She’d called her parents, sobbed her way through explanations. She probably sounded worse than she actually was, for they’d offered to come over, but she’d refused. She couldn’t keep asking them to disrupt their life to travel all that way and babysit her. Besides, she had Dan, whose season was almost finished, and spending time in Muskoka meant they’d be next door to Aunt Angela, who had cared for her during that first time when she’d arrived from Australia. She didn’t want—need—anyone else. Especially Dan’s family.
Sarah stared out the window, tears trickling down her face. Why did she have to have the type of personality where emotion always bubbled close to the surface? She was definitely Dan’s opposite in that regard. But it was like her tears needed to escape, even as her heart still felt strangely protected from the ravages of grief she’d experienced before.
Trees flashed past, blurs. She swiped at the moisture on her face, but refused to make a sound to further add to Dan’s upset. He wasn’t doing well.
She peeked across. He drove, brow lowered, lips firm, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. She knew he didn’t blame her, but it didn’t stop her guilt. Oh, how she wished she could be the wife who was healthy and could bear the child he desperately wanted. He might’ve known what he was signing up for when he asked her to marry him, but she suspected he hadn’t really known what that actually entailed.
She closed her eyes, refusing to let more tears seep out. The taunts hovered in the air:You can’t give him what he most wants. You’re a failure. You’re broken.But even as her heart wrenched, she recognized these held the hiss of the pit of hell. She wasn’t a failure. God said she wasn’t. And the devil could try to lie and make her feel less than those women who could bear children, but that didn’t make them any better. She was loved by God just as much as they. She knew that.Knewit. She hoped Dan knew that too.
She dozed a little, startling awake when his Jeep hit a rough patch of road. She shifted.
“We’re almost there,” Dan said.
“Thanks for driving,” she murmured.
“Of course.” He peered across at her. His grim expression softened a little. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Achy.”
“The doctor said that was to be expected.”
The doctor. As if reminded by that last word her abdomen tightened again. She groaned, placed a hand on her midriff.
“Oh, Princess.”
Dan’s shadowed face held gauntness, like he hadn’t eaten in days. She hoped he’d find a way to get back to some kind of normality now. She winced. Normality. Childless. That was their normal, it appeared.
But no. She refused to live defeated. This might be their normal now, but God was able to do anything. God had blessed the barren with children. Look at Hannah in the Bible. Look at Rachel. Look at Sarah, her namesake, for goodness sake. Sarah had been an old woman when God had blessed her with a baby. God hadn’t changed. He could still do such miracles today.
She hoped this retreat to Muskoka would help her soul remember that. And remind Dan of that truth, too.
* * *
The trees were silently dancing,their branches swaying to the breeze as the sun edged its way past the heavy clouds. Since arriving two days ago, Sarah had barely moved from the easy chair in front of the huge picture windows that overlooked the lake. Lake Muskoka had always been a place of healing, and right now that was exactly what was needed.
Escaping T.O. had been a godsend. Coming here to Muskoka was always good, but the hoped-for healing was taking longer than he’d hoped. He only had another day or two before they’d have to head back. He’d missed two more games. Fortunately, they’d been away games, which meant for the next few games he’d be around, but still, the compassionate leave would only extend so far.
At least Muskoka was doing Sarah good. She’d barely moved from her sunny position overlooking the deck, the chaise lounge good for lying on, listening to music, reading, or sleeping. These past few days she’d been amazing, a pillar of strength, despite having had most of the stuffing knocked out of her. He didn’t know why she was so strong, and he felt so empty and weak.
Maybe it was because she’d been down this road before, had suffered more recently than he had, when Stephen had died. Sarah had been depressed for months, and the girl he’d first met out here had been a shadow of who she was today. She’d had to learn a lot about overcoming, so maybe that had helped her deal with the grief now.
That made one of them. He knew he wasn’t coping. He was keeping things together by the skin of his teeth, and he suspected he wasn’t fooling Sarah any, but he couldn’t break down in front of her. Not like he really wanted. Still, the fact he wanted to break down and she was teary, but still seemed to possess an unlooked-for strength made other questions rise.
Horrible thoughts that taunted and jeered. Like, maybe she was glad to be over the pain. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted the baby as much as he did. He guessed it would be hard for anyone to feel quite like he had, for she sure hadn’t done any of the things that still sometimes made him doubt God’s love for him. It wasn’t like she had ever prayed for the death of her son.
His skin prickled. God had forgiven him, but still… Was this part of God’s punishment? If so, how much did he need to be punished before God deemed it enough? That ‘practice making perfect’ thing his father had said made him wonder if God did the same. Give and take away, then give and take away. How many more miscarriages would they have to go through before God finally deemed Dan penitent enough?
He grimaced. These were stupid thoughts, and not what he believed. But still, the temptation to think like that grew. God might be good, but He’d let them down. Again. Again and again. And it was getting harder to believe that this was a promise that would ever come true.
Muskoka’s beautyfiltered through the windows, a promise of peace that allured yet fell short.
Dan slumped on the lounge, bare feet propped on the coffee table, and glanced down to where Sarah slept, his lap as a pillow, blankets tucked up to her chin. His lips lifted, fell. Today had been much like the others, quiet, just them, their phones switched off, few distractions, except for a couple of movies Sarah had watched, before falling asleep partway through each time. He’d watched the three hours ofAnne of Green Gablesbefore, and should’ve realized the scene where Matthew died would hit hard. Fortunately, she’d already been asleep when that scene played, and she hadn’t seen his tears.
He had to remain strong for her. Even if part of him itched to get out and do something. Anything. Too much quiet left too much time for questions, questions he could barely formulate, let alone articulate aloud. Questions—mostly to God—starting withWhy. He sat here next to Sarah to be with her in case she needed anything, but his mind was edgy, restless. Anne and Gilbert didn’t do it for him. Five hours ofPride and Prejudicehadn’t done much to distract him, either. He wondered ifDie Hardeven could.
Sarah stirred, and he shifted, stroked her hair. “Hey, Sar Bear.”
She yawned, and rubbed her eyes. “Was I asleep again?”
