The Yellow Sock: An Adoption Story (10 page)

Or . . . he and Megan could move. Roanoke, a good-sized city about an hour away, was growing, and he could commute until the house sold. And he’d heard that North Carolina schools districts desperately needed experienced administrators on the elementary level. But if they left the state of Virginia, they’d be out of Belinda Bishop’s jurisdiction . . . and Helen Gresham’s. He and Megan would have to start the adoption process all over again.

He hesitated before the front door, his hand on the knob. How could he soften this blow? Megan had endured so much already, it hardly seemed fair to ask her to roll with another punch. Any other woman would have already resorted to screaming fits, and many other wives would have thrown up their hands and walked out of the marriage.

He had married a strong woman . . . but even Megan’s strength had limits. He wasn’t sure she could handle this latest development, especially when he pointed out that it wasn’t fair to ask Danielle to wait.

That little girl deserved a home and loving parents. Joe and Susan Hogan had been the personification of Christian love and faithfulness, but they couldn’t keep the child forever. Joe faced the demands of his ministry and family; Susan had her work and three children of her own.

He and Megan would have to let Danielle go to another couple. It should be a simple matter—she had been successfully entered into the system, both in Korea and in the United States. Helen Gresham had other waiting families; one of them, Dave knew, would be thrilled to love Danielle.

Because after the final school board meeting tomorrow morning, Dave would probably not have a job. And the bank would not grant a loan to a couple when neither of them worked, no matter how unique the circumstances.

Megan stepped back and surveyed her gleaming table. In honor of Helen’s good news, she had slipped away from work early and prepared a glorious feast—baked chicken with cranberry sauce, broccoli and cheese, golden yeast rolls, and pumpkin pie. If it looked a little like a Thanksgiving dinner, well, tonight they had a lot to be thankful for.

She pulled the crystal candleholders from the china hutch and straightened the tall candle that leaned precariously to the right. After fumbling in the junk drawer for a moment, she found a book of matches and lit the elegant tapers.

She heard Dave’s key in the door as she shook the flame off the match. She stepped back and dimmed the kitchen lights, loving the way the candles danced in the semi-darkness. Dave might think she had lost her mind, and he’d be half right. She felt like a completely different person, as if she’d gone from being Megan Wingfield, wife, to Megan Wingfield, mother, in the space of a single afternoon.

She ducked behind a corner as she heard Dave’s approaching footsteps. He seemed to hesitate in the kitchen doorway. “Meg?”

“Welcome home!” She peeked out from behind the corner and grinned, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms about his neck. Impulsively, she kissed him, then lowered her head to the space between his chest and chin. “Can you believe our good news?” she whispered, hearing his heartbeat beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Meg.” His hoarse voice was edged with a note of desolation. Alarmed, Meg pulled away and looked at him, reading the grief and despair on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

He gestured toward the sparkling table. “Maybe we should sit down.”

Moving woodenly, Megan slipped into her chair and sat erect as Dave stared at the burning candles. For a long moment neither said anything, then he drew a deep breath and reported on the latest school board decisions—Valley View would not open this month, the students would be transferred, there were few administrative openings in the city schools. At a meeting tomorrow, the board would decide who would be transferred to what schools; and those for whom there were no jobs would have to find employment elsewhere.

Megan silently watched her husband, who seemed to be wearing his face like a mask. In a passionless voice, he said he could look for work in Roanoke, which meant they’d have to sell the house, or he could find work in North Carolina. But if they moved out of state there would be no adoption.

“Or,” his eyes finally met hers, “I could stay here and find work, any kind of work, that would pay the bills until after we get the baby. I don’t know if the bank would give us the loan, and I don’t know how we could raise thousands of dollars without a bank loan, but I’m willing to try anything. I could deliver newspapers in the morning, and maybe tutor kids in the evenings. I could stay home with the baby if you want to ask Dr. Duncan if he would let you keep your job. I’ll do anything you want, but right now I’m too tired and too confused to know what we’re
supposed
to do.”

Megan stared, her mind and body benumbed, as a tear slowly found its way down her husband’s cheek. Her own body quaked with repressed feeling, but she would not weep. Not now. They could not weep together; that would feel like surrender. One of them had to remain strong while the other weakened, one of them had to keep fighting . . . for Danielle.

“Honey,” her trembling hand reached out to cover his, “we’ll know. Somehow, at some point, the Lord will show us what to do.”

Dave swiped away the wetness on his cheek, then drew a deep breath. “As I see it, we have two immediate options.”

“And they are?”

“Either stay where we are and pursue Danielle’s adoption as far as we can, or we call Helen Gresham and tell her to give the baby to someone else. We can always wait on Belinda Bishop’s list. As long as we remain in the state, we’ll have a spot there.”

His words hit Megan with the force of a physical blow. She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what will happen with your job, but I can’t lose Danielle. I
won’t
lose her, Dave. I’ll work, and you’ll work, and we’ll beg and borrow if we have to. But I can’t give up my baby!”

They lay in bed that night without speaking, each of them tossing and turning until the clock struck two. When Dave finally settled and his breathing deepened, Megan sat up in the darkness and looked at his shadowy form.

Men dealt with emotions differently, she knew, yet she couldn’t deny that he loved Danielle as much as she did. He would sacrifice everything he possessed if she were their daughter, and in that lay the problem—she
wasn’t
their daughter, not yet.

Did God bring that little girl into their lives, or was her arrival mere happenstance? Was it God’s will that they expend every effort to bring that particular child into their home, or were they pasting a “God’s will” sign on coincidence and foolishly following an expensive dream?

Megan knew some folks in her church would frown on their bank loan. Oh, they wouldn’t mind borrowing to buy a house or even a car, but they’d find a second mortgage unspiritual. “If God wanted you to have that baby,” she could almost hear them saying, “He’d have provided the finances, too. You should walk away from any situation that will put you in debt.”

But Megan felt God
had
supplied the finances—through the possibility of a second mortgage. After all, they were borrowing from the equity in their home, which God had generously provided.

She threw off the light blanket that covered her, then hugged her knees. How could she be certain she’d found God’s will? As a child, she had relied heavily upon her parents for guidance, knowing that the biblical command “honor your father and mother” resulted in blessing. Even in college, when her parents tried to encourage her to make her own decisions, she had begged to know their preferences in difficult situations.

As a wife, she believed God often spoke through her husband. Dave trusted her to make most decisions regarding the household, but in important matters she always sought his opinion. In rare situations where they didn’t agree, Megan always shared her feelings and convictions, knowing that Dave would respect them even if he decided to follow his own inclinations.

But how were they to decide what to do about Danielle? They had witnessed so many little miracles—Joe’s unexpected and unsolicited phone call, the INS paperwork falling into place, and answered prayers regarding Danielle’s family registry and availability. Surely the hand of God had manipulated those situations! So how could He now lead them away from this child?

Too burdened to sleep, she slipped out of bed and padded down the hall and into the baby’s room. The freshly-painted crib sat against the far wall, gleaming in the light from the streetlamp outside the windows. Her old bureau, also awash in a fresh coat of paint, stood next to the crib. Adjacent to that stood a bookcase she had discovered in another secondhand furniture store. With a new fabric cover and three inches of foam padding, the bookcase made a perfect changing table, with room for baby wipes and diapers on the shelves beneath.

Shivering in a draft from the air conditioning, Megan rubbed her hands over her arms, then sank to the carpeted floor. She had planned to put a bentwood rocker in this corner. On many a recent night she had soothed her anxious heart to sleep by imagining herself rocking Danielle and reading the soothing cadences of nursery rhymes
and
Goodnight, Moon
.

The thought now made her throat ache.

Rubbing her arms again, she glanced at the dark shape at her right hand, then recognized it—the box from Dave’s sister, Vicki. Upon hearing the good news about Danielle, she had cleaned out her attic and boxed up all of her daughter’s baby things.

Reluctantly, Megan lifted the cardboard flaps. A note lay on top, illegible in the semi-darkness, so she dropped it to the floor. Then her fingers parted tissue paper and pulled out a beautiful smocked dress with lace at the hem and sleeves. The lovely little white dress seemed to glow in the silence of the empty room.

A new anguish seared her heart. What should she do with this box of beautiful things? Keep it in the hope that all would be well, or send it back with a thank you note and regrets?

Her throat tightened, and it was only when she tasted the salt of tears did she realize she was weeping. “Lord,” she whispered, her gaze lifting to the silent night outside the window. “What are you asking of me?”

The answer came, slowly and surely, on the wings of lessons learned in a lifetime of Sunday school.
Jesus asks us only to follow Him . . . to be obedient.

“Obedient?” she choked on the word. “I would obey, really I would, if I knew what You wanted me to do. I want this baby, and I think You want me to have her. If You want me to give her up, You’re going to have to show me clearly.” She lifted her chin. “It wouldn’t be easy, but we could do it.

Follow me.

“Follow You
where
? Follow You
how
?”

As Megan battled her raging emotions in the silence, a realization began to take shape and form: in all the winding length of her life, God had never failed to guide her. She had accepted Jesus as a child, and, like a loving Friend, He had never left her alone or without direction. And when she wanted to turn inward and selfishly dwell on her own hurts, time after time He reminded her . . . that others were hurting, too.

Closing her eyes, she thought for the first time about the others who might be lifting prayers for wisdom at that same hour. Valley View Elementary had employed over forty faculty members, and tonight many of them were walking the floor, as fearful as she about what tomorrow might bring. In Korea, Joe and Susan were caring for
four
children and probably praying that Danielle’s adoption would be finalized soon. And in the room next door, a good man slumbered uneasily, burdened with guilt for bringing bad news home to the wife he loved.

“Forgive me, Father.” Megan bowed her head as the enormity of her self-centeredness struck her. “I want what You want. I trust Your guiding hand. I praise You for Your goodness to me, even when that goodness takes the form of something I can’t understand.”

A praise song from church filled her heart, and she found herself paraphrasing the words in a broken whisper: “I will praise You, knowing that my praise will cost me every dream I have ever dreamed.”

Danielle and the future and my motherhood. I said I would not lose her, Lord, but I will let her go, if that’s what obedience requires.

“I will praise You with the joy that comes from knowing I have held nothing back.”

not these baby clothes, not this nursery, not my future

“I will praise You, for I know nothing can harm me.”

everything comes to me through Your sheltering hand, so I know I can trust You.

“I will praise You for giving me this opportunity to realize how much I need You.”

I need you for strength to face tomorrow and the day after that. I am at the end of myself, and I’ve nowhere to turn but to You, Lord.

“I will praise You for this opportunity to realize Your great provision and loving care.”

You can and will provide . . . if not today, then tomorrow

“I will praise You for the plan You always reveal in Your time. I will praise You for giving me a husband who loves me. And I will praise You for knowing my mother’s heart.”

and for designing it that way

The next words hurt Megan’s throat, but she forced them out into the quiet darkness of the nursery: “Though it costs me everything, I will offer up the sacrifice of praise.”

Chapter Ten

Megan woke the next morning to the light touch of sunlight upon her cheek. Momentarily confused by her surroundings, she pushed herself off the carpet. She’d fallen asleep in the nursery, in the midst of baby clothes and the ashes of her dreams . . . desires which now lay in the hands of her heavenly Father.

She staggered into the hall bathroom and stared at her reflection. The nap of the carpet had mottled her cheek; the hair at the top of her head stood upright in some sort of Mohawk imitation, and her eyes were still red-rimmed from weeping.

“Sleeping beauty, indeed,” she murmured, turning the faucet. She splashed her face with several bracing handfuls of cold water, then reached for a thick towel on the rack. The singing of pipes in the walls assured her Dave was awake and in the shower. He could probably use a strong cup of coffee.