Troubled waters, p.25
Troubled Waters, page 25
“I saw Harley in secret, and I knew after our first date I was getting in over my head. Harley had dated dozens of girls. He was the most sought-after guy at school. I, on the other hand, had shared an ice-cream sundae once with Peter Jameson, the head deacon’s geeky son, at the annual church picnic. That was the extent of my knowledge of the opposite sex.
“So there I was—dating Harley Preston and wondering what in the world I was doing. I’d dismissed my studies and fallen hard for a guy I hardly knew. As the days passed and we spent more time together, I realized Harley’s attraction to me was my innocence, and it frustrated me as much as it complimented me. I didn’t want to be innocent and naïve. Yet I knew, even at eighteen, that my stability and maybe my nobility were what attracted him. He’d never had a girl with either before.
“I fell hard for Harley. And I knew I was in trouble, that I would do anything he asked. I couldn’t find an ounce of strength to draw me back to the morals and standards that had been so much a part of my life. Each date we had, Harley began pressuring me to go further and further. I was so inexperienced in ordinary relationships that I had no idea how to steer myself in a complex one.
“But the significance I felt when I was with him, the way the other girls stared with envy when we were seen together in the halls, it was all I’d dreamed of and now it was here, within my reach. The quiet voice of my father’s insistence of God’s love and demand for obedience never compared to the louder and more exciting temptations that beckoned me every moment I was with Harley.
“I was able to keep my feet grounded the first few times we saw each other; I knew, after all, I was supposed to be Harley’s stability. I was supposed to show him the way, the truth, and the life. But the way suddenly became broad and unpredictable. The truth was muddled. And the only life I cared about was the one I was living with Harley.
“On a dark, cool night, Harley and I found ourselves in the old rundown house across the river. Everyone was always warned to stay away from it. It wasn’t safe. It was used to store hay occasionally, but that was it. Harley figured out a way to open the door and pry away enough of the boards hammered across the windows to let the moonlight stream in. What once was a dark and creepy old house now filtered light in a mystically beautiful way. We lay together in the hay and talked. I’d always assumed Harley was a shallow person, a meathead who worshiped sports. But he had depth, and as we grappled with our fears about the future, we connected in a way I’d never connected before with another human being. Maybe it was only for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t even real. But I felt there was one person who understood me.
“Then I fell. The first temptation the devil had orchestrated for me knocked at my door, and I answered it. It came and went, and I felt shame like I’d never known. I could hardly think straight, and as much as I wanted to confess to someone, there was no one. I certainly couldn’t tell my father. He’d had such high hopes for me, such grand expectations. I’d failed him. I’d failed God. I’d lost something I could never get back. The thought of that kept me in bed three days straight with unending nausea. And then I found out to my horror four weeks later that I was pregnant.
“I’d hardly spoken to Harley since that night in the old house. To him, it wasn’t any big deal. It certainly wasn’t his first time, nor would it be his last. But for me, it marked a downward spiral in my life and one that I wasn’t able to stop. Now the unbelievable consequences of my actions could not be denied. The proof was in my womb. The evidence followed me to every toilet I hung over.
“It was a week before graduation, and I knew I had to tell my parents. I’d taken most of my finals and hadn’t done well on them at all. Frankly, that was the least of my concerns. The dread that overcame me with each attempt to tell them was indescribable. I was in the greatest despair of my life, and I knew what I had to do.
“I spent an evening reading my Bible. I studied verses about forgiveness and God’s unconditional love. I read about the woman who committed adultery and how Jesus forgave her. The more I read, the more comfort I found. I spent three hours reading those words until I found enough courage to confess what I had done. And I found comfort in knowing my father knew those words better than anyone. He’d been my picture of God my whole life, and now it was time to confess and be forgiven.
“I found my father in the attic. The sun hadn’t quite set, but the attic was already dark except for the oil lantern my dad was using to read by. It wasn’t often that I disturbed him in his attic, so he knew I had something significant to say. I sat in an old wooden chair near his reading chair. He closed his Bible and smiled at me. Before I could find the words to begin, he said, ‘Macey, I’m so proud of you. You’ve been an excellent daughter, an excellent student, and you’re simply priceless to me.’ He rose, went to his desk, and pulled out a small box from one of the drawers. He said, ‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself when you’re gone, but I know you want to go to college, and I can’t stop you from doing that. You’re much too smart to stay around here and help me on the farm.’
“I could hardly breathe. I didn’t want him to say these things. I couldn’t make my mouth move to try and stop him. He then said, ‘I wanted to save this for after graduation day, but I might as well give it to you now. I’ve had it for months. I saw it in this little shop in Parsons and I couldn’t help myself.’ His hand opened, and he held the small box in front of me. ‘Well, what are you waitin’ for?’ he said. ‘Your dad’s not getting any younger standing here waiting for you to open it.’ He was smiling at me, and I could hardly keep myself from breaking down and crying. I took the box and stared at it. I had no idea what it could be. My stomach lurched and I thought I was going to throw up. He urged me again to open it and so I did.
“There, in the middle of a soft piece of cotton, was the most beautiful gold necklace I’d ever seen. Hanging on it was a small ornate cross. I gasped when I lifted it from the box. He said, ‘Let me help you put it on. Do you like it?’ I nodded as he helped me clasp it around my neck. My fingers felt the cross over and over, and for a small moment I drew strength from that. He was smiling at me and looking at the cross, so proud. ‘I’ve never even gotten your mother a piece of jewelry like that. It was a little expensive, but you’re worth it. I just can’t tell you how proud I am of you. I probably don’t tell you often enough, but I hope you know it. You’re a fine young woman, and I’m lucky to be your dad.’
“Those words rang in my ears, and the tears came so suddenly I didn’t even realize I was crying at first. My father said, ‘Why are you crying? Don’t you like your necklace?’
“I nodded and tried to smile. ‘I love it,’ I said, and then with all the strength and courage I could muster, I said, ‘But that’s not why I’m crying.’
“My father’s kind and warm eyes dimmed with concern. He sat in his reading chair and looked at me. ‘Well, what is it? What’s wrong?’
“As fast as I could, I replayed all those words of Jesus. Staring at my father’s Bible balancing on the arm of the chair, I said, ‘I’m pregnant, Daddy.’
“He didn’t say anything for a long time, so I finally looked into his eyes. I didn’t recognize him. What earlier had been eyes full of kindness and love were now dark and mean. I started crying harder the more intensely he stared at me.
“He stood up and said, ‘That Preston boy? Is that who did this?’
“I nodded, shaking so badly I thought I was going to pass out. ‘I’m so sorry, Daddy. I messed up. I’m so sorry.’
“He turned his back toward me, and his head was lowered. I continued to cry, and that was the only sound in the attic for a long time. But then he faced me again. His face was red, and his eyes were wild with fury.
“ ‘Daddy!’ I cried, but his lips were curled back, like a dog getting ready to bite.
“ ‘How could you do this?’ he shouted. ‘How could you go and do this? What have I spent all these years teaching you? I’ve worn holes in my pants praying for you!’ He stepped toward me, and I clutched the side of the chair I was sitting in. ‘What’s everyone at church going to think? I’m the head deacon! I have to keep my family in order! How could you betray me like this? How could you betray God like this?’
“I shook my head. I had no words, no answers for his questions. All the shame that had been washed away by the words of Jesus now poured back over me like a flood. Because of the tears, I couldn’t even see him anymore. He was just this dark blur towering over me.
“ ‘Was it worth it? Was it worth selling your soul to the devil?’ He was almost screaming now, and I curled into the chair. I wiped my eyes to look up at him, just in time to see him start to say something. Our eyes met, and he stopped himself, but his lips were formed in a perfect circle to say what I knew he wanted to. Whore.
“He had stopped himself, thankfully. I might’ve died from a broken heart if I’d heard my father say that about me. And instantly, I knew he regretted even beginning to utter that word.
“But what he did next shattered me more than I can express. He grabbed the necklace around my neck and yanked it off of me. Then he left. I cried and cried, far into the night, and he never returned. My hand kept feeling for that precious necklace, but it wasn’t there.
“By morning, I’d fallen asleep on the floor of the attic. It was early, and I doubted anyone was up yet. The sun was just starting to come up. Although they were early risers, my parents usually waited until the sun was over the horizon before getting up. I tiptoed downstairs wondering what I should do. As I stood at the kitchen window, though, I saw that my father’s truck wasn’t there in the driveway. He’d already gone.
“Mother was still upstairs. I went to the kitchen table, the same place it is today, and just sat there. I was numb, emotionally exhausted. My father’s words haunted me until finally I knew I had to do something about it. My father had always been such a righteous man; he’d always worked so hard at pleasing God. And now I was going to humiliate him with my being an unwed mother. This was probably the most horrifying thing he could comprehend. I didn’t want to lose my father’s love. I couldn’t. He meant the world to me.
“Two days went by and my father didn’t speak to me. My mother was silent, too, but not out of anger. She just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know if she knew exactly what was going on.
“On the third day, I’d determined to make things right. My father didn’t deserve the kind of humiliation that was going to come with this ordeal. In the middle of the night, I found the old milk jar he kept money in and counted out over two hundred dollars. I told my mom I needed to borrow the car to go do some things for graduation. Seniors didn’t have to attend school the week before graduation, so she didn’t stop me.
“I drove to Joplin, what I considered then to be a very big city, and found a clinic there. I’d heard one of my friends talking about her cousin getting an abortion at this same clinic. I looked it up in the phone book, found it, and made an appointment. Three hours later I was lying on a cold metal table and staring up at the ceiling. I didn’t cry. All I could see were my father’s cold harsh eyes. If this would bring him back to normal, then it was worth it.
“It took twenty minutes total. I drove home, hardly feeling any pain, and went to my room to take a nap. At around five I heard my father’s truck pull up, and I watched him from my bedroom window. He came inside, and I heard him discussing the farm with my mother. Then Mom said she had to go over to somebody’s house to deliver a casserole, and she left.
“I went downstairs and found my dad in the living room in his big chair, watching television. I remember being startled when he looked up at me. His look was different. It was softer. I didn’t know why, but maybe he suspected what I’d done. Maybe he was relieved.
“He started to say something, but I interrupted him. I stood in the middle of the living room and said, ‘You don’t have to worry anymore, Daddy. It’s taken care of.’
“He said, ‘What do you mean by that?’
“ ‘I’m not pregnant anymore. Now you don’t have to worry about what people will say at church. I used the money in the milk jar, Daddy, but I promise to pay it back.’
“At first I thought he was angry about the money. He literally pulled at his hair and glared at me in disbelief. I repeated that I would pay back the money, and then it dawned on me that it wasn’t the money he was angry about. I took a step back as he got up from his chair.
“ ‘You killed that baby?’ he yelled.
“ ‘No, Daddy. I didn’t . . . didn’t kill . . . I thought that’s what you wanted. I thought—’
“ ‘You thought murder was the answer? You thought you could just go and murder this child and be rid of all your problems?’
“ ‘No, it wasn’t like that. . . . ’ My words betrayed me. I couldn’t say what I meant. All the while I was trying to process what he meant. Was he calling me a murderer? Was that what I did? I was trying to make things right, to keep my father from being humiliated. But as his eyes burned into my soul, I knew I hadn’t done that at all. In fact, I’d messed up so terribly I realized there was no correcting it. There was no turning back. I’d sent myself to hell, and there wasn’t a single way to be redeemed.
“I ran upstairs to my bedroom. A few minutes later I heard my dad’s truck roar to life. He sped away. Nighttime came slowly, and my father never returned. I packed a suitcase, trying to keep it light, only the bare essentials—jeans, a couple of shirts, extra pair of shoes, underwear. I also packed my little phone book. And my favorite nail polish, the one my father didn’t let me wear very often.
“I was zipping my suitcase when the door opened. My mother stood there, her eyes wide and terrified and filled with tears. I turned and tried to hide the suitcase behind me, yet it was obvious what I was doing.
“She didn’t speak a single word. Instead, she walked up to me, gave me a hug, and then opened my hand. She closed my fingers around something, hugged me again, and wiped away the tears that were streaming down my face.
“She closed the door behind her. When I opened my hand, there was five hundred dollars in cash. I sat on my bed and realized I was going to have to make a decision. I had to figure out where to go.
“It made the most sense to go to Texas. I’d likely received a full scholarship to Texas Tech, and that was my best bet for survival. I sat on my bed for five hours. It was the middle of the night. My father hadn’t come back yet, and I knew now was the time to leave.
“I quietly walked downstairs with my suitcase and money, opened the front door, and left. I hitchhiked all the way to Texas. I never saw my father alive again.”
Twenty-Four
It was over in a matter of minutes. Macey blinked herself back to reality and was stunned at how quickly it had been retold. Could seventeen years of heartache, despair, and shame and grief and anger be summed up in several minutes? Impossible.
Her mind raced through everything she’d said. Had she left out any important details? Had she been explicit enough about how angry her father had been? She shook her head as more tears came. Only for a moment did sharing her story with Noah make her feel better. She’d imagined for years that when she finally said it out loud, some magical healing would take place and her heart would be mended. She’d been to therapy many times but never mentioned it. She’d always lied about why she had problems maintaining relationships. Each story was different, and she finally realized she was wasting her money by not being truthful. So she continued to wade through the pool of men the world offered her, trying to find someone worthy of understanding her fears and struggles. There had been no one.
Until now.
Macey looked at Noah. He sat comfortably on the couch, his face grim with concern, but his eyes still alive with some strange hope she wasn’t familiar with. The story didn’t seem to shock him, not nearly as much as it had shocked her in the retelling of it. And yet a perplexed look now crossed his face, something he wasn’t understanding perhaps. He didn’t say what it was.
Macey took a deep breath. For a moment she thought she was going to be okay. Tears flowed and her hands trembled, but she felt she was beginning to recover. That hope didn’t last long, though. Before she knew it, her body heaved as her heart cinched with anger and grief, as her mind replayed her father’s horrible words to her, along with the condemning silence that had said even more.
If confessing everything wouldn’t bring her peace, then what would?
Then Noah said, “I’ll be right back. I need to get the girls ready for bed.”
Macey nodded. She watched him walk upstairs and then laughed to herself. She’d confessed the darkest secret of her life, and that was what he had to say about it? Incredible. She leaned her head back against the top of the couch, stared at the ceiling, and waited.
Noah was upstairs for twenty minutes, tucking in the girls, reading them a story, reassuring them that the worst of the storm had passed and they were safe. The soothing patter of a gentle rain almost lulled her to sleep.
“I think I’ll fix us some tomato soup,” Noah said. His sudden presence and voice jolted Macey back to consciousness. He smiled at her before stepping into the kitchen. “It’s a tomato soup kind of evening, wouldn’t you say?”
Macey stretched her arms toward the ceiling and then stood and joined him. The air had turned cooler, so soup sounded perfect. The loud whir of the can opener awakened her even more. She checked her watch. It was after eight. Should she return home to her mother?
Noah seemed to read her mind. “You can stay until the rain lets up, can’t you?”
