The Road to Mercy (9 page)

“But our baby could be in trouble already, and not even have a chance.” She whispered the words into the phone, as if saying them out loud would seal the child’s fate. “I-I . . .” She began to cry. “It’s my fault, and I don’t know what I can do.”

The evening meal at the hall in Milwaukee reminded Josh of his mother’s cooking. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, white gravy with just enough black pepper and grease cooked into it, and buttery, homemade yeast rolls.

Catering was provided by someone different in every city. Each show promoter hired a local company. Most days they served spicy ethnic food, dried out hamburgers, or cardboard chicken. A lot of cardboard chicken, which was usually accompanied by instant mashed potatoes and a broccoli medley. Josh winced at the thought. He hated broccoli.

But meals today were courtesy of a local church. At the moment, Josh could think of no better mission work than to serve good food to a bunch of home cooking–starved musicians who needed the comfort. In reality, the show promoter had traded catering for a section of seats in the back of the auditorium.

Josh helped himself to seconds of the fried chicken and grabbed a piece of chocolate cake before sitting down with his road manager, Ryan Majors. Ryan rarely took time to eat crew meals with the rest of the band. Instead, he ate on the run or very little at all—one reason for his lean physique. But Josh had asked Ryan to join him tonight for a conversation.

“I need your help.” Josh wiped his face with a paper napkin.

Ryan listened while picking at his salad. “Is it just me, or is this meal the worst we’ve had in a while?” He scowled. Evidently boys from Arizona didn’t grow up on fried chicken.

“I need your help.” Josh said again. “I need to free up some personal time. I’m dealing with Beth’s insurance paperwork and medical bills.”

Ryan nodded but never looked up.

“I’m putting you in charge of the merchandise accounting. Mitch will report directly to you, and you’ll report to me.”

This time he got his road manager’s full attention. Ryan’s blue eyes sparkled, the reaction Josh had expected. Ryan thrived on responsibility. No doubt he also hoped his new duties would add pay to an already well-padded salary.

“I’ll be upfront with you, man. I can’t pay you extra. I’m operating on a tight budget. But I promise I won’t leave the job on you forever.”

Ryan nodded with a little less enthusiasm. He popped a cherry tomato into his mouth. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to Mitch. We’ll go over everything on the bus in the morning.”

“Works for me.” Ryan snatched his fedora from the tabletop, stood up, and collected his salad plate and utensils. “See you in a while. I have to pick up the performance check.”

Josh lingered over dessert and reconsidered his decision. Giving up control of merchandise accounting didn’t feel right. But he had no option. He had to give up some of his responsibilities. Merchandising could be delegated.

His personal issues could not.

Isaac shifted from one foot to the other as he contemplated the risk of his actions. Grandfather wouldn’t be home for another hour, and Mama Ruth had gone to the grocer’s. If he had the courage, he had the time.

He pressed his nose to the thick glass pane of the dining room window to check again. No one was in sight. No time to linger. He crossed the room to the gigantic breakfront that anchored the sidewall of the room. The wooden floor creaked when he kneeled to pull open the bottom drawer of the massive mahogany heirloom.

The large piece of furniture held a number of family treasures, some from places and times he could scarcely comprehend. Fine silver and linens from his grandparents’ grandparents had been meticulously packed and brought over from Europe. Yellowed newspaper clippings from the Great Holocaust had been handed down to enlighten future generations. And an antique ram’s horn
shofar
, as well as a
tallit
, from Mama Ruth’s great-grandfather.

But it was remembrances of his parents, brother, and sister that drew Isaac to the aged china cabinet today. Family birth
certificates, medical records, and photos lay tucked beneath a black velvet
kippah
that had belonged to his mother. The skullcap was nestled among a number of his mother’s personal items, which Mama Ruth had saved for years.

Isaac set aside baby shoes, a prayer shawl, and a bat mitzvah dress to dig deeper. The photographs were his favorite indulgence. He had once spent hours looking through them with his grandmother, her face radiant when she spoke of her daughter and other grandchildren, his brother and sister. She had told him stories he would never forget.

Yet Mama Ruth, too, must pick her time to sift through these memories, the only tangible reminders of the family she had lost. Grandfather had threatened to destroy everything if he caught her sharing the photos with Isaac. So, only once or twice a year, she would wait until Levi Ruben left the house and then summon Isaac to her side.

He now carefully folded back the aged lace, which hid a dark blue, velvet-covered box at the bottom of the musty-smelling drawer. He opened the lid and sorted through the photos with care. The aged paper was as fragile as his connection to the people they revealed.

Isaac stopped at his favorite photograph. His mother smiled at him through the quickness of time. He took in every detail of the photo, trying to piece together the life he would have had. Soon he lost himself in the daydream that his family still lived.

“Isaac!
A broch!
”

Grandfather’s voice snapped Isaac back to the present reality.

He turned to see Levi Ruben standing at the entrance of the room. His fiery, dark eyes sparked with anger. “You disobey me?” The old man picked up momentum, rushing closer. His
face was as red as a cup of spicy borscht and his arms flailed the air.

Isaac’s first instinct was to cower, to hide in the gap between the giant wood bureau and the corner of the wall. But something inside him clicked. Whether from courage or foolishness, a calm strength descended upon him. He was a man now, nearly sixteen. He chose to no longer live in terror. He would take the blows his tormentor was about to deliver, but this time he would land a few of his own.

“Let me have the photos. I will destroy them once and for all.” Grandfather shouted when Isaac stood to confront the older but sinewy man.

Grandfather’s cheeks puffed in anger, the skin stretching tautly from ear to ear. He looked like he might explode. “You think you can fight me?” He lifted his hand to strike Isaac. “Justice is mine.”

Then, without warning, his grandfather froze. His face contorted and constricted, one side up and the other down. Isaac watched the man stagger forward before he fell backward, landing on the floor, deadly silent.

“Levi!” Mama Ruth screamed as she ran into the room. “
Oy gevalt!
Isaac!” She turned to him. “Run. Fetch the doctor!”

Beth waited all day for Dr. Myers to call with the test results. At 6:35 p.m., the phone rang, and Alex noted the number on the caller ID.

“Doctor’s office.” She passed the phone to Beth.

Beth squeaked out a hello, her lungs barren of air.

“Bethany, it’s Nicole Myers. I have good news for you.” The doctor’s smile radiated through the phone. “There is no ectopic pregnancy. Your baby is developing fine.”

“That’s great.” Beth inhaled in deep bursts. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I want you to track your blood pressure. Do you have a home monitor?”

“Yes. Dr. Abrams asked me to do the same thing.”

“Check it three times a day and keep a written record. Bring it to your next appointment.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any other questions?”

“What about the effects of the morphine on the baby?”

There was a heartbeat of silence. “It’s not optimum, but,” her voice smiled again, “babies are survivors.”

“Thank you for helping me, Dr. Myers.”

“That’s why I’m here, to help babies and their moms.”

Beth smiled.

“Your child’s health is most dependent upon your health. We’ll keep a close watch on you during the next seven months,” Dr. Myers assured her. “May I give you one more piece of advice?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t overdo it, but try to get out of the house once a week or so. It will keep your spirits up.”

“I will,” Beth promised. She hung up the phone and then squealed. “Everything is normal.”

Alex reached to hug her. “God is good. He will get you through the next seven months, just like he’s brought you to this point.”

“I’m not sure I’m deserving of so many blessings.”

“None of us are, girl. But he watches over us from the time we are conceived. He knows our name before we’re born . . .” Alex stopped midsentence. “Wait! I’ll be right back.”

Moments later Alex returned with a large, white gift bag. It had been decorated with ivory-colored lace and tiny, creamy white bows. “I couldn’t wait to give this to you.”

“That’s too pretty to open.” Beth took the bag from her caregiver. “Did you make the gift bag?”

“Yes.” Alex blushed. “Go ahead, open it.”

Beth tugged on the ivory-colored tissue, revealing a large, white organza pouch inside the bag. “It’s soft,” she said. After loosening the drawstrings on the fabric sack, she pulled out a pashmina baby blanket. “Oh, my . . . it’s beautiful.” She looked up to see Alex’s eyes moist with tears.

“I wanted you to have something to hold. Something tangible to remind you of the gift growing inside you, of the child God will reveal in his perfect timing.” Alex wiped her eyes and
handed Beth the phone. “Why don’t you call Josh and give him your good news?”

Sitting on the side of the bed as she prepared to tuck herself in that night, Beth caressed the luxurious cashmere and silk baby blanket. She ran her fingers over the satin-wrapped edges. The materials were exquisite. But even the finest fabrics couldn’t assuage her guilt.

Josh had been relieved to hear the good news that her pregnancy was normal and tried to reassure her, yet there was also sadness in his voice. He’d sounded like he was exhausted. They were both dealing with almost more than they could handle, and not just physically but emotionally.

Her conversations with Dr. Myers and Alex this morning had triggered a range of emotions within her. Although she had hope for the future of the child she now carried, her happiness was detoured by the pain of the past.

“Babies are survivors,” Dr. Myers had said.

When given the chance
.

That thought kept replaying over and over in Beth’s mind, and she groaned with the knowledge that her first child’s life had been cut short because of her own selfishness.

The hotel coffee shop buzzed with activity. Dishes rattled, the phone rang, and people milled about, talked, and laughed. Josh wasn’t in the mood for people, but his stomach was empty. He sat across the table from Danny, who was buttering a piece of half-burnt toast.

“So you received good news yesterday?” Danny asked.

“Yes, finally. Beth called last night.”