Nobody's Child (19 page)

He sighed and nodded. “Maybe you can explain it better.” He spun and left the room.

Granny Apple extended a hand to Laura Ann. “Let's talk.” Her hands resembled twigs with skin, but her grip was one of enormous strength, a sure hold that said “I understand.” “This baby has a special meaning to you, doesn't it?”

Granny Apple's question was neither condemning nor inquisitive. More like a statement. No judgment, no precondition. A simple matter of fact.

Laura Ann nodded, unable to speak.

“I've never met Sophia. She must be a strong woman to do what she did.”

Laura Ann nodded again, eyes wide in amazement.
Does she know?

“You sold something precious, Laura Ann. Now you're connected to her in a special way. To her—and to the child.”

Laura Ann bent over, her face cradled in her hands, determined not to cry. She moved her head up and down, not much, but a sure gesture in the arms of her mentor. She dared not look up, too ashamed to put a word to what she'd done. Her sin had found her out.

“Do you remember what I said to you the morning of the flood?”

She moved her head up and down again.

“Secrets don't become you.” Granny Apple drew in a deep wheezing breath, sighing out the weight of some unspoken disappointment. “Preacher would agree with me on this one. And

Lord knows, he and I don't agree on much.” She sighed again, a long exhale of exasperation.

“Did you know her beforehand?”

Laura Ann shook her head.

“And that's how you paid for the farm all those months? Kept the property in your family, covered most of Angus's medical treatments, and still managed to put food on the table?” She cradled Laura Ann in a tight grip.

“I never could have done that,” she said with a lilt in her voice. “I'm way too old.”

Laura Ann let go a little chuckle.

“How many times?” she asked, stroking Laura Ann's hair like Momma used to do.

“Four,” Laura Ann replied, forcing the words while shutting out memories of the excruciating pain. “It was horrible.”

Granny Apple held her for a long time, fingers running through her hair. Laura Ann ached for words of comfort, but knew her friend would share words of wisdom. Words that sprang from tough love.

“You bought your dad some time. Some dignity too. And — probably brought a gift of life to many women in the process.” She paused. “But for all the good you did for them, I can't say it's something I would have done. Or recommended.” She held Laura Ann tight. “I know those are hard words. But something permanent's been done here — a decision you can't undo.”

Laura Ann looked up, her heart in her throat.

“You've got a decision to make, child. Whether to move on and accept that you can't control the outcome of your actions — or to try to hang on to something you shouldn't. Even though it sprang from your body, the baby in that woman is not yours. And her health is not yours to decide. I want a happy outcome for both of them.” Granny Apple shivered. “But that might not be possible.”

Laura Ann buried her head in Granny Apple's shoulder. Her white shirt was smooth, a gentle cotton that matched her wise heart. The fragrance of cinnamon and spice, possibly a pie she'd been baking when Ian came for her, embedded itself in the fabric.

“Pray for wisdom, child. These are trying times.”

J
UNE 30

Sophia's skin took on a pale cast under the purple-white glare of fluorescent lights, the room's shades drawn closed against the bright rays of sunrise. Dressed only in a faded gown, slit ingloriously down the back, she lay in the bed, connected to a maze of tubes, monitors, and a drip application of intravenous fluid. Above her sat a digital monitor, reporting her blood pressure, respiration, and heart rate. An inflatable cuff, pumped up every few minutes by the computer, lay strapped about her left arm. Another line ran to her right index finger, a red light glowing where it measured her oxygen uptake. The impeccably dressed Hispanic woman in heels who'd first landed on a rock driveway at The Jug could be found no more, yet her eyes, those brown spheres of warmth that sparkled at their reuniting, drew Laura Ann toward her. Sophia beckoned her sit beside her.

Dr. Murphy tarried at the foot of the bed, her room his first stop on morning rounds.

“I understand your reluctance, but we have to act soon, Ms. McQuistion.” The doctor looked down, his stylus ticking off some unseen checklist on a digital chart. “I'll do my best to support your wishes, whichever path you choose. But you must
understand, you're in a tough spot here. We'll do everything we can for you and your child. But it's time to face some brutal realities. There's a chance we'll have to take the baby before term, in order to save you. And there's a chance — a significant probability — that a baby delivered that early won't survive.”

He looked up at last, adding, “But I assure you. We'll make every effort to save your child.”

He watched Sophia for a brief moment, and then continued.

“The medication we're using is targeted at reducing the swelling around your heart, damage due to your rheumatic fever. If we were only dealing with the heart disease, yours would be a fairly straightforward treatment.” The faintest of shrugs accompanied his next words. “That's serious, but manageable. However, your pregnancy significantly complicates matters.”

The doctor looked up and made direct eye contact. Like two card players putting their best hands on the table, Sophia and Dr. Murphy locked eyes, each with their cards face up. “Should you slip into an early labor, Ms. McQuistion — one that is instigated by your prior infection from chlamydia, or by the preeclampsia slipping out of our control — then you risk complications such as atrial fibrillation. The upper chambers of your damaged heart will begin to contract at an excessively high rate, in an irregular way. Blood flow will slow dramatically, and, in the worst case, you will experience heart failure.”

He bit his lip, his jaw clenched, but never took his eyes off her. “At that point, we might save the baby with an emergency caesarean. But—it would be difficult to save you both.”

Sophia smiled. It was a forced raising of the corner of her lips, testament to some incredible inner strength that defied understanding. A woman who'd overcome so much to reach this day would not be deterred. She reached out to Laura Ann at the bedside and took her hand, then responded to the doctor's challenge.

“Thank you for your candor, Dr. Murphy. I understand the prognosis.” She gripped Laura Ann's hand in a tight embrace and spoke with renewed vigor. “I overcame terrible odds fifteen years ago, odds that I'd wind up on the streets despite my upbringing. A medical crisis — the chlamydia — pushed me out of a destructive lifestyle and saved my life. Infertility, my second crisis, brought me to West Virginia.”

Like a woman climbing a long set of stairs under an immense load, Sophia stopped, gathering her breath to tackle the next flight. “The probability I'd make it through those crises, each offering a very small chance for success, says that I've already beaten tough odds to arrive here in your excellent care. I'm a fighter, Dr. Murphy. I overcame poverty, prostitution, language barriers, racism, and infertility. I'm not afraid to tackle this.”

He shrugged, looked down at the tablet for a moment, and then lowered the tiny device and its stylus into a pocket of his physician's coat.

“I admire your pluck. I'm here to serve your medical needs — whichever direction you decide to go. But I do not consider it prudent to continue a pregnancy as high risk as yours.”

“No pregnancy is without risk — or liability.”

That comment chilled the room and Dr. Murphy stood silent, then crossed his arms. “I'm aware you're an attorney, Ms. McQuistion. Quite a good one, according to a colleague I consulted in Pittsburgh. Considering your success in corporate litigation, you can understand my reticence to push the boundaries with regard to your care.”

“I understand, Dr. Murphy. I don't blame you for your concern, and I thank you for your emphasis on my healing. But I am dealing with many issues in this pregnancy, only one being my health.”

“It's the
top
priority,” he said, moving closer to her bed.

“Dr. Murphy, this metaphor is a poor one but it will have to do. I'm an attorney and I love my job. I did not endure the struggle to get an education, pass the bar, and become a lawyer simply to say I was an attorney. I did it to practice tax law, to win. To win cases, to make people whole, to defend companies, to right injustice. You may have competed to reach this point in your medical practice with similar aspirations.”

He nodded, just inches from the end of the bed, his gaze locked with hers.

A beeping alarm interrupted them. Blood pressure on the rise. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Dr. Murphy moved to the monitor, silenced the alarm, then motioned with his hand for her to continue.

“In the same way,” she said, her voice quieter and speaking at a slower pace, “I would consider it a failure to quit now, struggling as I did to become a mother. In fact, I'm a mother already. A child is growing within me. I will not abandon my quest at the threshold of childbirth and spend the rest of my life wondering ‘what if?' “

“If you slip into labor at this point, there's a reasonable probability you won't have a life left to spend in wonder,” he replied, his hand on the foot of the hospital bed.

“That's true. I understand the implications of my decision, Doctor. But I will not consent to allow you or anyone else to take my baby's life in order to save mine.” She choked, gasping for breath. “Call me stubborn — determined — or crazy, depending on your point of view. But that is my decision.”

He raised an eyebrow, regarding her for a long moment. At last, he began a slow nod, his lips pursed. “Remind me not to argue against you in court, Barrister.” He smiled and put a reassuring hand on her foot where it lay covered by a sheet. “I will do my level best to ensure that you — and your child—emerge
from this crisis in the best possible condition.” His eyes connected with hers through a long pause. Then he turned and headed for the door. At the exit, he turned to face her.

“Were I a woman, Ms. McQuistion, knowing what I do about your disease and this pregnancy, I would probably choose a different path. But I confess I wish I had more patients like you. Rational people, unswayed by crisis, committed to a certain course of action.” He tapped the side of the door.

“I'm honored to be part of your team, Counselor. We will endeavor to win.”

After the doctor left, Sophia started to shake. She turned, leaning her head into Laura Ann's arm, the best she could do for a consoling hug considering the entanglement of tubes and wires in a hospital bed. Laura Ann put a hand to Sophia's head and smoothed black bangs in desperate need of a brush. The two women clung to each other for a long time, no words between them. Stories passed in the tightness of their grip, two challenged women clinging to each other for comfort.

“I never knew” — Sophia said at last, a crack in her voice testament to her pain — “about the rheumatic fever.”

Laura Ann held on, stroking more dark bangs into submission.

Sophia's brown irises focused on some distant place, her mind's eye set on a time many years ago. “I had a bad sore throat when I was nine or ten,” Sophia said. “I couldn't eat or drink for days. I got some bed rest, and some remedies that my mother learned from her mother, tonics that soothed the hurt. It was just a sore throat, after all.”

She took a deep breath, her pulse quickening in Laura Ann's hand.

“Strep throat, Dr. Murphy said. It caused my rheumatic fever. And I'm not alone. Lots of women have it but don't find out until too late. In pregnancy.”

Questions fought to be released from their dungeon, but Laura Ann bottled them up.

Sophia turned her head to look at Laura Ann. “I don't regret my decision,” she said, emphasizing her point with a squeeze. “Without this baby, we'd have never met. And I'd have been the poorer for it.”

Sophia spoke to the longings of Laura Ann's heart, sharing a kinship they both felt. Baby or no, this new sister had enriched her life when Laura Ann needed love most. The drip of a tear onto Sophia's arm was her only — and best—reply.

“I have a bad case of heart disease, Laura Ann,” she continued. “I never knew it. They're trying to do their best for me.” She squeezed again. “But I need your help. A promise — if you're willing.”

Laura Ann nodded slowly, her chin quivering. She put a finger to Sophia's cheek, wiping away pools that rolled over smooth skin, cascading like salty waterfalls to the white sheets below.

“If I can't be there for our baby, will you take care of him?”

Another tear broke loose when Laura Ann dipped her head. “Yes. I promise.”

Our baby. Take care of him.

One moment, she imagined the child in her arms. The next, she saw Ian.

Can I have both?
she wondered, gripped by the brutal reality of her pledge.

After a long silence, Sophia reached over to her bedside stand and fished out a paper, handing it to Laura Ann.

“What's this?” Laura Ann asked, looking over a long list of names.

“Your first product mailing list,” Sophia replied. She took a deep breath. “I wrote it up after our visit to town.” “Mailing list?”

“For the stools. I insist on paying for the shipping too. There
are fifty people on that list, and I'll probably have some more. For Christmas gifts.”

“It's too early for Christmas. Besides, you don't have to do this.” Laura Ann's breath stole away, the idea that Sophia would buy even more stools — to help her. So many friends, doing so much.

“I buy early. And no, I don't have to do this. But I want to. For them.” She smiled again. “And for you.” She patted the bed. “This is fun.”

Laura Ann moved toward the end of the bed, laying the list at Sophia's feet. “You have so many friends. I don't even know that many people.”

The smile disappeared, and Sophia's hand came to her lips. She turned her head for a long moment, shaking it in silence.

“Sophia?”

Her friend looked back at her, a strained smile, and eyes red. “No.” She shook her head with the word. “It's not what you think.”

“I'm sorry — “

“Don't. Don't be sorry.” She looked away again. “You don't know me very well. Yet.”

Laura Ann paused, struggling for the right words, then spoke what came to her mind. “I'd like to. To know you better.”

Sophia looked back and the smile returned. “Really? The unvarnished me?”

Laura Ann nodded, wishing she'd been “unvarnished” with Ian long ago. “All of it. We're sisters, remember?”

They laughed. Sophia scooted closer to her in the bed. “Okay. The people on the list? They're acquaintances. Clients. Coworkers. But not friends. At least, not a close friend like you.”

“I don't understand.”

“We work together. Or live near each other, even party or shop together. But there's no one …” Her eyes got red again,
her lips taut. “No one who'd do what you've done for me. You're putting your farm on the line to be here, giving up everything you have.”

“I'll manage. Daddy always said I needed to trust more.” “Speaking of your father, I want you to go home. At least for a while.”

“I'll be okay. Ian and Granny took a huge load off me, just like you did. They put their savings together and paid another two months' mortgage, in advance.” She thought back to the moment when he'd told her of their plan, recalling the elation, the incredible sense of peace that washed over her. Ian and Granny Apple, dedicated to helping her, despite her secrets. Despite a broken trust Ian knew nothing of.

She pasted on a smile, determined to move forward, to be honest with him at last. “Daddy was right. God provides when you least expect it.” She patted Sophia on the shin, a reassuring touch through the sheets.

“See? That's my point. You trust with such a simple faith, and you're here with me no matter what the cost — that's real friendship.” Sophia shrugged. “I don't have friends like you back home.” Her chin bunched up in a strange mottled way. She squeaked her next words. “I'm so lonely …” After another deep breath, she added, “Except when I'm with you.”

Laura Ann dipped her head in a faint acknowledgment. She understood. It was like that with Ian. She had friends, but none fulfilled her. Except him.

“Is that why — “

“Why I came here?” Sophia interrupted, regaining her control. She nodded. “I hoped — I prayed that you might be someone I could connect with.” She smiled again, her stress draining away. “And that prayer was answered.”

“How?”

“You liked me for who I am, Laura Ann. Back home, I carry
lots of baggage. My old ‘career' in Mexico. My job as a tax attorney, my late husband. I could show you many splinters that have festered after climbing a rough social ladder. I know lots of busy people, but no one who'd slow to a crawl for a lonely heart like me. Until we met. You accepted me for who I am, not for my income, or because of what I drive.” She tilted her head, regarding Laura Ann for a long moment. “You may be the first true friend I've had since James died.”