Devoted Heart - A Modern Nativity

Chapter 17

Seventeen

Babe!”

“I know, I know,” I said as we inched through another deserted crossroad. I leaned on the dash, squinting passed the wipers into the dark

. “There should be signs. Why aren’t there signs?” We’d been traveling, going on two and a half hours, now. Mary’s water had broken a little earlier. We didn’t panic, but knew it best to retrace our steps back to Fresno. But things looked different in the dark, not to mention the pounding rain. I wasn’t lost, but not exactly sure where we were, either.

“Joey. I need out!”

“What?”

“Now! Stop the car, let me out.”

“It’s pitch black out there. And the rain—”

“Now. Now!” There was an urgency in her voice, a panic I’d never heard before.

“Alright, alright.” I pulled to the edge of the road, a steep gravel embankment. I hadn’t even stopped before she had the door open and was scrambling out.

“Mary!” I shoved the car into Park and threw open my door. “Mary!” I raced around the headlights and down the embankment. She was where I found her in the grass . . . on all fours.

I kneeled to join her. “What’s going on?”

“No!” she shouted, deep and guttural. “Stay away!”

“But—”

“Don’t touch me!” It was part-cry, part-growl as she tossed her head like a wild animal.

“Are you, is it time?”

She let go a stifled cry. Tried swallowing it back, but couldn’t.

“Mary!”

Another cry. So eerie, it gave me chills.

“We’ve got to get back to Fresno!” I reached for her. “A hospital!”

“No!”

“What do you mean, no? Here, let me help—”

She slapped my hands away, arms flying, landing punches wherever she could.

“Mary!”

“No! No!

“Don’t be crazy. Get back in the car. Get back in the—”

“NOOO . . .” The shout took everything she had, left her panting for breath.

“Alright, alright.”

“Don’t make me sit, I can’t sit!”

“It’s raining. You can’t stay out here in the rain.”

“No!” She began crawling away.”

“Alright, alright. Tell me what to do. What am I supposed—”

“I don’t—” She swallowed back the pain, forced it out in breaths. I wanted to hold her, to somehow absorb it, but she would have none of it.

“Six weeks,” I said, repeating what I’d said when her water first broke. “He’s not supposed to come for another six weeks.”

She answered between pants. “You . . . tell him . . . that . . .”

“You can’t do it here, not on the side of the road.”

“You . . . tell . . .” She dropped her head, fell to her forearms, shouted and groaned.

I rose to my feet, searched for any signs of civilization—homes, barns, anything. Nothing except an old shed, forty, fifty yards off to the side, barely visible in the edge of my headlights.

“Can you stand?”

“I’m not getting back in the car. I . . . can’t.”

“No, no, I get that.” I dropped back down into her line of vision. Her hair was soaked, face dripping. Her mouth hung open as if in a drugged stupor. “Mary look at me.”

She turned away.

“No, me. Look at me.” I scrambled around until I was back in her sight. “I’m here, focus on me.” She tried looking away again. “No, me. Me. I’m here for you. Just look at me. Mary. . .”

Her eyes shifted to mine, dazed, barely comprehending. I spoke slow and clear. “There’s a shed, just over there. It’s not good to be outside like this. We have to get out of the rain.”

If she understood, she didn’t show it.

“Can you stand?”

She continued to stare.

“I’m going to help you stand. We’ll stand and I’ll help you walk to the shed. Okay?”

She closed her eyes, gave the faintest nod.

“Great.” I reached for her hands and she panicked again, slapping them away.

“It’s okay, it’s alright. We’re not getting back into the car. I promise. We’re just going to walk over to that shed, get you out of the rain.”

I reached out again. This time she let me take her hands. They were cold and wet. And they were trembling.

“Alright now, I’m going to help you to your feet, okay? Just keep your eyes on me and I’ll help you stand.”

Together, we got her back onto her feet—weak but standing.

“Good, good. Now we’re going to walk over to the shed.”

She nodded.

I remembered the moments after Charlie got hit—me on my knees, reciting our training. I did it with Mary. “Let it wash over you. Don’t fight the pain, let it pass through. Focus on me. Let it pass through.”

She swallowed, nodded.

“Good girl. Alright, then. Just walk with me. I’ll take a step and you take it with me. Okay?”

Another nod.

“Here we go.” I took a half step backwards toward the shed, gently pulling on her to follow. She did. I took another step and she followed. And another. She started to look down. “No, no, no. Keep your eyes on me. I’ll get you there, but you got to trust me. Okay? Trust me.”

She nodded and we started again. “That’s it, good, good.”

We were half way there when another contraction hit. She pulled away, doubling over. I tried hanging on but she fought me. “No . . . No!

I let go, gently easing her back to her hands and knees.

She groaned, swallowed another cry.

“Let it go,” I said, “let it go.”

But she wouldn’t. Too stubborn, too modest, or both.

I waited, nearly a minute.

Then, shaking, but with raw determination, she willed herself to rise. Once up, we resumed walking, eyes locked onto one another, step after step, like some slow, primeval dance.

We arrived at the wooden shed. I pushed against the door with my back, grateful that after a slight catch, it creaked opened. There was no missing the scurry of what had to be rats. I caught the sweet smell of rotting hay and a sickly trace of old urine—again, probably the rats. The unpainted planks that made up the walls were weathered with just enough cracks between them to let in the faint glow of my headlights. The shed would do nothing to keep out the cold, but it would definitely keep us dry and safe from any wild animals in the area.

I found a corner with relatively clean hay. After stomping around it to scare off any vermin, I tried easing Mary down onto her back.

“No,” she groaned, “not my back.”

Before I could stop her, she rolled onto all fours and then began rocking back and forth.

“Hang on,” I said. “Let me go back and grab you some dry clothes.”

She gave no answer. When I was sure she was safe, I ran back through the rain to the car. I stepped over the growing trickle of muddy water at the base of the embankment and scrambled up to the car. I opened the door and reached over the front seat to grab our backpacks. Hers weighed a ton. Mine, half that. I dragged them to the front, climbed out, threw one over each shoulder, and kicked the door shut. I’d barely slid down the embankment before, and I know this sounds crazy, but I swore I heard voices. Almost like singing. I turned, looked around, but figured it was a trick of the wind and rain.

I waded back through the wet grass and entered the shed. Mary was still on her

hands and knees.

“Alright,” I said, dropping the backpacks to the floor. “Let’s see what we have.” I dug through hers until I found a couple sweaters and a pair of jeans. “Here we go.”

But when I brought them to her and kneeled down she pulled away. “No . . .”

“You’ve got to stay warm,” I said. “Your dress is soaked and—”

“No . . .” she growled.

I watched, helpless and unnerved. As a soldier I was trained to evaluate, take charge, rectify. But this . . . watching the love of my life crawl on her hands and knees, suffering like some wounded animal.

Another thirty seconds passed. When the contraction ended she was shivering harder.

An idea struck me. If she wouldn’t change clothes, I could at least build a fire. There was plenty of straw for kindling. I could punch a hole in the roof for ventilation. But start it with what? I had no matches, no lighter, nothing that could— Yes, I did have a lighter, in the car. I grabbed a handful of hay and after more stomping to scare away the rats, I raced back into the rain.

I found the lighter and with dripping hands pushed it into its receptacle. It took forever to pop back out but when it did the coil glowed red and hot. I placed the ends of three or four pieces of straw against it, noticing how my fingers shook. The straw began to smoke then catch fire.

But how to carry it back in the rain? I scanned the car, searching, until I spotted the ashtray. I yanked it out, reignited the straw, and carefully dropped in more bits and pieces to feed the flame. Then, shielding it with my hand, I stepped back out into the rain, slid down the embankment, and was half way to the shed when I heard her scream:

“Joey! JOEY!”

---

1. Copyright © 2017 Bill Myers

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any other means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission from the publisher.

Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION, copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.¹