A Season of Angels

Page 20

“Leah, hello.”
Once Leah had been asked to be a guest speaker for one of the birthing classes and she’d talked briefly about labor and delivery and answered an hour or more of questions. As luck would have it, the tour guide was Jo Ann Rossini who’d been the instructor for the class Leah had visited. Jo Ann walked into the room with ten or more women, all in varying stages of pregnancy.
“Ladies, this is the nurse I mentioned earlier. I sincerely hope one of you is lucky enough to go into labor during Leah’s shift. Leah Lundberg is one of the most wonderful labor coaches you’re likely to meet.”
Leah appreciated Jo Ann’s kind words, but she was eager to escape.
“I’ll be out of your way in just a moment,” Leah said, bundling up the sheets and stuffing them in the laundry basket.
“There’s no need to hurry. You’d probably do a much better job of giving a tour around the labor room than me,” Jo Ann insisted.
“Leah’s shift was over a half hour ago,” Bonnie said, coming in. Leah was so grateful she could have kissed her fellow nurse, not that staying beyond when they were scheduled was anything out of the ordinary. It was part and parcel of her job, which, despite everything, Leah loved.
“Would you mind if we asked you a couple of questions?” A timid voice rose from the back of the group. The girl didn’t look to be any more than eighteen, with eyes the size of poker chips. Her hand rested on her protruding stomach, which she rubbed as if to reassure her unborn child.
“I’ve only got a few moments.”
“My mother said only a woman who’s been through labor and birth can fully appreciate what it’s like for another woman,” one of the other mothers-to-be added loudly. She was large and brusque and looked as if she wanted to punish her husband for getting her into this predicament. “Don’t you think that’s true?” she added on a brash note.
“Ah . . .” This definitely wasn’t an area Leah wanted to address. “A doctor doesn’t have to experience a festering cut to know how to treat one,” she said, making sure no emotion bled into the words.
“How long can we expect the labor to last?” came another question. This one was less intrusive.
“It’s different with every woman, as individual as we each are. I’ve seen women who suffer little more than a few twinges of pain, and others who feel like they’re giving birth to a grand piano. Labor can last anywhere from a few minutes to days.”
“That long?” It was the same timid voice that had spoken earlier.
“Just remember the vast majority are within the normal range.”
“Thank you, Leah,” Jo Ann said, stepping forward. “We appreciate your taking the time for this. I know you’re on your way home so we won’t keep you any longer. Remember Leah,” Jo Ann said, speaking to her class. “Because once you’ve had her with you during labor you aren’t likely to ever forget her.”
“One last question.” The same brassy woman who’d spoken earlier did so again. “Tell us how many children you’ve had yourself.”
Leah looked at the other woman, her gaze connecting with hers. “None,” she said, then turned and walked out of the room. Her steps gained speed as she hurried down the hallway, tears blurring her eyes.
“Bremerton,” Shirley said, joining Mercy on the deserted flight deck of the aircraft carrier Nimitz. Bright stars dappled the crisp December night like beacons from home. “Why in the name of heaven did you decide we should meet here?”
“I like ships, especially navy ones.”
Goodness shared a meaningful look with Shirley. “You haven’t done anything, have you?”
Mercy’s eyes widened as if she were offended by the suggestion. “Good grief, I know better than to move ships around.”
“Gabriel wouldn’t ignore that,” Shirley said, folding her arms and glancing approvingly toward Mercy as if to say she appreciated the maturity Mercy revealed.
“Gabriel, nothing,” Mercy said, “I don’t plan on tangling with the U.S. Navy. They can be real sticklers about that sort of thing, although it would be fun just once to—”
“Mercy!” both Goodness and Shirley cried simultaneously.
“Come on, you guys, don’t you know a joke when you hear one?” The petite angel drifted effortlessly upward, resting on the bridge.
Goodness wasn’t sure of anything these earth days. Humans had frustrated her in the past, but she’d never had to deal with one as obstinate and foolish as Monica Fischer. There was a soft spot in her heart for preachers’ children. Goodness was convinced Gabriel was aware of her feelings and that was what had prompted him to give her this particular assignment.
“I don’t mean to change the subject, but are those submarines over there?” Shirley asked. She was dangling from the top of the communication tower and pointed to a series of seven fast-attack black boats docked in the murky, moonless waters at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. “I don’t believe I’ll ever understand how the human mind works. Imagine designing a boat that’s supposed to sink.”
“Can we get back to the matters at hand?” Mercy asked. “I don’t mind telling you I’m at my wit’s end when it comes to helping Leah and Andrew.”
“You!” Goodness cried.
Shirley cleared her throat. “To be honest, I should tell you matters aren’t going all that well for me either.”
“But I thought—”
“Weren’t you saying—”
Shirley held up her hand, stopping them both. “Timmy’s grandmother ruined everything for me. It’s as bad now as it ever was. Jody turned down Glen’s dinner invitation and Timmy believes if he becomes friends with Glen that he’ll dishonor the memory of his father.”
Goodness felt sorry for her friend. They should have realized nothing is ever as easy as it seems, but then Shirley had been so smug about her assignment.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Shirley admitted. “Glen’s patient, but I wonder just how long he’ll continue to invite Jody if she shows no signs of wanting to go out with him. Until the package arrived from his grandmother, Timmy was working with me, and we all know what an advantage it is to have a child on our side.”
“How long is it until Christmas?” Earth time always served to confuse Goodness.
“Three weeks,” Shirley mumbled, her wings sagging with discouragement.
“You’ve got plenty of time, just be patient and do what you can,” Mercy suggested. “You’ll find a way, I know you will.”
Goodness didn’t have any better ideas herself. Her own lack of success with answering Monica’s prayer request was getting downright depressing. The preacher’s daughter claimed she wanted a husband, yet she ignored the attention of the man most suitable. Instead she was flirting with disaster secretly meeting a private eye with an attitude problem.
“I’m doing worse than ever,” Mercy admitted grudgingly as if this were something new the others hadn’t figured out yet. “Shirley had a great idea. She felt, and I’m in complete agreement, that if Leah could sample joy, then she might find the steps leading to serenity.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Everything,” Mercy admitted, telling them about the scene in the hospital with the birthing class earlier that day. “I haven’t figured out how to help her. Leah’s more miserable now than when I first arrived.”
“I thought you told me she seemed more accepting.”
Mercy folded her arms. “Perhaps. It’s difficult for me to tell. She’s been overly burdened lately with work, the holidays, and the guilt of knowing how badly she’s hurt her husband with her demands for a child. If anything, her grip on her pain has tightened—she holds it close to her heart so that it suffocates her happiness.”
“Poor Leah,” Shirley whispered, then turned her attention toward Goodness. “What about you? Are matters any better with Monica Fischer?”
“I’m growing more and more concerned about Monica,” Goodness said, sharing her own disappointment. “She hasn’t given Michael the time of day and he’s such a dear young man.”
“You sound as if you’re attracted to him yourself.”
“I am. Well, who wouldn’t be? He’s dedicated and caring and a prince of a guy, not that Monica’s noticed.”
“What about the private eye?”
Goodness tossed her hands into the air. “She continues to meet him on the sly. My guess is she’s more attracted to him than ever.”
“What about him?”
Goodness cringed. “The more I know about Chet Costello the less impressed I am. He’s lived hard and loved hard and it shows.”
“What does he want from Monica?”
Goodness didn’t have the answer to that any more than she did the other questions. “As far as I can guess, she’s everything he isn’t. He doesn’t share her faith, her interests, her values, yet he’s attracted to those qualities. He carries the misery of his past with him, and as far as I can see he hasn’t cared about anything or anyone for the last four or five years, himself included.”
“You know, there might be hope for him yet,” Shirley said. “Monica must think so too, otherwise she wouldn’t continue seeing him.”
“How can you suggest such a thing?” Goodness demanded. To her way of thinking, any relationship between the two was doomed from the start. If anyone was capable of teaching Monica the lessons she needed to know, it would be Michael, not Chet.
“I don’t have any suggestions for you,” Mercy told her. “I’m having enough trouble dealing with my own problems with Leah. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“Don’t fret,” Goodness said as a means of encouragement to her friends.
“We’ve got three weeks yet,” Shirley reminded them. “There’s no need to panic. Anything can happen in that time, anything at all.”
“Right,” Mercy said, eyeing the aircraft carrier Carl Vinjon. Goodness recognized that gleam in her friend’s eye. It spelled trouble. She had to be honest, she found the radar system downright attractive. And feeling as disgruntled as she did with humans and romance, Goodness didn’t think she should be held responsible for what might happen.
“You’re both right,” Shirley agreed, glancing toward the submarines. “Anything’s possible.”
Crews from all three Seattle television stations were at the Bremerton shipyard the following morning. The sky was filled with navy helicopters that circled overhead, and a no-fly zone had been declared.
The top navy brass converged on the area and the activity on Sinclair Inlet was unprecedented. No less than ten navy vessels circled the area. Three of the fast-attack submarines patrolled the waters.
“Can you tell us exactly what’s happening here?” Brian Lewis asked Marilyn Brock, a reporter from Seattle’s ABC television affiliate.