Francine Rivers - Her Daughter’s Dream

God loved her, even if no one else could.

Mom and Dad’s friend and dentist, Doc Martin, offered Carolyn a job as his receptionist, the last girl having quit the week Carolyn came home from San Francisco. Thelma, Doc’s wife, worked as the hygienist. Carolyn learned quickly that Thelma knew everyone’s business and didn’t mind sharing.

About a month into her job, Carolyn started to get nauseated every time she came to work. She’d always been bothered by the sounds of drills; now the scents turned her stomach. She tried to keep busy answering phone calls, calling patients to remind them of appointments, taking messages, but the smell of hot enamel sent her running for the bathroom.

Thelma tapped on the door. “Are you all right, Carolyn?”

She retched again. “I’ll be out in a minute, Mrs. Martin.” Fighting the nausea, she waited a moment and hoped her stomach wouldn’t heave again. She’d already lost her eggs and toast. Nothing else remained. She rinsed her mouth, patted her face with a damp paper towel, and opened the door.

Thelma stood right outside, expression curious. “You look awfully pale.”

“I’ll be all right.” The telephone rang and she hurried to answer. Feeling woozy, she slid quickly into the office chair and picked up her pencil. She could feel Thelma’s eyes fixed on her back. She jotted another message on the pad.

By lunchtime, she felt fine. The next morning, she felt sick again, and the morning after that. She wondered if she had grown allergic to something in Doc Martin’s office. Thelma, maybe. Just being around the woman made Carolyn anxious, but the thought of having to look for another job made her even more so.

When she threw up Saturday morning, she knew it didn’t have anything to do with the scents and sounds of the dentist’s office. So what was it? Mom heard her heaving and suggested saltines and 7UP. “They’ll settle your stomach.” They did.

At church the next morning, she had to leave the service. She barely made it outside before she puked in the bushes next to the front steps. Mortified, gulping for air, she straightened and saw her mother standing on the steps above her. “I think I need to lie down in the car, Mom.”

Mom walked her to the car. “How long has this been going on, Carolyn?”

“Two weeks.”

She paled noticeably. “ Every morning?”

Carolyn shrugged. “It’s probably a flu bug or something.”

“I don’t think so.” Mom looked stricken. “As if things aren’t bad enough already.” She opened the car door. “We’re going to have to talk about this later. Don’t say a word about it to anyone, not even Oma, and especially not your father. Not yet.”

Carolyn slipped into the car.

“Let’s just hope you’re not pregnant.” Mom slammed the door and headed back to church.

Carolyn fought another wave of nausea. Pregnant? Ash had used her for weeks, but that had been months ago. After him, she hadn’t wanted anyone to touch her ever again. She’d been on the pill up until she left the Clement Street house. She’d left everything behind that day, but why would she have needed birth control when she stayed clear of people, except to beg?

The young veteran sitting on the seawall the night she wanted to commit suicide. He played the guitar. He’d given her a candy bar. They’d talked. He kept her warm all night.

She understood now why Mom had that look on her face, why she looked ready to curse and cry, why she thought things were going to get worse.

Curling up on the backseat, Carolyn wept.

Dr. Griffith confirmed Mom’s suspicions. “She’s about six weeks along. I think it’d be wise to check for VD.”

Dad sat stunned at the dining room table. He looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. Pain first, then anger. He punched back. Hard. “Do you even know who fathered it?” He didn’t wait for an answer before cursing her. Mom whispered his name in an agonized voice, but he didn’t hold back. “Charlie would be ashamed to call you his sister! It’s better he’s dead so he can’t see what you’ve become.” He put his head in his hands and wept.

Charlie had died honorably, a hero deserving of a shrine. No shrine for Carolyn. She hadn’t seen a picture anywhere in the house, and she had looked. It would be worse now that she was the cause of the second-worst catastrophe a parent could suffer. “I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed in San Francisco.” She’d probably be dead by now, but maybe that would’ve been easier on everyone.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She looked at Mom. “I didn’t know.” Not that that was any excuse. She felt the muscles tightening around her throat as though her own body tried to strangle her. The pain kept getting worse. She pushed it down the way she’d always done, but it was harder this time.

Dad scraped his chair back. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you should’ve stayed in San Francisco. Maybe you should go back!”

“Trip!” Mom’s voice cracked.

“How are we supposed to fix the mess she’s made of her life? Tell me that!”

“Trip…”

He glared at Carolyn. “Get out of my sight!”

Carolyn got up and headed for the front door. Mom cried out, “No!” She came after Carolyn and gripped her by the elbow. “Don’t leave. Just sit in your room for a while; let me talk to him.” Carolyn turned like an automaton, guided by her mother’s firm hand.

Closed in, curled up on her bed, pillow over her head, she could still hear them shouting.

Chel came to her in her dreams that night. She walked into the surf. When she reached waist level, she turned and held out her hand. Carolyn followed. As the sea closed over her, she found she could still breathe. She swam among the seaweed, feeling the silky strands try to catch hold. She saw the young vet at the bottom playing the guitar. Charlie sat and listened. Chel sea-danced, her red hair floating around her.

When she got up in the morning, Dad sat at the dining room table. She hesitated and stepped back. Dad glanced at her. “Sit down, Carolyn.” Steeling herself for further judgment and condemnation, Carolyn obeyed. She was only getting what she deserved.

Dad looked miserable. “We’ll figure things out.”

Mom sat down with them. “We’ll just carry on as usual. You’ll keep going to work. Dr. Griffith won’t say anything to anyone.”

“Mom is going to make a few calls, see what she can find out about homes for unwed mothers.”

It didn’t surprise Carolyn that they would want to get rid of her, but it still hurt. She had deserted them at the worst time in their lives, and now she came back and presented them with more trouble than they ever deserved. What right did she have to expect them to help her through this crisis?

“It’ll be some time before you show.” Dad could barely get the words out. “At least we can keep it secret for a while.”

Mom folded her hands on the table, knuckles white. “We don’t have to make all the decisions now.” She searched Carolyn’s face, her own troubled. “Is there anything you want to say, Carolyn?”

Instinctively, Carolyn covered her womb. Only one thing mattered to her now. “My life is completely…” She used a foul expression she had never heard come from either of their lips, but had heard every hour of every day in her other life. “Please don’t take it out on my baby.” She got up and fled to her room.

No one had to tell Thelma Martin the news. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. She could sniff out gossip faster than a bloodhound could catch the scent of an escaped prisoner. One of her chatty friends had been sitting in Dr. Griffith’s waiting room and saw Mom’s face before they left.