The Only Best Place (31 page)

Fear gripped me then. “Would God take this little boy from me because of things I've thought? Because I haven't paid attention
to Him? I've been a bad mother. I've yelled at him. Spanked him. Does God care enough to let us keep him?” Was this punishment
for my foolish dalliance with Dr. John?

“Leslie, you don't have to fear God.” He took the Bible from me, skimmed a moment, then read, “‘Search me, O God, and know
my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.’”
As Dan read those last words again, I slipped my hand over Nicholas's tiny one. It fluttered beneath my touch. A faint connection.

Dan's quiet voice washed over me as he flipped through the Bible and stopped, then read another psalm. This one was full of
praise to a God who took care of nature. Who supplied the earth with rain and made grass grow. As Dan read, I looked off into
the distance, thinking of the rain and the cows we had put out to pasture and the crop Dan put into the ground. God cared
about that, too? I let the words settle, like the rain the psalm spoke of, into a parched portion of my life that I never
knew needed moisture. Until now. This moment when I felt completely helpless and unsure of what to do. When I felt like I
had reached the bottom of a place I could no longer find my way out of. I knew how this could end. I had stood at the bedside
of enough children, some babies, fighting for lives that slowly slipped out of our hands. Who was I to think that I deserved
to have my son's life given back to us?

Tears gathered in the back of my throat as I put my hand on Dan's. “I want to pray,” I said. “Though I don't know how.”

“I'm not an expert, either, but I think all we have to do is talk,” he said. “And I think we're getting better at that.”

I smiled back at him, grasped his hand, and let Dan go ahead. He simply asked for healing for Nicholas. For peace for us.
For guidance.

Mine was simpler yet.
Please,Lord. Please.
And as I prayed, it was as if my hands, clinging so tightly to our little boy, trying to maintain control, were slowly releasing.
Letting go.

He was God's child first. Mine second.

A moment of anxiety gripped me, and I clung tighter to Dan's hand, then released. “Please, Lord. Let Your will be done.”

And slowly, slowly I released control. Gave our child over to God.

I knew I shouldn't expect miracles, but when I woke up the next morning, for the first time since this disaster dropped into
my lap, I felt surging hope.

Nicholas still lay flat on his back, arms and legs splayed out, IV tubes still hooked up to him. The hiss and sigh of the respirator
breathing for him.

When the doctor came on his rounds, I kept my eyes on his face, waiting for the surprise to come. But he only shook his head
and patted me on the shoulder. Nicholas wasn't going down, was all he would tell me.

It was disheartening, to say the least. My major epiphany had resulted in a stall. Yet, in spite of the lack of miraculous
results, as I stood by Nicholas's bed, the peace I had felt last night stayed with me. I didn't want to test it too hard,
but when I helped the nurses give him a gentle sponge bath, I didn't cringe when I saw the sores on Nicholas's skin. I didn't
cry when his head lolled like a doll's to one side when we moved him. I could feel God standing beside me, whispering in my
ear that He knew what I was going through.

Of course. His Son had suffered as well.

I read the Bible some more. Skipped Lamentations. The title was a giveaway. I wanted direction and comfort.

I tried to find the piece Dan had read. Couldn't remember exactly where it came from, so I flipped to the back of the book,
looked up
love
in the concordance of the Bible and had a
Whoa
moment. Column after column of Bible verses all referencing the word
love.
I didn't know there were so many. So, I started skimming the columns. “According to your unfailing love… Slow to anger,
abounding in love… This is my Son, whom I love….”

I glanced at Nicholas. I understood that part.

I continued. “Love your enemies…. This is my commandment: love each other…. Love one another…. Love one another.”

I got the hint—love was obviously an important concept.

I finally found Dan's passage listed. I turned to it, wishing they'd given the page number instead of just the book of the
Bible and the verse, but eventually I found it. I started reading, the words filling a yearning in me that had always lain
there, restless and unnamed. Until now.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking….”
I stopped there, keeping my finger on the words.

Self-seeking.

I sighed as I looked at Nicholas. I wanted him healthy for myself. For my happiness to be complete.

I wanted a lot of things for myself. My dream home. My family all to myself where I could control them.

Much control I have now,
I thought as the respirator expelled Nicholas's air, then gave him another breath. And much control I would have once we
left Harland.

But as that thought formulated, another one crept alongside on padded feet.

Stay.

I closed my eyes and gave in to the familiar, teasing thought. It had visited me before, I allowed it more time now. Let it
play around in my mind for a while. I imagined us on the farm. Our kids growing up in Harland.

A bubble of claustrophobic panic burst in me, then dissipated, because with Harland came Kathy, who took such good care of
my kids. Judy, who made me laugh. Gloria, who made me… well, take another look at myself. And Wilma. A mother who loved
my husband and loved my kids. A mother who, unlike my own mother, was at least involved. Cared. Did something to help.

Family. Support.

Letting go.

I remembered what Kathy said about farming and control. Could I allow our family to be held hostage to the vagaries of weather
and markets and tariffs and import agreements and countervailing duties? Things so far beyond our control you couldn't even
face them down and demand accountability?

And yet… and yet…

I laid my head back against the chair, closed my eyes, and let a small prayer rise up in me. I knew I needed some direction.
And as I prayed, I thought of Dan.

And I knew what I had to do.

T
he next few days were a slow grind of doctor visits, nurses' maintenance, and family stopping by. Lots of family stopping
by. Wilma came almost every day, and though there were times I wished she didn't, I had come to appreciate the long drive
she made just to see Nicholas and me. Kathy came, as did a few of the women from church whom I barely knew. Judy and I had
a chance to spend more time together.

Gloria came. There was an initial moment of awkwardness, but she kept things cool. I knew we wouldn't be swapping recipes
anytime soon, but something important had shifted between us.

With each visit I felt as if Dan and I were being carried along, supported when we could do nothing more for our son ourselves.
I looked forward to each visit, each opportunity to talk to a friendly face. To make another connection with people who cared.

And to rethink our decision to leave after a year. We didn't need to be so hasty. We had nothing waiting for us in Seattle
per se. We could take our time. Get to know the family a bit better.

I didn't mention my idea of putting our plans on temporary hold to Dan. I didn't dare put it into words yet.

Then, improbably, came the day when Nicholas turned a corner. When the rash started subsiding, leaving only angry red marks,
an external reminder of the battle he had fought and won. When the last MRI showed no abnormalities, when he sat up in bed
and pulled out his catheter and ripped off his oxygen mask, we knew we were on our way out of the dark pain we had been trudging
through for the past ten days.

It was a miracle, plain and simple. Undeserved. Grace granted to graceless people.

As Dan drove the car up the driveway to the house many long, tiring days later, I glanced down at Nicholas on the seat behind
us. He had been quiet all the way home from Helena, but as Dan parked the car, he gave me a loopy grin. Did our little boy
know we were home?

I unbuckled my seat belt and felt the hard knot inside me loosen and open up. For some inexplicable reason I couldn't relax
until I saw Sasha running toward us and heard the welcome whinny of the horses as we drove along the fence of the pasture.
Normal had returned to our home and family.

Dan turned the key in the ignition and released a bellydeep sigh.

“We're home,” he said, brushing a callused finger over my cheek.

I caught his face in my hands, his shaven cheeks smooth beneath my fingers. His face so familiar. So dear. Then I gave him
a noisy kiss.

“I like home.”

I pulled down the visor to check my face and flipped it quickly up again. Time may be a great healer but it was a lousy beautician.
No sense in looking in a mirror until I got my hair cut again and had access to my own makeup.

I got out of the car, taking stock. The yard looked better than I did. Lawn neatly mowed. Flower beds weeded and tidy. Pots
of geraniums, a new note of cheerfulness hung from the porch.

Home.

Stillness encircled my heart and settled there.

As I gently lifted Nicholas out of the car seat, I held him close to me, curling his warm head under mine. The fresh scent
of his clothes couldn't mask the smell of hospital that still clung to him.

He shifted away from me, a hint of the old Nicholas, then drooped against me, as if that small rebellion was all he could
manage for now.

We had our little boy back.

Before Nicholas's illness, that whole Valley-of-the-Shadow-of-Death concept sounded melodramatic. Today, with the sun pouring
down bright promises, it became real. Spending time in the shadows gave me a vivid appreciation of light and grace.

I knew the situation could have turned out so differently.

Dan set Anneke down and looked over at me. “Here we are.” I saw his gaze flit past me to the hills as the wind flowed over
the growing grain. The smile on his face lifted my heart.

“They're here!” Judy's voice called out from the house.

She rushed down the same crooked walk Wilma had so sedately come down when we first came here. Gloria was right behind her.

“Welcome home.” Judy gave me a quick hug, stroked Nicholas's head. Gloria hugged Dan and turned to me. A moment of awkwardness
hung between us. I didn't know if we had reached the hugging stage in our détente, and if we had, whether I should make the
first move.

She solved that for me by slipping one arm around my shoulder and pressing her cheek against mine. “So glad to see you all
back,” she said softly. She stroked Nicholas's head. He blinked at her and snuggled in a bit closer.

My boy.

I caught Gloria's arm. “Thanks so much for taking care of the house while I was gone. I was so thankful to know that things
were under control here.”

“I know how I would feel if I were in your position and my family looked the way they did.” She gave me a quick smile. “Dan
stopped by on his way home from the hospital, and I felt so bad that you had to see him and Anneke looking like refugees.”

Surprise welled up in me.
I'm more like her than I thought.

“I really appreciated it. Knowing that the house was well taken care of made things easier for me.” I looked around then.
“Where's Wilma?”

“Mom's inside,” Gloria said, giving me an awkward pat on my shoulder. “She's taking care of dinner.”

Gerrit and Dayton joined us, followed by a crowd of kids and noise. The dogs barked, and a delightful chaos reigned as Dan,
Anneke, Nicholas, and I were greeted, patted, slapped on the back, and in general drawn back into normalcy.

As I entered the house, the smell of roasting turkey teased my nose with the promise of the comfort of a home-cooked meal.