The Choice (17 page)

While the minister read, Sandy's imagination went on a two-thousand-year journey back in time to the events recorded in the ancient book. She saw Mary, pregnant and subject to ridicule. Mary's conception was without sin. Sandy's wasn't. But they shared a common bond of community shame. Sandy could guess the reaction of Mary's parents, her friends, the neighbors who'd known her since she was a baby, and the leaders of the synagogue. Electricity, automobiles, and running water didn't change what people thought and said. Mary would have suffered as much or more as a pregnant, unmarried woman in a small Jewish town than Sandy had in Rutland. Sandy's shame was justified. The reproach that fell on Mary was not. But their mutual humiliation touched Sandy in a deep, personal way. Her heart ached for Mary; it broke for herself. Never before had something in the Bible seemed so intensely personal. Sandy wiped a tear from the corner of her right eye.

Reverend Frost finished reading the scripture and began his sermon. Sandy stayed with Mary. She slipped a Bible from the rack on the back of the pew in front of her and turned to Matthew. As she read the passage again, she realized something she'd never noticed. Mary
voluntarily
accepted the humiliation of being an unmarried pregnant woman because of the importance of the baby she would carry. Her public reproach had a higher purpose, one that would affect all humanity.

Sandy had known that Jesus was the Savior of the world ever since she'd attended Mrs. Hartman's kindergarten class as a five-year-old. But in that moment, on Christmas Eve, in the beautifully decorated church, it became more than a well-known religious truth—it became relevant to her.

“Oh my,” she whispered. “It's real.”

Her mother glanced sideways, but Sandy ignored her. Jesus was not just the Savior of the world; he was
her
Savior. She'd done wrong, in many more ways than a one-night stand with Brad Donnelly. But Jesus made forgiveness possible. For that sin. For every sin. Something deep inside Sandy reached up to grasp the opportunity of forgiveness. And when she did, a huge weight rolled off her heart. She looked around the church and realized she wouldn't care if everyone in the sanctuary turned around at that moment and stared at her. Her shame was gone; she was forgiven by God. And that was all that really mattered.

A different kind of tears trickled from Sandy's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. These tears were tokens of the guilt being washed from her heart. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“Are you all right?” her mother asked.

Sandy nodded and kept looking straight ahead. She returned her attention to the sermon as Reverend Frost said, “In a few moments, we will light our candles, because the light of Christ has driven the darkness from our lives. Never forget—the blackest darkness must retreat before the light of the smallest candle. Go forth from this place and let your light shine before men, not just within the walls of the church, but wherever you are. Amen.”

Ushers came down the aisles and lit the candle of the person sitting at the end of each pew. Linda passed her light to Sandy, who shared her light with her mother. After the last candle was lit, the electric lights in the sanctuary were turned off. The congregation stood and sang “Silent Night.” For Sandy, the familiar phrases were filled with fresh meaning.
Holy infant . . . Jesus, Lord, at thy birth . . . dawn of redeeming grace
. Sandy's lower lip trembled as she sang. She had a nice singing voice, but tonight she had to sing softly. When the hymn was over, the congregation blew out their candles, leaving a single candle, the Christ candle, burning in the center of the Advent wreath at the front of the sanctuary. Sandy stared at the candle with deep gratitude. Reverend Frost pronounced the benediction.

The sanctuary lights were turned on, and the hubbub of conversation immediately broke out across the room as people talked and moved toward the aisles.

“That was a beautiful service,” Sandy's mother said to her. “I'm glad you came.”

“Me too,” Sandy said, her eyes glistening. “This is the best Christmas Eve of my life.”

TWELVE

I
n late January Sandy sat at the table in Linda's kitchen after supper with papers spread out in front of her. She'd read so many summaries of prospective couples who wanted to adopt a baby that the stories were running together. Reviewing the information impacted Sandy in one unexpected way—she was overwhelmed by the intense longing the anonymous people had for a baby. The way women, in particular, expressed their desire for a child deeply touched Sandy's heart. It made her wish there were enough babies for everyone who wanted one. Linda came into the kitchen.

“Here's one,” Sandy said, picking up a piece of paper. “This couple lives in Virginia. The woman has had four miscarriages. After the last one, her doctor told her it would be dangerous for her to conceive another child. She's a third-grade teacher but wants to stay home and raise a child. Her husband is a salesman with a big corporation.”

“Does he travel a lot?”

“Uh, he's over national accounts, whatever that means.”

“He'd be gone a lot. An absent father is a missing influence.”

Sandy thought about Brad's father and reluctantly slipped the packet into the reject pile. She felt bad doing so but couldn't take a chance. This would be her only opportunity to influence her baby's life for good.

“I wish I could see pictures,” she said. “I can tell more by a person's face than I can by what they've written on a piece of paper.”

“You have to trust the screening process at the agency. It's the most scientific way to go about it. Did Mrs. Longwell have any recommendations?”

Sandy reached for two folders, each with a note paper-clipped to the cover.

“Yes. One of them is on the East Coast and one on the West Coast.”

“Still daydreaming about twins?”

Sandy rested her hand on her swollen abdomen.

“Dr. Berman doesn't say it's a daydream. Every measurement she's taken indicates I'm way ahead of schedule for a single birth.”

“There's no doubt your body is working hard.”

Sandy opened another folder.

“This couple lives in California. The woman is a speech therapist, and the husband does something with computers.”

“We have a new computer at work,” Linda said. “They installed it in a special climate-controlled room on my floor. My boss says computers are changing so fast it will be obsolete in a couple of years.”

“Would the man in California have to travel a lot in that kind of work?”

“Not necessarily. It depends on whether he's an engineer who designs the machines or a salesman trying to market them. All I know is that it's a good field to get into. You might want to think about it when you go to college.”

“Don't you have to be good in math? Math is my least favorite subject.”

“Or good with languages. The computer has its own language.”

“What? It talks?”

“Not now,” Linda said. “You and I should learn about computers together.”

Sandy shrugged. She wasn't interested in obscure scientific information that would never be relevant to day-to-day life.

“So you think I should consider the California couple?” she asked.

“Yes. I've been to California several times for seminars. It's a big state, but every place I've been is beautiful in its own way. The weather is wonderful; the schools are excellent. I think it's a great place to raise a family.”

“Okay,” Sandy said, “but only if I actually have twins. I feel in my heart there's another couple that has to be the number one family. The family in the other flagged folder lives in Georgia. They've already adopted one baby, and I think a childless couple should get a chance before someone else receives a second child. Also, I don't like the idea of the baby being so close to me. If that happened, I'd be staring into every stroller I saw on the sidewalk and wondering if the baby inside was mine.”

“You'll do that anyway. There'll always be that question in your mind.”

Sandy knew Linda was right. It was an unsettling thought.

Several days later she was sitting in Mrs. Longwell's office.

“I've talked it over with Linda and called my parents,” Sandy said. “The couple in California you suggested is my number two choice.”

“Number two?”

“In case I have twins.”

“Who's number one?”

“I haven't decided.”

The phone on Mrs. Longwell's desk buzzed, and she picked up the receiver. She listened for a few moments.

“I'm on my way,” she said, then hung up the phone.

Sandy stood up to leave.

“I have to go to our conference room for a few minutes. A question has come up that I need to answer in person. I'll be right back.”

Sandy sat back down in her chair across from Mrs. Longwell's desk. She'd been in the office many times and everything was familiar to her. She looked again at the picture of Agnes, the caseworker's pet schnauzer. Agnes was lying on a reddish rug with a green chew toy in her mouth. Sandy leaned forward and picked up the photo. She could see the glitter of the rhinestone collar around the dog's neck. When Sandy returned the picture to its place, she saw another photo peeking out the edge of a folder. Glancing over her shoulder, she slipped it out with her index finger.

It was a woman.

The woman had short blond hair and looked to be about thirty years old. She was standing in front of a two-story brick house beside a large palmetto tree. She had a happy smile on her face and eyes that seemed to look beyond the camera. Sandy devoured every detail of the picture. The woman was tanned and wearing a yellow blouse and light green skirt. A cream-colored Chevrolet convertible with a South Carolina license plate was parked in the driveway in front of a large two-car garage. Everything about the exterior of the house, yard, and car seemed perfect. Sandy turned the photo over. It was dated the day Sandy went to see Dr. Braselton and found out she was pregnant. There wasn't a name on the picture. After taking one last look at the woman, Sandy slid the photo back into the folder. A few seconds later, Mrs. Longwell returned to the room.

“Sorry for the interruption,” the caseworker said. “Where were we?”

“Talking about my number one choice.”

“Right.”

Mrs. Longwell picked up a stack of four or five folders from the credenza behind her desk.

“Here are some other couples for you to review.”

Sandy took the information. She wanted to ask about the file containing the woman's picture but knew if she mentioned it, Mrs. Longwell would know she'd snooped.

“Thanks,” she said.

The caseworker glanced down at her desk.

“Oh, and here's one more I meant to give you.”

She picked up the folder and removed the photo before handing the information to Sandy.

“Let me know what you think. We need to identify your number one choice soon. Once that's done, I'll notify the couple and provide your background information to them. Then it will be up to the prospective parents to agree to the placement.”

Sandy had seen the material given to prospective parents. It felt strange reading about herself as a “seventeen-year-old, blond-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian female in excellent health with an above-average IQ, stable home environment, no history of illegal drug use, and regular prenatal care since eight weeks after gestation commenced.”

“But that won't be a problem,” Mrs. Longwell assured her. “You're the ideal birth mother.”

The caseworker's choice of words made Sandy feel like a baby-making machine, but she knew Mrs. Longwell didn't mean the phrase in that way.

“And you're going to have two families ready in case I have twins?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Longwell nodded. “I checked out what you told me with Dr. Berman, and she confirmed it. If it's a multiple birth, you may deliver earlier than expected.”

Sandy had tried to avoid thinking about the actual birth process. She knew the combination of physical pain and emotional upheaval would be difficult. But she suspected the inner torment at hearing the baby's first cry and then having to face the hard reality that it would be the only sound she ever heard her child make would be worse than anything else. Birthing a second baby would multiply the pain on every level.

“I know.” Sandy sighed.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Longwell asked.

Sandy shrugged. “A lot goes through my head when I'm lying in bed at night trying to get comfortable.”

“Is your commitment to the adoption holding up?”

“You've asked me that before.”

“And I will continue to do so. Remember, my job isn't to force you to agree to an adoption. You can't legally surrender your parental rights until after the baby, or babies, is born; however, the decision of whether or not to place a baby with another family needs to be settled before you go into the hospital and pour so much of yourself into bringing a child into the world. Weigh all the factors—”