of the wooden frame for the footing, she called, “Thank you for coming today. You can work without me here, right?” They each gave a nod, and she headed straight to the café. She bolted through the dining area to the kitchen, where she found Deborah at the stove.

“Deborah, can you tell me how to get to Wesley Medical Center?”

Deborah put down the spatula to offer a quick, brusque hug. “Of course I can. Trina, get something to write on and a pencil so I can put down directions for Beth.” She scribbled a coarse map on a strip of paper towel, then handed it to Beth. “Tell Henry I’m praying for him, for all of you.”

“I will, Deborah. Thank you.” Beth forced the words past a lump in her throat. She accepted a hug from Trina before racing back through the café and out the door. The mumble of voices from the patrons told her everyone knew of the situation. She hoped they, like Deborah, were praying.

Oh, Father
—Beth added her pleas as she slammed herself into her car and revved the engine—
please don’t let anything happen to Mom or the babies! They’re all I have.

***

Andrew watched from the window of the studio as Beth zipped down the alley, creating a mighty cloud of dust that drifted across the frame awaiting concrete. The men began working, their movements automatic, but no banter was heard. Apparently they, too, knew of Uncle Henry and Aunt Marie’s midnight run to the hospital.

Stepping away from the window, Andrew crossed to the platform and looked down at the stained-glass project. So close. They were so close. He knew what his dad would say if the contract didn’t come through.

“Art isn’t something you can count on. People will always need bread, so wheat is a secure future. I tried to tell you, didn’t I?”

Andrew resisted putting his hands over his ears, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop the voice in his head with such a childish action. But his father didn’t always have to be right, did he? The dream was here, right within reach, and it could be realized if this single project was finished on time.

Temptation teased. He had the pattern, the materials, the know-how. He could work on the window. Finish it, if need be. But Beth hadn’t given him permission to work on it. Being a man who followed the rules, as much as he twitched to pick up the next piece of glass and get busy, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not without her approval.

Besides, Dad had given him instructions for today. Since he and Mom were in Wichita with Uncle Henry, Andrew was expected to fill Dad’s spot in the fields. If he didn’t go, Dad would be furious. With a sigh, he locked the studio. He spent a moment visiting with the men and apologizing for not being able to help them; then he climbed into his truck.

As he aimed his vehicle toward the farm, he wondered what was happening in the hospital at Wichita. Belatedly, he remembered to offer a prayer.

***

Following Deborah’s map, Beth managed to locate the medical center. After circling the campus and reading the names on the buildings, she pulled into the parking area off of Murdoch, next to the Birth Care Center. She jogged across the parking lot and entered the building, searching for someone—anyone—who could direct her.

A blue-haired lady sat at a desk with a little placard reading INFORMATION hanging over her head. Breathlessly, Beth dashed to the desk.

“Marie Koeppler,” she said shortly.

The woman consulted her computer screen, her face crunched into a scowl. “Mrs. Koeppler is in High Risk Obstetrics, which is on the third floor of Building Three.”

Beth stared at her in confusion. The woman must have read her expression.

“Here.” She picked up a piece of paper, drew a zigzagging line, circled something, then handed it to Beth.

Beth looked at it, a campus map. “Thank you.” Paper in hand, she exited the Birth Care Center, jogged through a parking garage, and entered Building Three. She located an elevator, punched the Up button, and bounced in place until a beep signaled a car’s arrival. A jab of her finger on the three brought the doors closed, and she continued her anxious bouncing during the brief ride.

Once in the hallway, she wheeled around a corner and glanced through a plate-glass window. She spotted an elderly couple side by side, the man’s gray head close to the white cap covering the woman’s equally white hair, their hands linked. Her heart leaped in her chest.

“Grandpa! Grandma!” She dashed to them, dropping her purse on the way. Leaning forward, she shared a three-way hug, then sank to her haunches in front of them. “How is Mom? Where’s Henry?”

Grandma’s faded eyes looked glazed from the presence of tears. “He and Al and Maura walked down to the garden ... to pray.”

Beth realized Grandma hadn’t addressed the first question. Fearful, she squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “And Mom?”

“All we know is she has HELLP.” Grandpa’s voice, usually so strong, came out soft and broken.

Beth frowned, confused. “Yes, of course she has help. But what’s wrong with her?”

Grandpa shook his head. “No. She has some condition called HELLP syndrome: H-E-L-L-P. I forget what it stands for. Her blood pressure is too high. And the babies...” Grandpa’s chin quivered. “This morning...”

Beth thought her chest might pound clear out of her chest. She wrapped her arms around her grandfather’s neck. “It’s okay, Grandpa. It’s okay.”

The sound of footsteps intruded, and Grandpa gently pushed her away to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve. He leaned into Grandma as Beth rose and turned. Henry, followed by Andrew’s parents, entered the room.

When Henry spotted her, he stopped and simply held out his arms. She raced across the floor and threw herself against his chest. Immediately, his arms closed around her, and she pressed her cheek to his collarbone. Never had a hug felt as good as the one she now experienced. She tightened her arms around Henry’s middle, tears stinging her closed eyes, as she wondered why it had taken something so extreme to finally lead her to this moment with her stepfather.

Somewhere behind her, she heard Al quietly telling her grandparents the surgeon had located Henry. His voice dropped to a mumble, and she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then Henry spoke, covering Al’s voice.

“You came.”

She heard relief and wonder in his tone. “I came,” she reiterated unnecessarily. Where else would she be? Her throat constricted with the realization that she had surprised Henry by coming. How out of touch with the family had she become that he would think she would stay away?

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t reach me last night. I ... I turned off my phone because I had a headache. If I’d known—”

“Shh.” Henry rocked her gently back and forth. “Your knowing wouldn’t have changed anything. The doctor said this condition, this HELLP, has been bothering your mother for several weeks. We didn’t pay enough attention because we didn’t know. But don’t blame yourself for anything, Beth. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She felt him rest his cheek on her head. His rough hand caught in her ponytail as he stroked its length. His tender words, his sensitive attention to her needs touched Beth on a deeper level than anything she’d known with any other person besides her mother.
This then,
she thought,
is what it is to have a father.
She allowed herself a few minutes of comfort, safe within the circle of Henry’s arms. Eventually, the questions that had plagued her all the way from Sommerfeld to Wichita pressed upward again.

Swallowing her tears, she pulled back enough to study his face. He looked as though he’d aged ten years since last Sunday’s dinner. Although she feared the answer, she had to know.

“Henry, the babies—are they...?”

“The babies were delivered early this morning. They did it surgically, a cesarean section. They had to, to save them. Both were in distress—their heart rates dropping too low. So the doctors took them from your mother’s womb.”

She searched his face. A gentle smile curved his lips.

“A boy and a girl, just as the ultrasound predicted. Both not much bigger than my hand.” He held up one hand and examined it.

Beth looked at it, too, trying to imagine her little brother and sister near the size of the broad hand only inches from her face.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Henry added, “Such tiny miracles.”

Beth zipped her gaze back to his face. “Then they’re ... alive?” She whispered the last word.

“Alive.” Henry swallowed, cupping her cheek. “But critical. We won’t know for several hours, maybe days, whether they will be ... healthy.”

Beth read a great deal into the simple statement. She would worry about the babies later. Right now she needed to know something else. “And ... and Mom?”

Henry’s face crumpled, and he crushed Beth to his chest. She clung, her hands convulsing on his back as she felt him shudder.
Oh, no, God. Please, no. Not my mother.

TWENTY-FIVE

As if in answer to her silent prayer, Beth heard Henry’s rasping voice whisper, “She lives. Praise our Lord, your mother lives.”

The relief was so great, Beth nearly collapsed. Henry guided her, with a firm arm around her waist, to the row of plastic chairs. She sank into the one next to Maura, and Andrew’s mother put a steadying hand on her knee. Beth clasped it, drawing strength from the simple touch.

“Can I see her?”

Henry shook his head. “No. The surgeon just now said we have to wait until she’s stabilized. She lost a lot of blood in the surgery to deliver the babies. The doctor said this HELLP made it so her blood won’t clot. They’re keeping her sedated so she won’t move around and start the bleeding again. He explained to me that the high blood pressure can cause damage to her liver and other organs.”

Beth gasped, but Henry offered a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder. “They’re running tests to make sure everything is all right. Her body needs a chance to recuperate.” A small, hopeful smile played on the corners of his lips. “We can go peek at the babies, though, one at a time, as long as we stay quiet and don’t try to touch them yet.”

“Why not?” Beth looked at the other two women in the room. “Isn’t it harmful to just leave babies without any contact? Doesn’t someone need to ... to
bond
with them?”

Maura squeezed Beth’s knee. “Honey, these babies are fragile. It’s more important not to cause any distress. Touching them could overexcite them, which would do more harm than good. We need to let them rest and gain strength. Then we can all stroke their little backs and sing lullabies to them.”