Though None Go with Me (21 page)

Suddenly, from deep within her memory gushed verses she had memorized as a child. As she drove, blinking away tears, she recited from Psalm 51:9–13: “Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit. Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee.”

Elisabeth dug in her purse for a hankie and wiped her face. Joy flooded her and she thanked God for not abandoning her. “Be my friend!” she cried. “Be my guide and my companion. All my trust is in you. Though I don't understand you, I love you. You are my rock, my fortress. In you I hide. I have nowhere else to turn.”

In the same building where she had lost her son, she was introduced to a squalling baby girl, just under seven pounds. “I'm going to call her Lisa,” Joyce said, smiling sadly. “Bruce and I had agreed to name her after you. Elisabeth Grace Bishop.”

“I couldn't be more touched.”

“I don't believe in grace anymore. You were a great mother, but I wouldn't have given her that middle name, except Bruce wanted me to.”

“You need to see that she's raised in the nurture and admonition—”

“That will be up to you,” Joyce said. “You're not going to find me in church again.”

“Oh, Joyce.”

“Don't start. God lost me when he took Bruce.”

Elisabeth wanted to argue, to warn Joyce against becoming a miserable old woman as Aunt Agatha had. But Elisabeth herself had nearly lost her faith. Joyce handed her the baby and Elisabeth wept. Holding that precious new life and looking into her dark, curious eyes, she resolved to find Aunt Agatha and give her a look at her great-grandniece.

“I'll be happy to take Lisa anytime.”

“Don't worry,” Joyce said. “I have to work, so I'll need a lot of help.”

“I'd love to show her off at church. Will you come—”

“No, now I told you. You can take Lisa, but don't expect me to go and don't ask me again.”

Elisabeth spent the next several months praying that if God could not make clear some purpose in Bruce's death, he would somehow nurture in her heart desires that would please him. She revisited her commitment to obedience and hunkered down to resume her spiritual disciplines and service. She even told Ben she'd try a duet with him in the State Hospital chapel.

Elisabeth cut her work hours in half, determined to sacrifice if necessary so she could watch Lisa frequently, spend more time in Kalamazoo, and enlist Ben's help in locating her aunt. Through his contacts with other healthcare facilities in the state, he finally found Agatha Erastus in the Battle Creek Home for the Aged. She was seventy-five years old, in a wheelchair, and nearly blind from diabetes.

Noting how close Battle Creek was to the penitentiary in Jackson, Elisabeth informed the prison chaplain she was bringing Benjamin Bishop's first niece to meet him. “If you have to surprise him, do it. Don't even give him the option of turning us away.”

She and Ben agreed on “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” for their duet at the State Hospital chapel, and the indefatigable Mrs. Shockadance came early to rehearse. “You're singing my favorite song,” she said, and sobbed loudly throughout practice, which was the only thing that kept Elisabeth from doing the same. She had to concentrate on blending with Ben's beautiful baritone. As she sat waiting to sing in front of the audience, she let the lyric echo in her mind. “My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.”

After the duet, during which Dellarae was able to keep quiet despite torrents of tears, she told Elisabeth, “It's eerie. You two sound as if you were born to sing together. It's almost as if you're related, the blend is so perfect.”

Elisabeth stopped to see Will on her way out, feeling guilty over how she enjoyed standing close to Ben. Ben was careful about not touching her, reminding her of how perfectly appropriate Will had been years before when living in the same house with her, secretly loving her, but honoring her engagement to Ben.

As she left, Ben met her in the hallway. “We'll have to do that again sometime,” he said. “That sure melted the years away.”

“I'd like that,” she said.

“I'll play for you two anytime!” Dellarae hollered from the end of the hall, and Ben and Elisabeth smiled at each other.

Elisabeth arrived home to a letter from the chaplain in Jackson. “I suggest you accelerate plans to see your son. He is showing signs of confusion and forgetfulness. Any light you might shed on this would be appreciated, family history, etc.”

Elisabeth slumped on the couch, letter in hand. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “God,” she prayed, “don't do this to me.”

Transporting a baby by herself reminded Elisabeth she was not as young as she used to be. She encouraged herself by imagining the looks on the faces of Aunt Agatha and Benjy when they saw this beautiful little one.

An orderly wheeled Aunt Agatha to the great room in the Battle Creek Home. Her chair brakes were locked near a couch by the window, and the orderly bent to speak loudly into her ear. “You have visitors, Mrs. Erastus!”

The little old lady, her hair now wisps of white, scowled and looked up at him. “I what?”

“You have visitors!”

“Oh, not too bad. And you?”

“Look, ma'am! Over there! That's your niece, Mrs. Bishop, and your great-grandniece!”

“I don't know any Bishop!” she said.

Elisabeth approached. “Tell her it's Elisabeth LeRoy, her brother's daughter.”

Agatha grew rigid. As other patients reached for the baby and cooed at her, Agatha said, “Elisabeth is here? Here to see me?”

“I wanted you to see my granddaughter, Aunt Agatha!” Elisabeth said, holding the baby before her.

“Oh, my!” the woman said, seeming afraid to touch the baby. “James! Bring Elisabeth and come and see the beautiful baby!”

Elisabeth sat across from Agatha with Lisa in her lap. “Do you remember me, Aunt Agatha? I'm Elisabeth!”

Agatha looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “I'm blind,” she said. “But I remember you. You hate me.”

“I don't! I never did! I've missed you, wanted to see you for a long time! I'm glad I finally found you!”

“And this is your baby?”

“My granddaughter! Can you believe it?”

“You married the soldier then? Such a nice young man.”

“I married Will Bishop.”

“His dad was crazy. Died in the State Hospital.”

After half an hour of bizarre interchange, Elisabeth asked Aunt Agatha if she could read to her from the Bible. The old woman's head bobbed and Elisabeth imagined a smart retort, as she'd heard so many times as a child. “Read me Psalm 23,” Agatha said.

Elisabeth was shocked. “Psalm 23?”

“In my room.”

The orderly pushed her there and helped her into bed. She appeared sound asleep. Elisabeth balanced Lisa on one knee and found Psalm 23 with her free hand. Convinced her aunt was sleeping, she hesitated.

“Well, are you going to read or not?” Agatha said.

Elisabeth's eye fell on Psalm 22. “Aunt Agatha,” she said softly, “before I read Psalm 23, let me read you the chapter before it. This psalm used the same language Jesus would use on the cross.”

“Just read it!” Agatha said, eyes still closed.

“‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring? O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent. But thou—'”

“What?” Agatha shouted. “Begin again!”

“‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from—'”

“He has not forsaken me!” Agatha wailed. “I've forsaken him!” She forced herself up onto her elbows, eyes still shut. “It's too late! Too late!”

“It's never too late, Auntie,” Elisabeth said, and the baby began to cry.

“Oh, Elisabeth, will you keep that little one close to God?”

“I'll try.”

“It's too late for me.”

“No, it isn't.”

“I've strayed too far, been stubborn too long.”

“It's never too late.”

“Go and let me sleep.”

“All right, but—”

“Go!”

“I'll pray for you.”

“Don't waste your breath.”

“Jesus forgave the thief on the cross. He was a believer for only a few minutes, yet Jesus told him, ‘Today you will be with me in Paradise.'”

Agatha rolled onto her side and wept. Elisabeth set the Bible down and reached for her, but Agatha wrenched away. “Go!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

O
n the drive from Battle Creek to Jackson, baby Lisa slept and
Elisabeth prayed for Agatha. She had hated to leave, but she did not
want to agitate her aunt when Agatha seemed as close to repentance
as Elisabeth had ever seen her.

That took Elisabeth's mind off Benjy, at least enough to allow her to keep her emotions together. She did not want to break down in front of him, regardless of his state. She only hoped that his dementia, if that's what it was, was in a stage early enough that she could still communicate with him.

The penitentiary was clangy and cold. Lisa was still sound asleep, despite the noise and the fact that a matron had to search even her. “Such a sweetheart,” the woman said.

“Yes,” Elisabeth said. “And too inexperienced for a breakout attempt.”

She was directed to a table in the corner of the large, busy room where families met prisoners. Elisabeth dug two blankets from her bag and built a thick, soft bed in the middle of the table. When she placed Lisa atop them and covered her, the baby moved only to turn her face away from the harsh light. That pointed her tiny features toward where Benjy would sit.

Here he came. Elisabeth was shocked at his appearance. One thing Benjy cared about was dressing a certain way. Last time his hair had been combed just so. His denims were tucked neatly with his cigarette pack rolled crisply in his sleeve. His shoes had been shined. This time his shoes were dingy and untied. He wore one sock. His denims were dirty, he had missed a belt loop, the zipper and button were askew, and his shirt had been buttoned in the wrong holes and had one shirttail out. His hair looked as if he hadn't touched it since he woke up. And he was none too happy.

She rose to embrace him. He did not return her hug. “I didn't know it was you or I would have said no,” he said.

“I would have come anyway. You're my son and I love you, and I understand you're having some trouble with your memory.”

Benjamin squinted at her and scowled. “I don't remember.” He clearly didn't see the humor in his own comment.

“Sit down and meet your niece,” Elisabeth said. “Let me talk with you.”

Benjy sat and drew in an awestruck breath as he leaned close to Lisa's face. Elisabeth worried his tobacco breath would bother her, but the baby did not stir. “Can I touch her?”

“If your hands are clean, you can touch the back of her hand.”

He held his hands up to her, as he had done as a toddler on his way from the bathroom to the dinner table. Elisabeth was pierced. His hands were not clean, but she didn't think running his finger across Lisa's hand would do any harm. She could wash the baby's hands before they left.

“Just feel her velvety skin right there, Benjy,” Elisabeth said, realizing immediately she had called him his little boy name, the one he had not liked for years. He touched the baby as if she were fragile as an eggshell, and again he drew a quavery breath.

“Her name is Lisa?” he whispered. Elisabeth nodded. “And she's my sister?”

“She's your niece, honey. She's your brother Bruce's daughter.”

He nodded. “Bruce is a marine.”

“I wrote you about Bruce,” she said. “Remember?”

He nodded, his eyes still on the child. “They wouldn't let me come to the funeral. Bruce was killed in the war.”

“It was a car wreck, Benjy.”

“His wife was okay. She's going to have a baby.”

“This is the baby.”

Benjy nodded as if he had finally put it all together. He put his hands in his lap and his eyes darted. “Visitor day,” he said. “I'm here forever.”

“Benjy, does it scare you that you're having trouble remembering things?”

“Dad lost his memory. He died.”

“Your dad is still alive, Benjy.”

“Will he come?”

“No.”

He nodded. “I don't want to lose my mind.”

“Give me your hands,” she said, and he let her take them in hers. “More important is that you don't lose your soul.”

“I've got Jesus in my heart, Ma.”

Elisabeth started. He sounded so much like himself, so sure. “You do?”

He seemed to scold her. “You prayed with me. Don't
you
remember?”

“I do, Benjy, but you can't live like you want and say you've received Jesus. In Matthew 7:16, Jesus says, ‘Ye shall know them by their fruits.'”

“I've been bad,” he said.

“Yes, you have. But Jesus loves you.”

“I know. Jesus loves me, this I know. The chaplain prays with me. I'm a Christian.”

“How do you know?”

He seemed calm and looked directly into her eyes. “Romans 8:16,” he said. “Romans 8:16.”

“What does it say?”

He shook his head. “I used to know. But it's true.”

“Let me look it up,” she said.

She got out her Bible. Her eyes filled as she read, “‘The Spirit himself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.'” Elisabeth reached for his hands again. “Do you know what that means?”

He shrugged. “I used to. Chaplain explained it. I want to go to heaven.”

“I want you there too, Benjy. I want us all together there someday. My dad is there. Your brother is there. Your father will be there. Someday your sister and I will be there too.”

“I'm not good enough,” he said, “but I'm going anyway.”

“You
do
understand then,” she said. “None of us are good enough.”

“I'm the worst.”

“The apostle Paul said
he
was the chief of sinners, but he was a great evangelist.”

“I know him.”

“You do?”

Benjy nodded, then looked puzzled. “He comes to our meetings. No wait, he doesn't come. We read about him. We read what he writes.”

Elisabeth put her Bible away and sat staring at Benjy, who looked self-conscious. “You realize you probably have the same disease your father has?”

He nodded. “I don't want to lose my mind.”

“I know.”

“Are you going now? Taking the baby?”

“Soon.”

“Good-by, Mom. Good-by, baby.”

Lisa stirred on the way out and Elisabeth sat feeding her in the parking lot. How was it possible that Aunt Agatha and Benjy had somehow grown spiritually tender after she had virtually given up on them? God wanted them for his kingdom even more than she did, she realized. Was there something about this baby that changed everyone's perspective of the future?

Elisabeth agonized over Joyce, who was drifting. She coveted Joyce for the church, not just Christ Church but Christ's church. She believed Joyce's conversion had been real and that God would somehow hound her until she returned.

As Elisabeth drove Lisa back to Three Rivers in the dark, she prayed up and down her list. Will, Benjy, Betty, Joyce, Lisa, and Ben. Yes, Ben. He seemed so lonely, and yet he maintained his passion for ministry. She knew he cared for her, probably even held out hope for rekindling their romance someday. She loved him. She always had. But her husband was still alive.

Elisabeth was to return Lisa to Joyce the following noon. Back home, she finally put the baby down for the night and collapsed into her own bed. Exhausted as she was, she was grateful to God for both meetings that day. She turned onto her stomach and tucked her knees up under her so she was kneeling on the bed, her face in her pillow.

“Lord,” she said, “I don't know what else to pray except thank you for the gift of this little one. I'm still wounded, still confused, still angry over my loss. But the desire you've given me is to see people come into your kingdom. If there is pain along the way, I'll try to accept it. And if there is no reward this side of heaven, help me accept that too.”

Elisabeth hummed “Trust and Obey,” and sang, “When we walk with the Lord, in the light of his Word, what a glory he sheds on our way. As we do his good will, he abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey. Trust and obey, for there's no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.”

Happy in Jesus,
she thought as she fell asleep.
That alone would be worth it all.

The next afternoon, Elisabeth stood in the bare dirt yard, if it could be called that, of the trailer Joyce shared with a cousin and the cousin's boyfriend. A playpen sat outside next to a girl who sat smoking in a plastic lawn chair. “Just put her in here,” the girl said. “I'm Joyce's cousin.”

“I'd like to speak with Joyce first, if you don't mind.”

“She's sleeping.”

“I'll wake her.”

“She won't like that.”

Elisabeth entered the trailer, where she was met by the barefoot, bare-chested man of the house. He lolled around in jeans and carried a steaming cup of coffee.

“Mornin', ma'am,” he said.

“It's not morning anymore,” she said. “Where's Joyce?”

“It's my morning!” he said, laughing heartily until disintegrating into a raspy cough. “Joyce!” he said. “Git up! It's yer ma or in-law or somethin'!”

Elisabeth heard movement in a back room, and Joyce swore. She hurried to find Joyce sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, squinting at the sun. “Whoa,” she said. “Hi. What time is it?”

“Almost one. I thought you'd be worried.”

“I never worry when she's with you,” Joyce said.

“I wish I could say the same when she's here.”

“Don't worry about her. Everybody loves her here. My cousin's watching her this afternoon. She set up a pl—”

“I'd rather keep her, if you don't mind.”

“I mind. I want to see her when I get off work.”

“She should be in bed by then.”

“I can raise my own kid.”

“I wish that were true. Joyce, look at you. Look at this place. This is nowhere to raise a baby.”

Joyce stood and threw the blanket on the bed. She yanked on a blouse and slacks, stepped into a pair of sandals, and reached for Lisa. Elisabeth pulled away. “If you ever want to see her again,” Joyce said, “you'll give her to me! This happens to be how I was raised, and I was good enough for your son!”

“I'm sorry, Joyce. I didn't mean to insult you. I—”

“You did a good job of it. Now I said you could take her to church Sunday, so you can come get her Saturday night. Meantime, she's my daughter, she stays with me, and I raise her. You don't like it, kiss her good-by right now.”

Elisabeth reluctantly handed Lisa over. “Think about letting her live with me awhile. Will you?”

Joyce glared at her. “Give Lisa up to you?”

“I'm just saying there might come a time when you'll see she'd be better off—now don't look at me that way—staying with me in town for a while.”

“In the first ward, you mean.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Just come Saturday night,” Joyce said. “And I want her back Sunday night.”

Elisabeth put in several hours at the Fairbanks plant, then drove to Kalamazoo. She prayed for Lisa every time she thought about her, seemingly every second.

“Ben! Hi!” she said as she entered Will's room. “To what do I owe the—”

“Dr. Fitzgerald wanted to know when you arrived,” Ben said, rising. “I'll get him.”

“Fitzgerald from Three Rivers? I haven't seen him in years. What's the matter?”

“Something with Will, of course, but I don't understand it, Elisabeth. Let me get him.”

Dr. Fitzgerald had been sent Will's weekly charts for years but had made clear to Elisabeth that the daily care provided at the State Hospital virtually took him off the case, except as the physician of record. “It's good to see you again,” he said as he entered. Ben had disappeared.

She smiled guardedly. “Should I be happy to see
you,
Doctor?”

He cocked his head. “That depends. I understand you have been consistent in your visits. Please sit down.”

Elisabeth was way past the need for gentility. “So is the end finally in sight?”

“I'm afraid so. He'll soon need to be put on some sort of life support, and—”

“No. If he'd had the choice, he'd have said good-by a long time ago. I don't want him to suffer, that's all.” Elisabeth's voice sounded hollow and flat to her. She knew this day was coming, but that took away none of the pain of its finality.

The doctor looked at Will. “Ma'am, he has felt nothing for years. We would continue to feed him and give him oxygen so he can breathe on his own.”

“And how will he die?”

“His heart will give out.”

“He won't struggle?”

“Nothing he would be conscious of. I would like to move him to Three Rivers Hospital. That should make things easier for you.”

Elisabeth nodded, numb. Will's breathing was labored. She heard every sound in his throat. “How long do you guess?”

Dr. Fitzgerald leafed through his chart. “There's heart and liver damage now. A few weeks. A month at most.”

Elisabeth sighed. “I've had people tell me for years what a relief this should be. And I suppose it will be. He's been dead to me, but I'll miss him still. I would love to be with him when he goes.”

“I'll check with the ambulance company.”

“I mean when he goes to heaven,” she said.

When Dr. Fitzgerald left, Elisabeth took Will's hand. “When you're ready, love,” she said. “When you're ready. I'll be along later with all three of our children. We can be happy about that.”

She heard footsteps outside the door and fell silent. “The doctor thought you might need to chat with someone,” Ben said from the hall.

“In a moment,” she said.

Elisabeth covered Will. She sat, weary but relieved. “Come in, Ben.”

He sat across from her, only a night light near the bed illuminating them. “You okay?” Ben said.