97
If I can just make it to the car… Please let me make it to the car, Noelle pleaded silently after finally arriving back in Boston. The pain deep in her belly was excruciating, and the concerned faces of passersby began to blend together. She saw her car in the parking lot where she had left it, and cradling her belly, she tried desperately to walk with some measure of normalcy. A sudden, shocking pain exploded inside of her abdomen, and she cried out as she fell forward. Nearby, a gentleman saw what was happening and rushed to catch her. Noelle collapsed onto the sidewalk and lay still, trying to focus. She looked up at the clouds and listened to the worried voices all around her. She noticed a patch of blue, the voices fading in and out. The summer sky was there all the time… the sweet summer sky. She closed her eyes and listened. The voices were quiet now, but there was another sound, faint at first… more clearly now… Yes, she was certain-a cardinal was calling…
98
Nate heard the screaming siren pierce the normal sounds of evening traffic. It seemed to draw closer, and as he walked across Dewey Square, he paused to watch the commotion. A crowd had gathered, and the siren stopped abruptly as an ambulance pulled up in front of the bus station. Nate wondered what had happened and silently said a prayer, as he always did, for whoever it was who needed help. After several minutes, the crowd parted again and the ambulance pulled away, its lights flashing across the sky, the unsettling sound of its siren fading into the night.
When Nate pulled into the driveway of the old Victorian, he wondered where Noelle could be. He opened the car door, and even before he reached the back steps, he heard the telephone in the kitchen ringing impatiently. He hurriedly opened the door to answer it, and as he did, his hands started to shake… The screaming siren, the impatient ringing, the voice on the other end all echoed through his mind.
99
The emergency room was swarming with activity as Nate frantically pressed the receptionist for information. A nursing friend of Noelle’s looked up and recognized Nate. She quickly found Noelle’s paperwork and began to explain. “They are wheeling her into surgery right now…” But all Nate heard was surgery as he ran the length of the corridor, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. A second nurse put out her arm as he rushed toward the moving gurney, but he pushed past her and reached for Noelle’s hand.
Noelle’s eyes were closed, but she opened them when she felt his touch. “Oh, Nate,” she murmured weakly, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” She seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. Nate pressed her hand to his lips as tears streamed down his cheeks. He held her hand as long as they would let him, even as the sea of worried voices threatened to drown him. She has lost too much blood… The baby is in distress… Oh, God, get her in there. I don’t know if we can save them. Sir, you must let go…
100
Asa looked up at the panes of glass and counted them again. Six across, eight up: forty-eight panes in the bottom and another forty in the top-eighty-eight panes in one set of windows; he thought of all the times he had counted these panes while sitting in the pew next to his brother, longing to be on the other side of them. He remembered how the minister had once asked them, during children’s time, to think of something for which they were thankful, and Asa had said that he was thankful that it wasn’t his job to keep all of those windows clean. The congregation had chuckled. Asa wished he could return to the innocence of that day.
They were beautiful windows, he thought, especially when the late-day sun filtered in, as it did now, causing the sanctuary to glow with an ethereal light. Isaac arrived late and slipped quietly into the pew beside him. The two boys sat a few rows behind their parents, who were seated in front with Nate. They stood for the last hymn, and Asa looked at Nate, who was bowed in sorrow, his shoulders sagging with grief. He looked at his parents standing beside Nate, bearing him up, and he looked out the window. I loved her too. I loved her, and no one knows. No one will ever know how much I miss her. He gripped the smooth wooden pew in front of him. No one will ever say, “Asa, we are so sorry for your loss. We know how much she meant to you.” Asa stared at the wooden casket. No one will ever know that I meant something to you and that you loved me.
He looked out the window and listened to the words of the hymn. When I tread the verge of Jordan… bid my anxious fears subside… death of death and hell’s destruction… land me safe on Canaan’s side. He listened to the regal sound of a trumpet. Songs of praises… songs of praises… I will ever give to thee. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he whispered, “I will never give to thee…”
You… You have punished us all-guilty and innocent alike-and this is how it ends. She will never hold her child, and he… he will never know his mother. And I… I will never have the chance to tell her all the things I meant to say. Never again will I praise You…
The service ended, and the baby, cradled in Sarah’s arms, cried out. Nate took the tiny bundle from her and walked slowly up to the front. He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth mahogany wood and bowed his head. Then he turned and slowly made his way up the aisle.
PART III
Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it.
– Jeremiah 6:16
101
Asa closed The Fountainhead on his lap and leaned back in his chair. Then he hesitated, opened it to the last page, and read the last passage again, about the young college graduate wondering if life was worth living.
Asa closed the book, ran his hand over the cover, and thought about Ayn Rand’s words. He watched the clear water rushing over the rocks; he knew what it was like to not feel inspired… to feel nothing at all.
He looked over his shoulder at the clearing behind him; it was coming along, but there was still so much more to do. The land had been purchased with help from his father after he had been hired to teach English at a small high school in Jaffrey. Asa loved the historic little town. Emerson, Thoreau, and Kipling had all spent time here, and Willa Cather had lived here when she wrote My Antonia-she was even buried in the local cemetery. Asa’s parents had been thrilled with his new position and had driven up on several occasions to visit and see the parcel along the Contoocook River. The “Took,” as locals called it, was one of the few rivers in New Hampshire that flowed north, escaping into the solace of the New England countryside, and Asa felt a kinship with its placid waters. He ran a calloused hand through his hair and rubbed his aching shoulders. Clearing brush was slow, tedious work, but he didn’t mind. His brother had drawn up plans for a modest cabin with a center fieldstone chimney, and Asa looked forward to spending the New England winters next to its fireplace, but, for now, all he had was an Adirondack chair and a rustic fire pit. He had grown to love the mountains, and he no longer missed the ocean as much as he once had.