A Test of Faith Page 3

  “Faith loves it when you sing to her, Annie. And when you read to her. She gets all giggly when you read that book of kids’ bedtime Bible stories.”

  “I know, but she never wants me to hold her. That’s not normal, Jared. And she won’t nurse, either. Every time I try to feed her, she turns her head away. Or cries and makes angry little fists.”

  “The nurses warned us she was strong-willed, remember? That she had a definite mind of her own from day one.”

  When he reached out to stroke a soothing hand down her arm, Anne jerked away. His lips twitched. “Kind of like her mother.”

  Anne directed a glare at him. “Meaning?”

  He wasn’t the least bit put off by her temper. “Meaning when she’s got a head of steam built up, nothing will placate her until she’s good and ready to let it.”

  Anne started to shoot back a retort, then clamped her mouth tight. The man’s logic was so irritating! Especially when he was right.

  Like now.

  She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension. “She won’t even let me cuddle her, Jared. She just pushes me away.” She flung her arms out. “What kind of baby pushes her own mother away?”

  Jared went to stroke Faith’s brow, as though it were as furrowed as his own. “But Anne, Faith loves to cuddle. You’ve seen her at Bible study. She’s fussy until I pick her up and walk her—”

  “Exactly. She loves to cuddle with you. Which means the problem is with me.” She all but spat the words out, and he turned to her, brows lifted.

  Anne opened her mouth, then closed it. What was she doing? Why was she attacking Jared? It wasn’t his fault their daughter adored him and hated her. It was hers. It had to be.

  Jesus, You created women to be mothers, so what’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t my own baby love me?

  She sank into the rocking chair next to the crib. Jared knelt in front of her, taking her hands.

  “Annie …” He spoke her name as a caress, and all the fight went out of her—but not the hurt. That clawed at her heart, burrowing even deeper. “Honey, the nurse told you that some babies just don’t take to nursing. We’ve been feeding her with the bottle, and that seems to be working well.”

  He was right, of course, but there was little comfort in that. “But nursing is supposed to be one of the most natural things in the world.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says Allyson.”

  Jared groaned. “Annie, Allyson is a nut!”

  “She’s not a nut.”

  He held up his hands. “If you say so, but all that flower child babble sounds nutty to me. She walks around with flowers in her hair and enough beads to weigh down a freight train.”

  “But she’s had three children—”

  “Who she named Unity, Harmony, and Licorice!”

  Anne ignored him. “And she says nursing is a wonderful part of being a mother, of bonding with a baby.”

  “Do all women nurse their babies?”

  She frowned. There he went, being logical again. “No, of course not—”

  “But they bond with their babies?”

  Anne sighed. “Yes, of course.”

  “Then there you go.” He gentled his tone. “Annie, hon, it’s 1969. No one can say how things should or shouldn’t be done. You need to figure out what works for you and Faith. That’s what matters most.”

  But that was just it. Anne couldn’t figure it out. And if she hadn’t failed at nursing, then it meant Faith had no desire to bond.

  Not with her.

  Anne’s lip quivered, and she leaned forward to bury her face in Jared’s shoulder. “I’m a terrible mother.”

  His arms came around her. “Sweetheart, you’re exhausted. You’ve been up almost every night with Faith, and she doesn’t nap long enough for you to get rested.”

  Anne sniffled.

  “Why don’t you go take a nice, hot bath, then crawl into bed?”

  “I have to feed the baby.” She spoke the words into his shirt and felt him chuckle.

  “I’ll feed her. You try to get some sleep.”

  She straightened, then pushed through her weariness to extract a smile for her husband. “I must be the smartest woman in the world.”

  The sparkle in his eyes wrapped around her chilled heart, warming it. “And why is that?”

  Anne leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Because I married you.”

  “Then you are indeed a woman of great insight and wisdom.”

  Though Jared was laughing, his love came through loud and clear. And if he loved her so—undeniably and unequivocably—she couldn’t be all bad.

  He stood and pulled her to her feet as well, hugging her before he propelled her toward the door. “Go get some rest. And don’t worry about the baby. We’ll be fine.”

  She knew it was true. Her husband and daughter would be just fine without her. And that thought should be a comfort.

  But it wasn’t.

  Instead, it did something Anne hadn’t thought possible.

  Made her feel more rejected than ever.

  Anne woke with a start.

  She sat up, blinking in the darkness, every sense alert. She’d heard something…

  A quick look told her Jared wasn’t beside her. Maybe he hadn’t come to bed yet. She’d followed her husband’s prescription and soaked in a nice, hot bath. She even added fragrant oils and bubbles. Lots of bubbles. Amazing how comforting being surrounded by bubbles could be.

  By the time she slipped into bed, she was relaxed and yawning, though it had been barely 6 P.M. She managed to read two Psalms before her eyelids drifted shut. Giving up, she turned off the light with a sigh. It was always so encouraging to be reminded she wasn’t the only one who struggled. Within moments of snuggling into the pillows, she dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Now Anne glanced at the clock on her nightstand then frowned. Nearly midnight. Jared should be beside her, his soft snores providing a familiar cadence to the night.

  She listened again. The sound was barely discernable, but when Anne slipped from bed and cracked open the door, she recognized it immediately.

  Faith was crying. Wailing, really. That shrill, gasping infant shriek that brought a mother running to provide comfort. Anne hurried down the hallway to the nursery door and pushed it open.

  The darkened room was lit by the pale glow of a Winnie-the-Pooh nightlight and soft moonlight peeking in through the open blinds on the window. When Anne’s sight adjusted to the dim lighting, she realized Jared was in the rocker next to Faith’s crib. He rocked back and forth, his inconsolable daughter stiff against his chest. His large, work-roughened hands patted the baby’s back.

  “Come on, baby, hush … hush … it’s okay.”

  Her husband’s weary crooning brought a smile to Anne’s face. If there was one thing she knew, and knew well, it was that struggle to maintain a soothing tone despite utter desperation. How many nights had she sat like that, trying to coax their little girl to sleep, to relax in her arms? More than she cared to count.

  Strong-willed? Faith gave the term new meaning.

  But instead of dejection at the thought, Anne just chuckled. Jared had been right—all she’d needed was some sleep. And now that she’d gotten some, things didn’t seem nearly so hopeless.

  She padded across the thick carpet and laid a hand on Jared’s sagging shoulder. “Honey, let me take her.”

  Jared jumped slightly and turned to her. Regret seeped from his bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry. I tried not to let her wake you.”

  Anne brushed a kiss across his lips, then slid her arms around the red-faced, anger-stiffened infant. “It’s okay.” She raised her voice to be heard over Faith. “I’m feeling bet—”

  Pure astonishment trapped the word on Anne’s lips. She and Jared stared at one another, eyes wide.

  It was quiet.

  No screams. No crying.

  Just … silence.

  As if following some precis
e choreography, Anne and Jared looked down at their suddenly soundless daughter. She lay there, cuddled in Anne’s arms. The fingers of one little hand circled Anne’s index finger. With one soul-deep sigh, Faith closed her eyes.

  Within moments she was fast asleep.

  Anne raised stunned eyes to Jared. He leaned back in the rocker, a smile easing its way across his features. “I guess she wanted her mommy.”

  A silly grin spread across her face, but she didn’t care. “I guess so.”

  Jared pushed himself from the rocker. “I’m guessing you’re not ready to put her in the crib.”

  Anne was still grinning. “Good guess.”

  He nodded as she lowered herself into the chair and started rocking. Jared put strong hands on her shoulders and kissed her hair. “Enjoy, hon.”

  Anne leaned her head against him for a moment. “Count on it.”

  She watched him leave the room, then looked down at her sleeping baby, taking in the long lashes resting on chubby cheeks, the tiny mouth puckered.

  A hymn drifted into Anne’s mind, and she started to hum it, then sing the words, soft and low. “Shepherd of Love, you knew I had lost my way…” She loved that song, cherished the image of a loving shepherd tenderly guiding a lost sheep back on the path, back to safety.

  Rocking with gentle motion, she sang to Faith, letting the beautiful words wash over her as well. When Anne finished, she realized Faith’s little fingers still held onto her as though they’d never let go.

  But Anne knew better. As precious as this moment was, as much as it nurtured her battle-worn soul, it was most likely a temporary reprieve. So she focused on every detail, savoring, absorbing, consigning to memory the fact that, at long last, her daughter needed her. Wanted her.

  Only her.

  And no matter how brief this moment was, it was enough.

  four

  “What we see depends mainly on what we look for.”

  SIR JOHN LUBBOCK

  FAITH WAS RELENTLESS.

  “Again, Mommy.”

  “Sweetie, we’ve already played four games.”

  “Play again. Please?”

  Anne started to refuse, to say she had things she had to do—vacuuming, dusting, dishes—but tears sparkled in her daughter’s eyes, turning them an even deeper green. Faith might only be five years old, but if there was one thing she’d perfected, it was turning on the waterworks. Jared liked to tease, saying they had a budding Drama Queen on their hands.

  Budding nothing. Faith had blown past budding and gone right to full bloom.

  “Pleeeeaaaase, Mommy.”

  Patience … give me patience, Lord. Yes, five games of Chutes and Ladders was above and beyond the call. But her little girl was growing up so fast. Wasn’t spending time with her more important than keeping her house spotless?

  Your mother managed to do both.

  Anne pushed the thought away. Her mother hadn’t had to deal with diabetes. The disease had taken more of a toll on Anne in the last year. The worst part of it was how she kept gaining weight. No matter what she did, she simply could not get rid of fifteen wretched pounds that had taken up residence on her frame. For some that might not be such a terrible thing. But when one was just barely five-foot-four, it was horrid. Her doctor had warned her going on insulin would make it harder to maintain her weight. Well, he’d been right.

  Of course, it has nothing to do with the way you eat, right?

  Anne refused to listen to that irritating inner voice. So she snuck a few treats now and then. So what?

  So, it’s not helping. It’s making you more and more tired.

  Anne grimaced. As much as she hated to admit it, it was true. Yesterday had been especially bad. She’d given in to the lure of a plate of brownies, and before she realized it, she’d finished them off. The lethargy set in within the hour. She knew there was cleaning to be done, but she couldn’t get herself off the couch to do it.

  By the end of the day, it took all of her effort to get dinner ready and the table set just right. After dinner? Well, she’d gone to bed earlier than she could ever remember. She’d actually left last night’s dirty dishes sit in the sink overnight.

  Her mother would have been scandalized.

  Though she’d purposely avoided baking anything to replace the brownies, today hadn’t been much better. She felt like she was moving through molasses.

  “Mommy?”

  Anne pulled herself away from her morose thoughts and focused on Faith’s pleading face. Housecleaning could wait. “Okay. One more.”

  Faith squealed and grabbed the game pieces, plunking them down at the starting place. Anne watched her daughter, taking in the way her little mouth pursed as she concentrated, the way her beautiful hair framed her pixie face. Anne loved her daughter’s hair.

  She fingered a lock of her own hair. She and Faith shared the same hair color, which was fine, because the color was the one thing Anne liked about her hair. Everyone else liked it, too, and often commented on how the rich auburn sometimes seemed to dance with golden highlights when the sun hit it just right.

  But that was where any similarity ended.

  Faith had what Anne had always wanted. Girl hair.

  She’d said as much to Jared a few nights ago as they stretched out on the couch together after putting Faith to bed. Jared nestled Anne close and stroked her hair. “You know, Faith is a little carbon copy of you. She’s got your eyes, your smile … she’s even got your hair.”

  Anne grimaced and shook her head. “Hardly. Faith’s got girl hair.”

  His chuckle was deep and resonant. “Well, I sure hope so.”

  “No, you goof—” Anne poked him in the ribs—“I mean, she’s got that thick, silky long hair that bounces and looks … well, like a girl’s hair is supposed to look. Like you see on girls on TV.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Like those women on that new show.”

  He laughed. “Am I supposed to know what new show you’re talking about?”

  She swatted at him. “You know, the show you go gaga over. The one with those women detectives.”

  “Ah—” he waggled his brows—“Charlie’s Angels?”

  “That’s it!” Anne settled back, triumphant. “Now they have girl hair.”

  Jared tightened his arms around her. “Don’t you have … uh, girl hair?”

  “Hardly.” She leaned her head on his chest, pulling at a loose thread on one of his shirt buttons. “This stuff—” she let go of the thread and tugged at her hair, trying to ignore the fact that the texture of it wasn’t much different than the thread—“is not girl hair. Girl hair isn’t thin and straight. As for long, well you can forget about long. I have to keep it chopped short to look even close to decent.”

  When Jared’s finger trailed down her face, she glanced up at him. The tender amusement painting his features stirred the embers of peace within her—embers nearly doused by yet another day of conflicts with a certain increasingly independent and opinionated child.

  “You know, you look just like Faith with your lower lip sticking out like that.”

  Anne batted at his chest, and he caught her hand, lifting it to his lips. Then he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

  “I think your hair is perfect.” He cupped her face with those strong, gentle hands. “Just like the rest of you.”

  Anne sighed anew at the memory. Whether she agreed or not, Anne hadn’t been inclined to argue with him … not when Jared did such a good job of proving to her he meant it.

  “Are you too hot, Mommy?”

  Anne started and looked at her daughter. “Too hot? Why?”

  “ ’Cuz your face is all red.”

  Sometimes her child was entirely too perceptive. She was about to comment on that fact when she heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

  “Daddy!”

  The board game and pieces went flying as Faith jumped to her feet and ran to the front door. Alarm rang through Anne as she followed her daughter. It
couldn’t be that late, could it? One glance told her it was, and her heart sank.

  What was wrong with her? How could she let the day slip away without getting her chores done? What would Jared think when he walked in the door and realized not only was the house a mess, but dinner wasn’t ready?

  Taking Faith’s hand in hers, Anne pulled the front door open and stepped outside, forcing a lightness to her tone as she greeted her husband. “Hi, honey!”

  “Well, hello there.” He smiled as he slid from the car and closed the door. “Isn’t this nice? My two best girls coming out to meet me.”

  Anne passed Faith’s hand to him. “Jared, I hate to ask it, but would you be willing to run to the store for me? I … I forgot to pick up a loaf of bread for dinner.” Well, it wasn’t really a lie. She’d forgotten dinner altogether.

  Jared hugged Faith and nodded. “Sure thing, hon.”

  “Can I go wif you, Daddy?” Faith leaned against his leg. “I missed you soooo much!”

  The wry twist to Jared’s lips told Anne he wasn’t fooled. They both knew Faith figured that if she went along, she’d be able to coax a treat out of her daddy.

  “Sure, sweetie. You can come with me.”

  Anne made herself stand there as they piled into the car, then pulled out of the drive. She waved, then, when they were finally out of sight, raced into the house. She had twenty minutes, more or less, before they got back.

  Dashing into the living room, she scooped up the board game and dumped it into a drawer. Then she grabbed the vacuum and gave the living room rug a quick once-over, then managed a hit-or-miss dusting with the dust rag. That done, she scurried into the kitchen to throw some soup in a pan, slice cheese for grilled cheese sandwiches, and make quick work of a head of lettuce and a plump tomato for a salad.

  She’d just finished setting the table when she heard the car in the driveway again. She turned to head toward the front door and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the hallway mirror: Her hair was a disaster, her face was flushed, and her mascara was smudged.

  Oh yeah, you’re a regular Carol Brady, you are. The perfect wife and mother.