Joy Takes Flight (17 page)

“I'll wait until you get the sled on the trail before I get back on.”

Paul got the dogs moving and Kate hoofed it up the embankment, alongside him. When they were back on the path, Kate went to climb on the sled, but stopped and sat on the edge for a few moments.

“What is it?” Paul asked.

“I don't know. Pain.” Her expression was concentrated. Finally she straightened and took a deep breath. “It's gone.” She settled on the sled.

“When we get home, you're going straight to bed. This whole thing has been too much for you.”

Kate nodded and pulled the blankets around her. Paul tucked them snuggly, then leashed Angel and hurried to the back of the sled, feeling an urgency to get Kate home. He yelled at the dogs to hike up, and then he ran behind, one hand gripping Angel's leash and the other on the sled. He moved his gaze from the trail ahead and then back to Kate. More than once it looked like she clutched her stomach. He prayed she wasn't having contractions. It was too early.

When Kate pulled her legs up and rolled to her side, Paul stopped the sled and moved around to her. “Are you all right?”

“No. I'm still having pains.”

“Is it a steady pain? Or does it come and go?”

“It comes and goes.”

“How often do you think?”

Kate shrugged. “I don't know—every few minutes.”

Paul reached beneath the blankets and Kate's coat so he could rest his hand on her stomach. He waited a few moments and then he felt the alarming tightening of muscles. Kate blew out a breath and closed her eyes.

“Is it bad?”

She nodded.

“Try to relax. I'll get you home.” She was almost certainly in labor. If the baby was born now it would die.
Not again. Please, not again.

He hurried the dogs and ran until he could barely suck oxygen into his lungs. If the baby was born out in this storm, there'd be no hope of survival.

When they approached the junction where the Susitna River and Bear Creek met, Paul felt momentary relief. They'd made it. He let the dogs have their head. They knew the way home. When they pulled into the yard, Paul lifted Kate and carried her into the cabin where he gently laid her on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Not good. The pains are getting worse and closer together.” Kate's eyes filled with tears, pleading for Paul to help her. “If the baby is born now, will it die?”

Paul couldn't answer her. Instead he said, “We need to stop the labor. You stay down. Whiskey sometimes helps.” He hurried into the kitchen and took a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and poured a small amount into a glass. Returning to Kate, he handed her the glass. “Drink this down.”

Kate drank it, grimacing. “Oh, that's awful.”

“Yeah, but it may help. Sassa might know a native remedy. Will you be all right while I go and get her?”

“Yes. I'll change into my nightgown.” Kate managed a small smile. “Go. I'll be all right until you get back. But, please hurry.”

Paul started to leave the room, then stopped and returned to Kate. He took her face in his hands. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then hurried out of the house. He ran to the Warrens'.

Paul didn't bother knocking on the door. He walked in. “Sassa! Sassa!” He looked about the room. The boys were gathered around a board game on the living room floor and Patrick sat at the kitchen table. “Is Sassa here?”

Patrick pushed to his feet. “Sure. She's upstairs. What is it?”

The boys crowded around Paul.

“It's Kate.”

Sassa hurried down the stairs. “What's wrong?”

“Kate. She's in labor . . .”

Sassa's brown eyes widened. “It's too soon.”

Lily stood on the stairs behind her mother. “What can we do? Is there anything we can do?”

Paul looked at Sassa. “Do you know of a remedy that will stop her labor?”

“Sometimes the root bark from the highbush cranberry can stop labor. It's good for cramping. I have some.” She grabbed a bottle from the cupboard, then put on her parka. “We have to get her into bed with her feet higher than her head.” She opened the door. “Lily, bring the birthing blanket and some clean washcloths.”

Lily nodded and watched as Paul and Sassa hurried out.

When Paul walked into the bedroom, Kate lay on the bed, looking frightened. He crossed the room and sat beside her. “Are the contractions any better?”

“No. I think they're worse. Will the baby be all right?”

He met her eyes. “Sassa's making an herbal tea for you.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Paul took in a breath and let it out slowly. How was it that he was again so close to losing a child and maybe his wife? Once wasn't enough? Bitterness hardened his heart, but his words were quiet and gentle. “We'll do everything we can.”

“And we'll pray,” Sassa said, walking into the room. “I've been talking to the Father all the way here.” She smiled. “The tea is brewing.” She took a pillow off the bed and placed it under Kate's feet. “Do you have more?”

“There's one in the closet,” Paul said.

“Well, get it. And any others you have.”

Paul took the pillow out of the closet and handed it to Sassa, then he strode into the front room and grabbed a blanket. He rolled it up and placed it on top of the two pillows. Kate handed Sassa the pillow she'd been using for her head, then lay down and put her feet on the stack of pillows and closed her eyes.

“It is important to keep the feet higher than your head,” Sassa said, then left the room. She returned a few minutes later with a cup of hot liquid. “Here, drink this. It will help.”

Kate pushed up on one elbow and took the cup. She smelled the brew, then took a sip and grimaced. “It's bitter. What is it?”

“A special tea. It might help your baby wait for another day to meet the world.”

Kate managed to drink the entire cup, then lay back down.

Paul prayed the remedies would help. All they could do now was wait. But if the baby arrived tonight, could he save it?

T
he baby came—still and silent. She took not a breath nor made a single cry.

Paul did all he could to stir life into his little girl, but nothing he did helped. She was born meant for heaven.

The day was cloudy and frigid when Paul walked to the shed to build a coffin. He took great care to make every cut clean. He sanded the wood smooth and matched up each angle perfectly. When it was finished, Kate placed the baby blanket inside that Helen had made. Paul gently laid their swaddled daughter on the blanket and then stepped back and pulled Kate to his side. The new parents gazed at their little girl. She was tiny, but perfect. Paul picked up the lid of the coffin, carefully set it in place, and nailed it shut.

They chose a place behind the house among a grove of trees for Emily's resting place. During the summer, it was a quiet glen in the midst of the lush forest. Patrick and Clint had dug a small grave and now Kate stood among friends while Paul placed the tiny coffin in the frozen earth.

Kate didn't want to look, but she couldn't take her eyes off the casket. Her child lay inside. How was it possible?

Her little girl would never know the love of her parents, the smell of summer lilies, or the warmth of her mother's arms. And Kate would never see Emily smile, never hear her laugh, or feel her pudgy arms about her neck and the drop of a wet kiss on her cheek. Tears rolled down her face. So many dreams lost. Why?

Paul took his place beside Kate and tucked her arm into his. They didn't look at each other. Paul's eyes held a depth of sorrow Kate knew reflected her own. She didn't want to see it.

Patrick stepped to the front of the group, removed his hat, and tucked it under one arm. He opened a large black Bible and read, “‘To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.'”

He closed the Bible and looked at the handful of people with eyes filled with sorrow. He turned his gaze to the new grave with its little coffin. “Lord, we know life and death is not in our power to decide. Only you can make such a weighty decision. And we trust it to you. We thank you for little Emily. Even though she never breathed of this earth, she has given her parents many hours of joy. And she is in your kingdom now where she waits for a reunion. We praise you for your promises and for the hope that we have in you.” He glanced at Paul and Kate.

Kate felt as if her heart were being ripped from her chest. She leaned heavily on Paul, afraid she couldn't stand under the weight of grief. The sorrow cut her heart so deeply she wondered how it could keep beating.

Patrick continued, “Your Word says you will bind up the brokenhearted. We trust you and ask that you place a healing balm upon our hearts. We thank you for your everlasting presence and the gift of your love. As you take little Emily into your arms and hold her close, we ask that you bless us with the peace that surpasses all understanding. Amen.”

Kate wanted to be the one holding Emily. Why had God selfishly taken her?

It wasn't God. She had insisted on going with Paul.

Patrick placed his hat on his head and looked at Paul and Kate, his brows furrowed, eyes awash with tears. He picked up a shovel and handed it to Kate.

She stepped forward, and stared at the coffin. She didn't want to put dirt over her little girl. And then strength flowed through her as she remembered,
For dust you are and to dust you shall return.
She pushed the spade into the mound of earth, scooped up a small amount, and tossed it on top of the wooden box. She gave Paul the shovel and he added another scoop of soil. He returned the spade to Patrick. Paul and Kate watched as Patrick and Clint covered the grave and pounded a marker into the ground.

“You two take all the time you want,” Patrick said. “Me, Sassa, and the kids will be at the house.”

Sassa, eyes awash with tears, pulled Kate into her arms. She held her for a long moment, then turned and took Patrick's arm. The children walked quietly in front of their parents toward the trail that led to their house. Sassa sniffled into a handkerchief.

Clint set his hat on his head and with a nod toward Paul and Kate he stepped back. Lily handed Teddy to him, then moved to her friends. She hugged Paul and then Kate. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I'm so sorry. So sorry.” She joined Clint. With Teddy bundled up close to him, Clint grasped Lily's hand and they walked away.

Snow started to fall. White crystals froze on the fresh mound of earth. Soon the grave would be buried, the marker no longer visible. Kate couldn't bear the thought. She ought to go, but how could she leave her little Emily alone beneath the earth?

Paul placed an arm around Kate and she looked up at him. He stared at the grave, his chin quivering, tears running unchecked down his cheeks. Kate grabbed him about the waist and buried her face in his coat. Sobs rose from deep inside. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

When she was cried out, Paul said, “It's time to go. Do you think you can make it?”

She nodded and, with their arms intertwined, they walked away.

The time at Patrick and Sassa's dragged. Kate felt like a shadow—not fully present. Sassa offered a meal of meat, bread, and cheese. Kate tried to eat, but her throat wouldn't allow her to swallow. Lily was saying something about summer plans, but Kate couldn't focus on the conversation.

Paul stood with the men. They talked about hunting, trapping, and their latest adventures. Paul acted like he was listening, but every few minutes, he'd look at Kate. Their eyes would meet and they knew—they would never be the same.

Kate was thankful when Paul suggested they leave. They walked home in silence, Kate's mind trapped in a loop of memories—the birth, lifeless little Emily, a casket instead of a cradle, the burial. Kate tried to shut it off, but it continued to wind through her thoughts again and again.

Snow blew sideways in a sharp wind that howled across the creek. Kate thought it strange that she didn't feel the cold. When they reached the cabin, Paul helped her up the steps and inside, then went to care for the dogs. She looked around the house. The storm bellowed outside. Inside it was cold and quiet, like a tomb. Kate slumped to the sofa—Emily couldn't hear the storm.

She sat, not knowing what to do. There should be a baby needing a meal or a changing. Kate should be admiring her little one—cradling it against her shoulder. But there was none of that, only emptiness. The baby that had been her constant companion for months—kicking, squirming, and hiccupping, waking her in the middle of the night—now she was gone. Kate's womb and her arms were empty.

Kate sat for a while and finally picked up a book that Paul had been reading. She opened it and stared at a page without seeing it. Finally, she closed it and set it on the occasional table. With a heavy sigh she headed for the bedroom and undressed. She was tired. Only yesterday, she'd given birth. She donned her nightgown, then climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up under her chin and rolled onto her side. Sleep. She craved sleep.

Kate closed her eyes, but her mind carried her to the grave. She heard the sound of the door opening, accompanied by the howl and chill of the wind as it swept into the house. She could hear Paul stoke the fire and the aroma of burning wood drifted on the air. Angel walked into the room and stood beside the bed. With a whine she rested her chin on the edge of the mattress. When Kate didn't reach for her, she nuzzled Kate's hand.

“Not now, girl.”

Angel watched Kate, then finally lay down on the floor beside the bed.

Kate stared at the wall as daylight faded away in the window. When Paul came in, he moved carefully and quietly. Kate felt the bed give as he climbed in beside her, careful not to touch her.

“I'm awake,” she said quietly, keeping her back to him.

“I thought you'd be sleeping.”

“Can't.” She felt Paul leave the bed and heard him open his medical bag.

He returned to the bedside. “Here take this.” He held out a spoon of some sort of liquid. “It will help.”

Kate took the bitter elixir. What did it matter?

He draped an arm over her and pulled her close. They lay like that for a long time, neither of them speaking, but Kate felt stronger because of him.

“I'm sorry,” Paul said. “I let you down. I shouldn't have allowed you to come with me and . . .” His words were choked off.

Kate clasped his hand. “It wasn't your fault. I wanted to go. I insisted.” She was angry with herself. “I had to have my way.”

“I knew better. And when the baby came, I should have been able to save it. I didn't know how.”

“There was nothing you could do.”

“You don't understand.”

Kate could hear the words stick in his throat. “It's not your fault,” she said, rolling over and facing him. When she saw the anguish in his eyes, she wished she'd kept her back to him.

“I have a knack for killing people—not doing the right thing, not knowing enough.”

“That's not true. You're a wonderful, kind man and you're a good doctor. The baby just came too early. She was too small.”

Paul stared at her. “I killed my wife and my son.”

Kate didn't know how to reply to his statement. She'd wanted to know what had happened in San Francisco. Now was the time, but she was empty with nothing to give. Now she didn't want to know. “What happened?” she asked reluctantly.

Paul closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked past Kate, as if he were seeing something. “I knew Susan was ill. I told her to go to the hospital, but she said she was fine, and I let her have her way. I should have insisted she go. Instead I did nothing to save her.” His eyes pooled with tears. “A good doctor, a good man would have been firm and resolute.”

“What happened?”

“She hadn't been feeling well—terrible headaches, pain in her abdomen, dizziness, and swelling in her hands and feet. I knew the signs. I'd seen it before. I should have done something.”

Kate thought her pain couldn't be worse, but now she felt the weight of Paul's piled on top of what she already carried—this terrible heartache he bore all these years. Her tears were now for him. She rested a hand on his.

“I . . . I came home . . . after working my shift at the hospital. And I found her on the hallway floor. She was still alive, but she couldn't move or speak.” He stopped and looked as if he were there again, seeing his wife like that for the first time. “I picked her up and carried her to the car and drove as fast as I dared to the hospital.” He stopped and took in a shuddering breath. “She never recovered. We tried to save the baby, but it was too late.”

Kate closed her eyes and prayed that God would renew her husband's broken heart. She took his face in her hands, her eyes brimming. “You did all you could. You couldn't do more. It was your love that allowed Susan to do what she wanted. You understood that she felt secure at home. You were being the gentleman you are.” Kate wished there were something more she could say or do that would wipe away his sorrow. She pressed her forehead against his. “Sometimes us women . . . we think we know everything by what we feel in our gut. And sometimes we're wrong. You aren't responsible for what happened to Susan.”

“Better to be a doctor than a gentleman.” Paul closed his eyes and a sob bubbled up from inside. And then it was as if the floodgates of anguish were opened as one sob followed another.

Kate wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.
Lord, help him. He's a good man. Help us.

Paul made Kate stay in bed for a week, but after that, one day melded into the next as they did their best to return to a normal routine. No matter what they did, nothing was as it should be. Instead of taking runs, they remained close to home, staying busy with chores. Paul had noticed that Kate placed a hand on her abdomen from time to time. She didn't say anything, but he knew she longed for her child. He wished there were a way to get that day back, to make a wiser choice. And he longed for just one day when he didn't think about what had happened to Kate and to Susan.

One morning he left the cache with fresh bait. Knowing he'd be home for a few weeks, he'd decided to put out a trapline. It was time to check it. He didn't really care whether he caught anything or not, but it kept him busy. And he wasn't even sure he wanted to go back to working as a doctor. He didn't want to be part of someone else's heartache. He had enough of his own.