Lois Richer - A Baby by Easter

“First of all you need to get better,” Connie said in her familiar “mother” tone. “Do you want to keep your baby?”

“I don’t think any child would want a mother like me.” She deliberately didn’t look at Connie.

“But you’d make a wonderful mother!” her friend protested.

“Hardly,” Susannah scoffed. “Look how I messed up my own family. I’m so not the poster woman for motherhood.”

“You were nine the day they brought you to our foster home. I told you then and I’ll tell you again, you did not break up your family, Suze. Nothing you did caused your father to leave you, or your mother to start drinking. And you did not start that fire.” Connie tucked a finger under her chin and forced her to look up.

Susannah couldn’t stop the tears. “Why did God let this happen to me, Connie?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Connie wrapped comforting arms around her shoulders and hugged her close, rocking back and forth as she had when Susannah was younger.

“I feel like He hates me,” Susannah sobbed.

“God? No way.” Connie let go and leaned back. “Listen to me, kiddo, and hear me well. God does not hate you. He loves you more than you could ever imagine.”

“But I’ve messed up—”

“There are no ‘buts’ where God is concerned. He loves you. Period.” Connie pressed the tendrils away from Susannah’s face, then cupped her cheeks and peered straight into her eyes. “God has a plan. He’s going to work all of this out for your benefit.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am sure. Positive.” Connie smiled. “But until He shows us the next step, I have the perfect guest room upstairs. You’ll stay as long as you need to. Now finish that soup and try to swallow a few of the crackers,” she insisted. “You’re thinner now than you were when you first came to North Dakota, and you were a stick then. Eat.”

“Still as bossy,” Susannah teased, her heart swelling at the relief of being able to count on a friend.

“Still needing bossing,” Connie shot back, laughing. “You need taking care of, and I’m just the person to do it.” She watched while Susannah ate. “What was Darla saying about Sleeping Beauty?”

Susannah shrugged but couldn’t stop her blush. “I passed out on the doorstep. Her brother carried me in here. When I came to, she was demanding he kiss me, like Sleeping Beauty.” Susannah crunched another cracker, enjoying the feeling of having enough to satisfy her hunger. It had been ages since she’d been able to eat her fill.

“She loves that story.” Connie smiled fondly.

“Darla is a bit old for fairy tales,” Susannah mused. “Something’s wrong with her, right?”

“She had a skiing accident.” Connie’s voice filled with sadness. “It happened a few months after her mother died. Their father was already gone so David had to handle everything. He’s been looking after her the best he can, but it’s been a challenge for him.”

“What do you mean?” Susannah struggled to decipher the cautious tone in Connie’s voice.

“Well, David was engaged. Twice.”

“Oh.” Not much wonder, Susannah thought. He was very good-looking.

“Each time his fiancées backed out because of Darla.”

“They wanted him to dump her into some home?” Indignation filled Susannah. “Typical.”

“Why do you say that, Suze?”

“It was like that where I worked,” Susannah fumed. “So often the seniors were seen as burdens because they took a little extra time and attention, or couldn’t remember as well.”

“Well, in Darla’s case, David’s fiancées might have had a point,” Connie said, her voice quiet.

“Oh?” Susannah frowned. “Why?”

“Darla has had—” Connie paused “—difficulty adjusting to her world since the accident.”

“But surely she goes to a program of some sort?” Susannah asked.

“She does. The problem is Darla. She has trouble working with anyone. Her temper gets very bad. I’m sure that’s what happened with my lamp.” Connie inclined her head toward the shattered glass.

“When I came to, she was yelling.” Susannah frowned. “But she didn’t act up when I was speaking with her. She was sweet and quite charming.”

“That’s the way she is, until someone doesn’t do as she wants. Then she balks and makes a scene. It’s part of her brain injury. She’s had a number of workers try to teach her stronger self-control.” Connie made a face. “With little success, so far. They keep quitting.”

“Well, maybe David hasn’t found the right people to work with her,” Susannah said. “He seemed kind of frustrated by her.”

“Maybe he is,” Connie agreed, “but he devotes himself to his sister.”

“To the exclusion of everything else?” Was that why he looked so tired?

“Yes, sometimes. David is convinced it’s his duty to his parents to ensure Darla’s happiness, even if he has to sacrifice his own.” Connie pulled a vacuum hose from a cupboard and cleaned up the shards of glass before tucking the lampshade into a closet.

“Aren’t you mad about the lamp?” Susannah asked curiously.

“It was just a thing.” Connie loaded the used dishes onto the tray. “People are more important than things. Come.”

Connie opened a door that led to a staircase. Susannah followed her, curious to see the rest of this lovely house.

“We’ll sneak up to your room this way.” Connie shot her a conspiratorial grin.

Their footsteps were muffled by thickly carpeted stairs. Connie grasped her hand and led her to a beautiful room tucked under the eaves.

“This used to be my room,” she said. Her face reflected a flurry of emotions as she sank onto the window seat. “I spent a lot of time right here, praying.”

“Are you happy, Connie?” Susannah asked, sitting beside her. “Truly?”

“Happier than I ever imagined I’d be.” Connie hugged her. “You will be, too, Suze. But you have to give God time to work things out for you. You have to have faith that He has great things in store for your future.”

“That’s hard, given my past,” Susannah muttered.

“That’s when it’s most important to read your Bible and pray,” Connie murmured. “You have a lot of decisions to make. But you don’t have to rush. You can stay right here, get well and figure things out in your own time.”

“Is it hard—being a mother?” The question slipped out in spite of her determination not to ask.

But the prospect of motherhood scared her silly.

“You’re worried about the baby, aren’t you, Suze. Why?” Connie moved to sit on the bed, patting the space beside her. When Susannah sat down, she hugged her close. “What’s really bothering you?”

“My role model for motherhood wasn’t exactly nurturing. Nothing mattered to my mother more than her next drink.” She heard the resentment in her own voice but couldn’t control it. “Nothing.”

“Suze, honey, you can’t hold on to the bitterness.”

“Can’t I?” Susannah opened her bag and pulled out her wallet. She flipped it to two pictures nestled inside. “They’re dead, Connie. Because of me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Susannah nodded. “I should have been there.”

“Then you would have died, too.” Connie gripped her hand.

“But if only I hadn’t chosen—”

“The fire wasn’t your fault, Susannah.” Connie’s soft voice hardened. “No matter what your mother said when you were a kid.”

Susannah had gone round and round this argument in her head for years. But nothing erased the little voice of blame in the back of her brain. Her hand rested for an instant on her stomach.

“A new life,” Connie murmured. “Hard to wrap your mind around it?”