The Chapel

The Chapel

Wilma was never miracle-minded. If anything, she regarded those with the spiritual instinct as naïve, callow even. And, then Ivy fell ill, ailing with the kind of sickness most don’t recover from. No mother should ever have to watch her baby suffer was all she could say when others dispensed words of ease, support and offers to pray for her daughter. No amount of warm thoughts and prayers are going to cure my baby girl she’d retaliate. There was nothing she could do to help little Ivy; their lives now depended on the expertise and care of strangers, what good would prayer do? And then, one grievous morning she found herself in the hospital chapel desperate for a way to disintegrate her despair. Wilma, the cynical shattered mother of a darling blonde hair blue eyed angel, found herself on her knees entreating to God.

Her mournful cries were culled by a gentle hand on her trembling shoulder. She looked up into the kind face of an elderly woman with dull grey hair swept up scrappily in a bun and an ornate cameo brooch on lapel of her nubby coat sweater, “My stars, are you alright, dear?”

Wilma wiped the tears from her cheeks urgently, “I don’t think my baby girl is going to make it. I don’t know what to do, I can’t live without her. I feel so helpless.”

Wilma slipped up onto the wooden pew and tucked a mangled tissue into the sleeve of her plaid shirt.

“I understand your pain, I know how you are feeling,” the old woman empathized and sat down beside her.

Wilma shook her head defensively, “I highly doubt that.”

The old woman sat silent a moment with her eyes closed and drew in a calmative breath, “You’ve come to the right place if you’re looking for something, the chapel. It’s peaceful here, easy to think and pray.”

Wilma glowered, “I don’t know the first thing about praying. I don’t even know who to pray to. I mean, what kind of God would burden such a child with so much pain and agony,” her voice cracked.

There was a long pause before the woman replied again, “Yes, I asked myself that too when my daughter died all those years ago. I was angry. I needed someone to blame.”

Wilma’s heart sunk for reprimanding her, dismissing her compassion so quickly. She respired with a heavy sadness, “What happened to your daughter?”

The old woman looked down at her disfigured hands placed daintily in her skirted lap, “House fire. She was just four.”

Wilma’s breath caught in her throat, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s been a good many years since I thought about the actual ‘event’. There are times I can’t recall the details at all but it never really leaves me. You see, we’d all gone to bed, tuckered out after a long day of celebrating my husband Earl’s birthday, God rest his soul. There were balloons, a crooked chocolate cake the kids helped to bake, music, and a big feed of corned beef and cabbage, his favorite. I put my son Roy to bed first, he was almost six then and a real rascal to get settled down at night. Once he was tucked in I went upstairs to Dolly’s room. Ah, she was in there jumping up and down so hard on the bed I thought the springs might snap. She was just as rambunctious as her brother, two peas in one pod they were. Eventually I got her to sit down and combed that wily head of hair she had. It was that bad I called her Tangles Tillie more than I called her by her own name. It was in constant knots, and no wonder, the child never sat still. She had ants in her pants all hours of the day. She was something else, gave me a real run for my money. Anyhow, I tucked her in tight with Brown Bear and went back downstairs to clean up from the party. Earl was already sawing logs in his chair in front of the TV, happy as all get out. I quietly put the kitchen back together and finally tucked own tired myself in. I was out like a light from the excitement of the day. It was Earl’s howling up the stairwell that scared me out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night. The house was on fire. You see, Earl stayed asleep downstairs in his chair so he rushed in and gathered up Roy from his bedroom just off of the kitchen. Dolly and I were trapped up on the second floor. The fire gobbled up the stairwell. There was no way up or down, only thing that traveled up were Earl’s tortured screams for us to get out through Dolly’s window onto the roof and then climb down the trellis. So, that’s what I did. Or, I thought I did.”

Wilma winced and tried not to stare at the old woman’s burnt hands, “You thought you did? I don’t understand.”

The old woman turned her bony knees a little more in Wilma’s direction, “I rushed into Dolly’s room and forced the window up as wide as it would go and I gathered her up in her blankets and escaped out like Earls said. As soon as my feet hit the ground there was a sort of explosion that threw us all back and I dropped the blankets I had balled up in my arms that were protecting Dolly only Dolly wasn’t inside at all, just Brown Bear. In all the panic of trying to get us to safety it didn’t register that my arms were empty, I just wanted to get us out of there. They found her little body curled up in a ball inside of her wardrobe hiding from the fire. She’d be in her fifties now, bless her heart. So, when I say I understand how you feel, I truly do.”

The old woman swiped a thin tear from her wrinkled eye and patted Wilma’s hand. Wilma welcomed the human touch, “That’s … it’s just so … how did you make it through?”

The old woman smiled, “It was a Godless time, and I waged war on everyone and everything but mostly God. I could not for the life of me understand how he could let such a thing happen. Earl and I almost divorced it got so bad. I blamed myself for what happened and cursed God for not taking me instead of her. I said this much to Father Matthew, who came calling one late afternoon to see how I was doing and to see when I’d be coming back to church. I told him never. And, then he asked me why I was choosing to honor her memory with anger. That struck a chord. I didn’t want to do that all, I just wanted her back I told him. Father Matthew kindly reminded me that Dolly’s destiny had been fulfilled here on earth and that God’s plan for her had been brief but important.”

Wilma scoffed, “Now, that kind of statement would make me lose my mind.”

The old woman nodded, “In that moment I thought I might too but Father Matthew reminded me that while I was busy forsaking God I was forgetting to ask him for the strength and courage to carry on. Nothing was going to bring Dolly back to us. Earl still needed a wife and Roy still needed a mother. I had to find a way to make peace with it all. I had to summon the mettle from somewhere so that we could survive. I couldn’t do it alone, so finally I asked God for his guidance. And, he listened. He filled me with the will to carry on for my family and for all the memories we had with Dolly. I like to imagine sometimes that she is at His right hand, in the whitest of light, pure and joyful, doing Heavenly work. Authentic prayer is what helped me rise up out of my rut and reclaim my humanness and mend my broken heart. It took a long time to admit that Dolly’s work here on earth was done but I still had more to do. And, in some fateful way, he may have kept me around long enough to see my great grand baby be born so I could sit next to you and impart my wisdom. It might even be Dolly’s doing, God works in mysterious ways, you know.”

Wilma tried to smile but her heavy heart anchored the corners of her lips downward, “Would it be … um… too weird to ask if you’d say a prayer … with me?”

The old woman appeared moved and extended her hand, “Yes of course. There is a sort of prayer that I have since committed to memory. It’s from Ecclesiastes and it helps me to make it through the bad days because I do still have them. Are you ready, dear?”

Wilma offered a quick nod and accepted the old woman’s open palm, “Ready.”

The old woman began, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under Heaven, a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up. Dear Lord, please give this mother and child the strength and courage to endure whatever is before them. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Wilma sobbed uncontrollably, “I am so ashamed to admit this but if I’d known I was going to lose her I wouldn’t have had her. I’m not strong enough to do this. But then at the same time, despite all of the agony, I’d go through this a thousand times over because I have never loved anyone or anything so much. I knew when Ivy’s complexion grew pale and she lost her appetite and was too tired to play hopscotch, and this kid loves hopscotch, something was really wrong. That was six months ago. We’ve been in and out of here so many times she’s more at home here than in our own. This time only one of us will be leaving and it won’t be my baby girl. I’m terrified.”

The old woman rubbed Wilma’s shoulder tenderly, “There is nothing harder in this world than losing a child, nothing. My heart goes out to you because the living hell before you will be insufferable, I couldn’t candy coat that truth for you no matter how much I’d like to. You’ll wish some days you had died right along with her. It may not be evident to you right now what Ivy’s purpose is here on earth but I am certain it is meant for good. I am confident that Dolly allowed our paths to cross today. And, if you ever need someone to talk to, I can be that person. I’m an old woman. I’m alone all the time. I knit and watch my soaps now mostly so it’d be no bother.”

Wilma chuckled, “That’d be nice, thank you. I’m Wilma by the way,” she fished her tissue from the cuff of her sleeve and dabbed her nose.

“And I’m Freya. I’m so happy to meet you, dear,” she replied pleased with herself and handed Wilma her phone number written down in perfect cursive on a piece of paper from her tiny clasped purse that sat beside her on the pew.

Wilma accepted the note and asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Jessica Tandy?”

Freya erupted in a crackling belly laugh, “I’ve been the butt of a good many ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ jokes in my day.”

In propinquity,

Nic