her long brown braid over her shoulder, the oldest of the sisters rubbed the youngest’s back. “It’ll happen in God’s time. You’ve only been trying for four months.”
“Six months,” Sadie corrected. It had stuck in her mind because when Hannah first talked openly about getting pregnant, elated Sadie had prayed they might have their babies within the same year. Shortly after that she had miscarried. “It’s been six months.”
“A year and six months,” Hannah whispered, her gaze lowered to her entwined fingers.
“What?”
In one brief but deep breath, Hannah regained her composure, glanced at the steaming mugs of tea then headed for the refrigerator. “Technically, I suppose you could say that for the first year it was less a case of thinking in clinical terms about cycles and conception and more a case of leaving it in God’s hands.”
“Not a bad place to be.” April took a sip of tea. “In God’s hands.”
“Yeah, I know.” She withdrew a cut-glass pitcher of iced tea and a delicate plate of cut fruit, took a side step to gather a tall fluted tumbler then set them all on the kitchen counter. “And in the end, for all our calculations and calendar counting, that’s where it all will always rest—with the Lord. But still…”
“You have your concerns,” April said.
“Yes, I do. We waited for so long now, trying to get Payt through med school and his internship, holding out for just the right time to start our family. Now every time I see that negative on the pregnancy test strip, I can’t help wondering if we waited too long.”
“Thirty-five’s not that old,” said the woman who felt ancient at thirty-nine. “Not these days.”
“I hope not. Payt wants so badly to have children. And he should become a father, he’d make such a terrific one.”
Payton Bartlett was what well-brought-up people around here kindly called “a late bloomer.” Drummed out of military school, washed out of the Coast Guard…and after he ran his uncle’s printing business into red ink, Payton’s father called him a bad seed. Probably worse if there were no ladies present.
Then, while “taking a break to find himself” young Payton had landed on a mission trip to Nicaragua, trying to impress a girl whose name he conveniently couldn’t summon to mind anymore. The romance didn’t last, but as is often the way things go, his lifelong love found him. Working with children in dire need awakened in Payton a drive and ability that no one had suspected he possessed. He came back from that trip with the desire to become a doctor, a pediatrician.
Old man Bartlett had amassed a fortune, but lacked foresight and forgiveness where his greatest earthly treasure, his family, was concerned. He cut Payton off, refusing to fund another impossible dream that would surely fail.
About that time Hannah entered the picture. She was working toward her degree in journalism at the time. They dated and married and later went off to his eighth-choice medical school, a small, obscure place in a western state—but that did not mean it came cheap.
So Hannah left college a few credits shy of attaining her degree and went to work anyplace she could. Payton studied. And when the time came for him to do his residency, Hannah suggested they return to Wileyville, where the Bartlett name had some cachet. With that to build on, she had hoped he’d get an offer to join a prestigious medical practice someplace in Kentucky where they’d have a lovely home and she’d have a houseful of babies.
“Yes, Payt will make a good dad.” April poured tea. “And you’ll be a great mom.”
Hannah picked up a lemon slice and stared at it for a few poignant seconds before raising it above her glass and squeezing the juice into her drink. “I suppose.”
Neither April nor Sadie seemed to have anything to say to bolster her opinion of her abilities. What could they say, after all, to reassure a sister who had lived her whole life
“Six months,” Sadie corrected. It had stuck in her mind because when Hannah first talked openly about getting pregnant, elated Sadie had prayed they might have their babies within the same year. Shortly after that she had miscarried. “It’s been six months.”
“A year and six months,” Hannah whispered, her gaze lowered to her entwined fingers.
“What?”
In one brief but deep breath, Hannah regained her composure, glanced at the steaming mugs of tea then headed for the refrigerator. “Technically, I suppose you could say that for the first year it was less a case of thinking in clinical terms about cycles and conception and more a case of leaving it in God’s hands.”
“Not a bad place to be.” April took a sip of tea. “In God’s hands.”
“Yeah, I know.” She withdrew a cut-glass pitcher of iced tea and a delicate plate of cut fruit, took a side step to gather a tall fluted tumbler then set them all on the kitchen counter. “And in the end, for all our calculations and calendar counting, that’s where it all will always rest—with the Lord. But still…”
“You have your concerns,” April said.
“Yes, I do. We waited for so long now, trying to get Payt through med school and his internship, holding out for just the right time to start our family. Now every time I see that negative on the pregnancy test strip, I can’t help wondering if we waited too long.”
“Thirty-five’s not that old,” said the woman who felt ancient at thirty-nine. “Not these days.”
“I hope not. Payt wants so badly to have children. And he should become a father, he’d make such a terrific one.”
Payton Bartlett was what well-brought-up people around here kindly called “a late bloomer.” Drummed out of military school, washed out of the Coast Guard…and after he ran his uncle’s printing business into red ink, Payton’s father called him a bad seed. Probably worse if there were no ladies present.
Then, while “taking a break to find himself” young Payton had landed on a mission trip to Nicaragua, trying to impress a girl whose name he conveniently couldn’t summon to mind anymore. The romance didn’t last, but as is often the way things go, his lifelong love found him. Working with children in dire need awakened in Payton a drive and ability that no one had suspected he possessed. He came back from that trip with the desire to become a doctor, a pediatrician.
Old man Bartlett had amassed a fortune, but lacked foresight and forgiveness where his greatest earthly treasure, his family, was concerned. He cut Payton off, refusing to fund another impossible dream that would surely fail.
About that time Hannah entered the picture. She was working toward her degree in journalism at the time. They dated and married and later went off to his eighth-choice medical school, a small, obscure place in a western state—but that did not mean it came cheap.
So Hannah left college a few credits shy of attaining her degree and went to work anyplace she could. Payton studied. And when the time came for him to do his residency, Hannah suggested they return to Wileyville, where the Bartlett name had some cachet. With that to build on, she had hoped he’d get an offer to join a prestigious medical practice someplace in Kentucky where they’d have a lovely home and she’d have a houseful of babies.
“Yes, Payt will make a good dad.” April poured tea. “And you’ll be a great mom.”
Hannah picked up a lemon slice and stared at it for a few poignant seconds before raising it above her glass and squeezing the juice into her drink. “I suppose.”
Neither April nor Sadie seemed to have anything to say to bolster her opinion of her abilities. What could they say, after all, to reassure a sister who had lived her whole life
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