Where Love Grows (7 page)
Authors: Jerry S. Eicher
That same evening, across two state lines, Donald Fry held a package in his hands. Carol had said to open it after her funeral. And the service had been today. He was nervous. So much emotion happening so quickly, but he had to know. Too many years had passed already. So much had been lost. All those years he could have known his birth mother. He wouldn't allow the same thing to happen with his birth father.
Donald sat down at the kitchen table and opened the box. Inside was a hard-covered journal, its edges bent and worn, the cover faded. Little scuffs pockmarked the surface. Apparently someone had handled the book roughly or frequently. He took out the journal and flipped open the pages to the last entry, about three quarters of the way toward the back.
May 10, 1969
My dear Journal, I have great news to report today. News that takes my breath away. I'm expecting again. The doctor confirmed it, or I wouldn't believe it. I'm sitting here in tears, feeling like a total wreck. Why I should break down like this after so many years is beyond me. I do know the reason. Somewhere in the back of my mind I believed God would never allow me to have another child. Not after giving up my dear baby boy. Even though I felt I had no choice and it was the best decision possible, that's not much comfort when my heart cries for my lost child.
I sit here taking deep breaths, telling myself that it's true. That just as Benjamin is real to me as a husbandâjust as his love is realâso this child will be real. After all I have lost, I'm being given another chance. I have to believeâ¦to hopeâ¦that the broken pieces can really be put back together. Surely God can do that. My mind tells me He can, even when my pain says otherwise. How can God be so good to me after what I've done? His grace is amazing.
I think this will be my last entry. There has been too much sorrow recorded in these pages. The record laid down of my transgressionsâ¦of my losses. I've kept the worst parts from my dear Benjamin, but I know I've allowed myself to wallow in them. That must stop, and so too must this journal.
Let today begin a new book, I whisper. Let this day of the news of our babyâBenjamin's and mineâbe a new beginning. A day when I will again live life to the fullest. A day when I will drink in all it has to give.
Today I begin a new journey with Benjamin and our child. A journey hopefully without so many tears. I will be a mother again, and, if God is willing, again and again. Oh, God, I can't thank You enough for allowing this to happen. Thank You for Benjamin, for our love together, and for this child. Thank You, thank You.
Goodbye, Journal. Let me kiss you one more time and then that will be it. Good night now and sleep well.
Donald wiped his brow with the back of his hand. This was his birth mother speaking to him from across the years. A voice he'd only heard in person during the short time after he'd found her. The fault was his own because he'd delayed his search for so long. Caught up in the dramas of his own lifeâhis marriage to Sonia, Charles's birth, his father's illness, and then the divorce. Regardless, he should have looked for his birth mother much sooner.
He stared at the journal. At least he had this now. A token of her love, if nothing else. A touch of her even though she was physically gone. An opportunity to know her better. So he would read more. He would find more of her here. Her sorrow written in black and white. The pain she'd experienced while he was a child growing up in a good family and totally unaware of her existence.
Flipping to the front, Donald read the first entry.
June 6, 1960
I'm fifteen years old today, the first summer of living on the farm Mom and Dad purchased outside the city limits. Dad's a doctor, and he's worked hard to save enough for our new place. Mom grew up in Iowa as a farmer's daughter, and she's always wanted to get back to something resembling what she was used to.
Dad joked many times that love was enough. They would laugh, so I was always sure it was enough. But maybe one does need more than love. Mom is sure happy about the moveâor maybe love brings what the loved one wishes. That's a nice thought. And it even looks good written down on the page.
I think I will also start a new ventureâone brought on by our move. I will keep writing in this journal. I think it will be fun many years from now to look back over my life to see the highs and the lows. Hopefully there will be only a few lows. One needs some, I suppose, to deepen the soul. That's what Father Frank says, anyway. He said sadness brings out the color in life.
I guess that's true, although my life has plenty of color right now, inside and out. The front yard is blooming with a thousand dandelions. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Mom likes them, but Dad said something about white fluff balls appearing soon that will mess up the countryside. I'm not sure what he's talking about, but we shall see. Mom gave him a kiss after his muttered remark, saying, “Thank you anyway, Joe. It's so nice of you to indulge me like this.”
I hope I meet a man someday who indulges me like Dad does Mom!
The other evening I saw a gorgeous sunset. Such colors you have never seen in all your life. Nothing like what we had in the city. The sky was painted with yellow, red, blue, and even purple mixed all together in long streaks. For some reason I started thinking about my future husbandâwhoever he will be. Sometimes I feel so other-worldly. I wonder why the man I will love couldn't be from someplace else, like another world maybe. Perhaps Mars or Jupiter. He could at least be from someplace I haven't been. Wouldn't that be wonderful? He'd speak another language, maybe French or Spanish. We'd laugh together and tell each other tales of how we were brought up. It would take weeks and weeks just to cover all that. We could fill the time between kisses right well.
Mom wants me to help with the laundry now, so I'd better run. I will keep this our little secret and visit you as often as I can.
To a long and happy summer and to many happy years ahead of us!
Donald turned the page to the next entry. He read, skipped a few pages, and read again. He would return later for a more thorough reading. Somewhere in here was the information he wanted.
June 14, 1960
Hello there! I'm back. Not as quickly as I had hoped, but I haven't forgotten you. Life on a farm is much busier than I ever thought possible. Right now I'm so happy I could burst! I don't care how hard I have to work. This joy of country living is worth all the sweat and pain.
Mom took me into town today, a small place not far from us. It's nothing like the big city. We stopped in at a dusty old feed mill, its name written in faded letters over the front door. Inside they had a wire cage with three of the cutest little puppies inside, all bundles and bounces. Mom didn't say a word. She just took me up to the cage and pointed.
I stood there for a long time, not wanting to believe it. Was one of them going to be mine? I looked up at Mom, and she was smiling. I knew it was true!
“Which one will it be?” Mom asked.
I closed my eyes because I didn't know which one to pick. I couldn't stand taking one of them and leaving the others. It seems like one of those sins Father Frank is always speaking about. An awful one at that. How could one puppy be better than the others? So I opened the door, and all three of them looked at me. That's when I closed my eyes and stuck out my hand. For a long time nothing happened. Then one of them touched my fingers with its nose. I could barely feel it, so light and tender was his touch.
I opened my eyes and grabbed him. A kiss is always the true test of love. I know it! He's the cutest, most loving little bundle of fur you ever saw. I've named him Bosky for some crazy reason. Bosky is a lateâsixteenth-century word used to describe a countryside covered with dense bushes. I feel like thatâdensely surrounded by love.
Mom lets me keep Bosky in the house only a few minutes at a time. Even then he has to be watched carefully for you know what. I told Mom I would house train him quickly, but she is having none of that. Bosky stays outside most of the time. “This is a farm,” Mom told me. “And on farms the dogs stay outside.”
“Well, Bosky isn't a dog yet. He's a puppy, and his kisses are the sweetest things I've ever felt moving across my face. I know I will always love him, and he will always love me. Even after we're both dead and gone our love will exist.
When I ran around in the yard with him after we came home, Mom had the biggest smile on her face.
“He'll be good for you,” she said. “I'm glad you're getting to grow up in the country.”
I'm also glad! I think I knew I'd be glad even before my world contained wonderful things like puppy kisses. I also think this is how I will find the perfect man someday. I will close my eyes and see if he kisses me. How can that ever go wrong? Bosky is my proof that it works.
Donald smiled at his mom's girlish enthusiasm. He flipped pages, pausing to wait for his eyes to clear before he scanned the words again. How old was his mother when she met his father? Was he mentioned in this journal? That was the burning question. Surely Carol wrote about him. She wouldn't leave out such an important point in her life. He wanted to know everything about her and him, even with the pain the knowledge brought. Who was his birth father?
He scanned the pages and stopped at the entry dated January 12. Carol would have been nineteen, he figured.
I'm working at a part-time job in a St. Louis hospital while I go to school. To say I'm excited is the understatement of the year. There are so many new and wonderful things going on!
First of all, thanks must go to Dad for helping me land this job. He won't admit it, but I know he pulled a few strings with his friends. Not that I'm complaining because even if he did help, I'm still feeling all grown-up and on my own.
For a farm girl, I'm sure enjoying the city. Perhaps I have more of Dad in me than Mom wants to admit. I know I love both of them. I suppose one can be like that, having two loves at the same time. Mom has been dreaming of me marrying a farmer. I know because she told me. Dad wants me to succeed at nursing and eventually marry a doctor. He doesn't say so out loud, but it's not hard to figure out.
Donald scanned forward a few pages, stopping on February 15.
Hi there! I'm back, after a long, hard day's work. Although I'm on my feet all day, everyone here is absolutely wonderful to work with and for. I wonder if Dad knew that when he asked me to choose St. Louis instead of Des Moines, which was my first choice. He hardly could have. I'm sure the people would have been just as nice there as they are here.
I finally took the time today to say hi to the cutest boy you can imagine. He's not a doctor, but he's quite fascinating. I'd seen him earlier and asked around. One of the other nurses says he comes from a closed religious community that doesn't believe in war. I guess he's serving his military time working in a hospital under an alternative government program instead of being a soldier and fighting in Vietnam.
I wonder what his home community is like. I'm told he's Amish. He's obviously a farm boyâfrom the looks of his hands, at least. One of the girls said there are several Amish boys working in area hospitals.
I found out this guy's name is Menno, which I think is cute. He's got the sweetest smile, and it's even sweeter when he's nervous. I think I make him very nervous when I walk by. Even though he must be from a strange community and very religious, he doesn't look weird. He looks wholesome, healthy, country-raisedâall those things you think of when someone says he grew up on a farm. I should know since I was raised on one!
This boy is country all the way through. I can see it in the way he handles his hands, the way he smiles, his hesitation, even in his walk. I find myself liking him more every time I see him and he smiles at me.
I would like him to ask me out, but we haven't even spoken! We just exchange looks and smiles whenever I walk by. He does always smile at me though. That's a good sign! I hope he'll ask me out sometime! I hope he doesn't think our worlds are too far apart. I'm religious, aren't I? I never thought love and religion had much to do with each other, but I'm sure they do somehow. Devotion, giving of one's self, isn't that what religion is? Perhaps we have a lot in common!
Donald paused. Was this young Amish man his father? He read the next entry.
February 21, 1964
The girls are all abuzz about the new singing group that has come over from Britain. The Beatles they're called. I finally listened to their songs, and I could think of nothing afterward but Menno. I made a special trip past where he works on my lunch hour to say hi. I decided if he's too shy to talk to me, maybe I should start the ball rolling.
“Hi,” he said with that crooked, boyish smile.
I felt giddy but I said, “So you're an Amish boy from Indiana.”
He laughed and said, “How did you know? Do I have hay sticking out of my hair?”
So he has a sense of humor! I thought. Wow! This is getting better all the time.
“I didn't notice any hay,” I said. “The girls told me there are more Amish working at the hospitals around here. Your people object to the war, right?”
His smile disappeared and he asked me, “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I think that's wonderful. Vietnam is an awful war. Thousands of people are dying unnecessarily. I'm glad some people are taking a stand against killing.”
“We Amish don't kill people,” he said. “Never!”
Dad doesn't know how much I oppose the war. I've mentioned it only a few times at home. Mom sympathizes but Dad just gets this “parents know better” look. “You'll understand someday, Carol,” he always says. “There are times for war, just as there are times for peace. The Bible says so. And this is the time for war. If we don't stand up for the country, who will?”
I don't mind standing up for countries, like when Hitler invaded Europe. But who did the Vietnamese invade? They're just trying to hold on to their own country. I think we ought to mind our own business, and let them live their own lives.