The Atonement Child

  “You’ve left no room for God to bring healing,” Dan replied. “No room for confession, forgiveness, restoration. The path to healing is clear. ‘If we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us and to cleanse us from every wrong.’”

  “Yes, I know the verse, Dan,” she said, her tones indulgent, as though she were talking to an obtuse child. “And the Bible can be very helpful in its place, in church. But I’m sure you can understand my caution about bringing it into a patient’s session. My place is to listen and help patients focus, not lay even more guilt on them with words of condemnation, especially from something as influential as the Bible. Now, if you don’t mind, I have patients waiting.”

  She hung up, and Dan was left floundering, appalled that he had sent Marsha into the mire and left her to drown. How could a woman who had an abortion not feel guilt or some sense of remorse? How could she justify what she’d done? Whom else could she blame when everyone was telling her it’s her choice? Without facing the truth and confessing it, how could she be forgiven? How could she be restored? How could she be free?

  He had listened and heard the counselor’s gentle, seemingly compassionate words and recognized them for what they were: words that ripped life to pieces. With such a foundation, it was little wonder some closed themselves in behind walls or lashed out at one another or chose death. Families crumbled. Communities writhed in turmoil. An entire nation was collapsing, and everyone was asking why.

  CAN YOU NOT HEAR? CAN YOU NOT SEE?

  Dan closed his eyes, filled with sorrow. I hear, Lord. I see. Oh, God, there is an answer. There always has been. Only the world doesn’t want to listen. It doesn’t want to see. It plays deaf and blind and seeks its own end. And where does that lead us? To death. Of our children—and ultimately of ourselves.

  God, forgive me. I believed Satan. Jesus, I sent Your wounded lambs to the wolves for healing. Forgive me, Lord. I have sinned against You. I heeded Satan’s battle cry and not Your still, small voice of love and peace. I trusted those I didn’t know. I didn’t think there was anything I could do to help. I forgot who You are. Creator, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace. Oh, Lord, I forgot You have equipped me for battle. You have given me all things necessary for victory. I forgot that through You, all things are possible.

  He had the tool to break down the walls that imprisoned his people. He had the tool to rip away the veil to the Holy of Holies so that his flock could come before the Lord and be cleansed, made whole, transformed, and have a personal, loving relationship with their Creator. That very tool sat on Hannah’s bookshelf right now, gathering dust until Sunday morning. Her Savior was there, waiting to speak to her and show her the way home again, the way back to love.

  Your Word is life!

  Why didn’t more people understand that?

  Why hadn’t he?

  Oh, God, if I believe Scripture is inspired by You, it’s time I put it all to practice. It’s time I put my feet in the water, ford the river, and break down the walls. It’s time I used Your principles and precepts for the purpose You laid out since the foundation of the world. Lord, You are God! You made us. Who better to know how to fix us when we’ve gone wrong? Who better to set us to rights again? Who better to love us through the fire and refine us into something beautiful and useful despite our wrongs?

  Now, as Dan readied himself to talk with Hannah Carey, he was struck again at the remarkable ways God worked. Jesus, could Your timing be any more perfect?

  The very day before Doug Carey came to him in desperation and despair, Dan had made a decision. He would not run away anymore. He would not close his eyes and ears. He would not pass the buck to someone outside the church, someone he didn’t know and trust.

  Lord, help me never to turn my back again. Help me bring Your people to the cleansing stream. Use me, Father, as You will.

  Irritated, Hannah ignored the second ring of the doorbell and continued to remove things one by one from the china hutch. Dusting a candy dish, she set it carefully on the dining table and reached for a cake plate. When the doorbell rang again, she tossed down her dust rag and headed for the door. If it was a solicitor, he was going to wish he had skipped this house. Not bothering to look through the peephole, Hannah yanked the door open, ready to send the intruder packing.

  Pastor Dan Michaelson stood on the front step. “Hannah,” he said with a nod of greeting. “Can we talk?”

  All the pain from the night before swelled up inside her. She felt the prick of tears and resurgence of betrayal. “That depends on what you have to say.”

  “I’ve come to listen.”

  “Really? Aren’t you here on my husband’s behalf?”

  “I love you both, Hannah. May I come in?”

  She wanted to tell him no, she didn’t feel like having company, but that would be impolite. Resigned to suffer through the interview, she stepped back, opening the door a little wider. The sooner she let him in, the sooner he would say what he had come to say. Then he would leave, and she’d be alone again.

  Cursing Doug, Hannah ushered her pastor into the family room and invited him to sit on the sofa. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Please.”

  Gritting her teeth, she went to make some. She made no attempt at conversation.

  “Have you heard from Dynah?”

  Hannah opened a cabinet and took down two cups and saucers. They rattled as she set them on the counter. “Didn’t Doug tell you? She’s coming home in a few days.” She faced him, loaded and cocked. “By the way, she’s pregnant. Did Doug tell you that? She was raped in Illinois. She had lots of support. The dean asked her to leave college. Her fiancé felt she was defiled and didn’t want her anymore. So she came home to us for help. Doug told me to take her straight to an abortion clinic and get rid of the problem. He said I had the experience. Did he tell you that in his little meeting last night?”

  Dan sat quiet, allowing her to vent, hoping enough steam would escape that she could accept help.

  Getting no response, Hannah fell silent, ashamed, furious, and fighting tears. Why had he come? Why couldn’t he mind his own business and leave her alone? She stood in the kitchen waiting for the coffeemaker to finish dispensing brew. Filling the cup, she put it on a tray and carried it into the family room. As she set the tray down before him, she realized she had forgotten cream and sugar. She knew Dan liked both. Well, he could do without today. Maybe the bitter brew would send him on the run.

  “Thank you,” Dan said, leaning forward. “Why don’t we pray?”

  “You go ahead. Just don’t do it out loud.” She stood up and moved away, going to stand at the windows, arms crossed, staring out at the small vegetable garden. It needed digging under, mulching, and replanting. Maybe she’d start this afternoon. She felt like getting down and dirty.

  Dan’s appeal to the Lord was brief and heartfelt. Hands clasped loosely between his knees, he raised his head and looked at Hannah Carey where she stood near the windows, arms wrapped protectively around herself. “I am not here to cast blame or condemn or judge. I’ve come as your brother in Christ. I want to help, Hannah. I want to come alongside you and Doug. I see two people I love very much coming apart, and it grieves me.”

  “Thanks for the thought.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. “It’s too late.”

  “I can’t help unless we can get your anger out of the way.”

  She faced him again. “That’s rich. Was that what the two of you decided last night in your little meeting? Maybe you should counsel him about his anger. Help him get rid of it.”

  “Doug will be coming in for counseling once a week starting this evening.”

  His words took the wind from her sails. Doug in counseling? When she’d suggested it before, he’d always said no. He’d insisted they could work out their own problems.

  “I want you to come in as well.”

  There was always a kicker. “No, thank you. I don’t want to b
e in the same room with him. I’m sick to death of recriminations.”

  “What will your anger accomplish, Hannah?”

  She knew, and the tears came, swelling hot. “I don’t care anymore.”

  “I think you do.”

  “Right,” she said bitterly. “You know better than I do what I’m feeling. Or is the bottom line something else entirely?” She smiled cynically. “What would people say if couples in the church started falling apart? We want to look good for the world, don’t we? God forbid they find out we’re just like everyone else.” Glaring at him, she waited for a reaction. None came.

  Feeling ashamed, she looked away.

  What was the use? “You can’t understand, Dan. You haven’t a clue how I feel, and neither does Doug.”

  “God knows, Hannah. There isn’t anything new under the sun. He understands the very heart of you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “You don’t have to be.”

  “Easy for you to say.” If God was even remotely like any of the people she had known in her life, she didn’t have a chance. She’d committed the unforgivable sin. She’d taken the life of her own child. And why? Embarrassment. Shame. Fear. All of that and more. Yet no reason, no excuse, could suffice. Nothing could seem to still the voices crying out deep within her that she was guilty . . . of murder.

  And she had encouraged her daughter to follow in her footsteps.

  “The Lord loves you, Hannah.”

  She turned away again, staring out the window into the backyard, bereft. “I wonder how many times I’ve heard that before. It doesn’t mean anything. Doug said he loved me. Words, that’s all they are, just empty words.”

  He heard the hopelessness in her voice and wanted to reach her. “You gave your life to Jesus more than twenty years ago, Hannah. You were cleansed of all your sin on that day.”

  She turned to him, her eyes burning with a fierce light. “If that’s true, why don’t I feel clean?”

  “You have to lay your burdens down and leave them at the cross.”

  His words angered her. “I’ve tried,” she said softly, fighting tears. “It’s not that easy.” Not when you have someone to remind you.

  “Others have done it.”

  “Yeah, right. I suppose now you’re going to tell me about the apostle Paul and Mary Magdalene and a dozen others who lived two thousand or more years ago.”

  Dan met her defiant gaze, feeling her fear and sadness. He took in her angry, hurt expression, her protective stance. Silently, he rose and went to Hannah. He came alongside her at the windows. “I’m not talking about people who lived two thousand years ago, Hannah. I’m talking about now. There are others in our congregation who’ve been through what you have.”

  She turned slightly and looked at him, surprised, half-hopeful.

  “You’re not the only woman in our church who’s had an abortion.”

  “Are there many?” Misery loves company.

  “Six that I know of. I’m going to put prayer baskets out on Sunday, and we may have a better idea of how many more. I contacted a pregnancy counseling center this morning and spoke to one of the directors. She has materials on postabortion syndrome, as well as a Bible study. She’s offered to teach it.”

  “At the church?” Hannah grimaced inwardly at the thought, knowing she wouldn’t attend. Her life had been difficult enough with Doug knowing what she had done. How much worse if a few loose-tongued men and women in the congregation got wind of her past? They would blow her apart like a tornado.

  “No,” Dan said, seeing the look in her eyes. It confirmed everything the PCC director had told him. “Donna suggested we meet somewhere other than the church. We’ll protect the women’s anonymity and privacy. They have to know up front that everything will be held confidential.” Perhaps in time, after healing and restoration, they would have the courage to stand and strip away the lies the world taught.

  “Where do you plan to have the study?” Hannah said, hoping it was close.

  “The PCC is too far away, and my house is next door to the church. I’m still thinking over possibilities.”

  “You can have it here.”

  He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. You’ll have to discuss it with Doug, of course.”

  “He won’t mind.” And if he did, he could leave. He could take a boat to China for all she cared.

  Dan suspected her feelings and decided to call Doug himself and discuss it with him. After the conversation last night, he didn’t think Doug would stand in the way. More likely, he’d be standing on the sidelines cheering.

  They decided to hold the first meeting on a Wednesday evening. Dan said he would be attending. He planned to review all the materials beforehand to make sure they were Scripture-based and didn’t veer in any way from the path of God’s Word. He would be calling the other women and encouraging them to attend too.

  “I won’t tell them it’s here unless they commit to it,” he said, offering her no names to protect their confidentiality as well as her own. “Pray for open hearts, Hannah.”

  “And if no one will come?”

  He smiled gently. “We’ll begin with you.”

  Chapter 9

  Cynthia peeled potatoes at the kitchen sink while Dynah read to Cricket and Todd. Feeling oddly melancholy, she paid no attention to the humorous poem, nor to the children’s laughter. Something was plaguing her, something that wanted to come up into the open. She knew it was something she wasn’t going to like.

  Birds fluttered around the feeder on the lawn, finches mostly, scattered by an arrogant blue jay. The smaller birds fluttered to the ground, intent on feeding on the seeds tossed about by the proud jay. She would have to refill the feeder tomorrow as the birds had been feasting the last three days. Since Dynah’s arrival, the children had played little in the backyard, giving the birds free access.

  Cynthia missed watching her children through the glass as they raced around the backyard playing soccer or tag. Lately, they stayed indoors with Dynah. Right now, Todd was glued to her right side, and Cricket was plastered to her left; both listened raptly to words written by Robert Louis Stevenson. Dynah’s voice was gentle and fluid, with just the right lilt of drama. They were eating it up.

  Picking up another potato, Cynthia remembered her own mother reading to her from that same book. When she had been old enough to read for herself, she had taken the worn, red Childcraft volume outside with her. Mustard flowers grew as tall as she in the family walnut grove. She had made hiding places among the yellow blooms and dreamed of living in a butter-bean tent and having a calico cat and a chocolate dog. Sometimes she’d lain back and stared up at the blue sky and wondered what it would be like to eat warm animal crackers and drink hot chocolate in a cozy English kitchen.

  Todd left the couch and sat among his LEGOs, an architect with a vision. Yesterday, he had invited Dynah to join him. Rather than decline, she sat down beside him cross-legged and began putting red and blue plastic pieces together. Cricket left her beloved crayons and tried to join them, but Todd, ever territorial, ordered her away. It only took a few tender words from Dynah to have him enlisting his sister’s help in an expanded project.

  Cynthia liked the young woman. She felt drawn to Dynah’s easy, loving manner, which seemed to bring out the best in both children. Even Arnold had fallen in love with Dynah. The old dog was lying with his head on her feet right now.

  Cutting the potatoes, she dropped them into a pot and added water. Putting them on the stove, she turned the burner to high. The leg of lamb was browning nicely. The peach cobbler was cooling. The salad was tossed and covered with clear wrap in the refrigerator, and the dressing was made. She’d change her clothes, freshen up, and then set the table.

  Rinsing her hands, Cynthia dried them and hung the towel on the oven handle. The children laughed again. Dynah was laughing also. She was so young and pretty, her blue eyes bright and clear, unshadowed by her situation. Cynthia marveled.
>
  How would I feel if I were carrying the child of a man who raped me? A man I couldn’t even identify?

  Dynah looked so at peace. And she had brought that peace to Jim as well.

  What was it about Dynah Carey that had broken down the wall that had surrounded her husband for so long? Cynthia felt as much in awe of her as her children did. The girl had come to Jim for help and brought with her redemption. Cynthia would ever be thankful for that. So why did she feel so . . . detached?

  Jim would be home soon. She wondered how his meeting with Elizabeth Chambers had gone this afternoon and why he had decided the telephone call hadn’t been enough.

  “Dynah, would you please keep an eye on the potatoes while I freshen up? Jim should be home soon.”

  Dynah smiled in quick response and closed the book. “I’ll set the table for you.”

  “Oh, would you? That would be nice. There are some linen tablecloths in the china hutch. Cricket, show Dynah the good china. We’ll use that and the crystal glasses this evening. The silver is in the middle drawer.”

  Todd glanced up from the hospital he was building. “Is it your birthday, Dynah?”

  “No . . .”

  “Dynah’s going home tomorrow,” Cynthia said. They had to know sooner rather than later.

  Both children put up an immediate protest. “Why can’t you live with us, Dynah?” Cricket said.

  “My mom and dad are expecting me home, sweetheart.”

  “They can come visit.”

  “I’m sure her mommy and daddy miss her every bit as much as I’d miss you,” Cynthia told her daughter. “And Dynah will come back and see us. Won’t you?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Cynthia walked down the hallway to the master bedroom. Distracted and depressed, she sat at her vanity table and loosened and brushed her hair. She tried to analyze what was bothering her. In the past three days, their lives had been turned upside down and inside out. Yet, on thinking about it, she didn’t care about the outward changes that would come from the decisions Jim was making. It was the change of heart that made her anxious.