The GiftWilliam H. Coles |
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The Gift, page 2
At home, to her husband Harold who knew otherwise, Agnes dismissed Catherine’s nausea as tummy upset and refused to discuss the baby with Catherine for hours. She blamed Catherine’s problem on Harold’s family, all of whom were pig-headed and arrogant.
After dinner, alone with Catherine in Catherine’s room, she demanded to know the father of the child. She shouted the most likely possibility. But Catherine refused to answer. “So many you don’t even know?” Agnes said. Then Agnes sent Harold into the bedroom for a one-on-one (she hoped he would beat the crap out of Catherine). Agnes leaned with her ear against the bedroom door so she could hear every word. She was appalled: he was lucky to have a grandchild; birth was God’s gift to each of us, and how lucky this baby was to have Catherine for a mother. Not one word of condemnation. It was typical of her husband to turn disaster into a conspiracy against all she had accomplished.
Agnes kept her plan simple. After birth, far away, an immediate adoption was the only solution, and after the town no longer remembered or cared, Catherine could return to live out her penance.
Dry-eyed, Catherine lay on top of her bed covers on her back, which was already the most comfortable position for her. Her father’s visit had renewed her confidence. She was a good girl, a girl who made love to only one and with a sincere passion and respect that justified her action. Even with her first suspicions, she could not destroy her lover’s future with burdens he could not yet handle. There was virtue in a love baby, far different from sluts who made love to anyone, and whores who got paid, a fact she had shouted to her mother when her mother had used the word.
In the days after the doctor’s appointment, Catherine endured her mother’s frequent side glances and wet hissing sounds, and turned away when her mother reminded her how evil premarital sex was. But soon her mother’s unpredictable outbursts became so irrational that Catherine ignored her, and turned to prayer for her baby. Her mother then developed a distracting twitch under her right eye, loud speech and short sentences . . . and long cold silences.
In due time Agnes found the priest who was hesitant at first to help. Agnes made him admit he had arranged clandestine solutions to similar problems, saying she knew, at least second hand, of a girl he had protected. He soon admitted compliance. He said infant victims of accidental pregnancies deserved a life away from the debauchery of their mothers who must spend their life seeking full-time repentance to receive grace. He would help.
Two weeks before school let out for the summer, Agnes took Catherine to the airport. She gave Catherine numbered instructions on a folded piece of notepaper tucked in a paper-bound English/French dictionary. Agnes cried briefly at the gate but she felt only relief when the plane finally took off. She was profoundly afraid of flying but she felt no apprehension about Catherine’s trip and although she had hated the pain and discomfort of her own pregnancy, she did not worry about Catherine’s delivery in a foreign country. Whatever happened, good or bad, Catherine had brought it on herself. All was in the hands of God now. She could not be expected to do more, and she was confident many parents would have done much less, and much less effectively.
The convent school looked like a fortress with a high stone wall around the buildings that were set next to a wide, rapidly flowing river at the northern edge of the town, which was in the south of France where the trees were already full with spring and the air warm even at night. From the hill, visible from the school and anywhere in town, a thirteenth-century buttressed cathedral jutted two spires into the heavens.
The Mother superior was cool and distant but not mean or dismissive, and Catherine, after a few weeks, liked her authoritative efficiency. Catherine began school and attended mass daily, but understood almost nothing. To help, a novice taught her French at private sessions after Matins and after the evening meal.
For weeks, Catherine’s sickness came on her at unexpected times. But the Sister in the infirmary gave her medicines and arranged special foods from the kitchen and soon Catherine felt fine.
Catherine’s best friend was Sister Mary Margaret, an impish little nun who rarely thought of God outside of church, but who was eager to be involved with Catherine’s delivery of God’s gift. Sister Mary Margaret listened to Catherine’s fear of dying when the baby came out. “It is impossible,” Sister Mary Margaret said confidently in French although she had never seen a birth. “What if God punishes me with a hairy monster?” Catherine said hesitantly. “God does not always seem to care, but He is not mean,” Sister Mary Margaret said. Then Catherine told her of her fear of being stoned by French peasants—she had seen that in a film, for other sins, with Boris Karloff. Sister Mary Margaret gave her lyrical bubbly laugh that Catherine loved and frowned as she tried to find the right words in English. “C’est fou,” she said.
Agnes did not write to further emphasize her indignation at her daughter’s sin. Catherine sent only rare postcards to her mother, but sent long letters about her new life to her father at the office. Catherine counted the days for her father’s return-letters about home that he faithfully wrote.
And Catherine wrote to her priest.
Dear Father O‘Leary:
The Mother Superior speaks English okay and spoke of you at both my meetings with her. She smiles with her memories of when you met. She introduced me to the people who want to adopt. The woman put her hands under my blouse on my bare belly to feel her “petite poupée”. I didn’t like it but I try to be Christian.
Except for Sister Mary Margaret, one of the nuns, I still can talk to only a few here. The novices laugh when I use French words and they don’t try to understand my English. But I take walks through the town with Sister and visit the Cathedral daily that is half a mile from the school.
The women here sew beautiful clothes they sell in Paris. They have taught me and I now make baby booties and soft nightgowns for my baby. I crochet lace for the sleeves and the hem, even though Mother Superior says new parents will be waiting to take him . . . or her, away. She says it is best for all that way. As time grows close, I want to keep my baby, but I will not go back on my word.
I help the grounds keeper herd the goats that graze on the lawns of the school. He is a gentle man who sings lively songs in a high voice while he works. He makes goat cheese to give to the poor that tastes awful. But I pretend to like it to please him.
Yours in Christ,
Catti
When labor pains started regularly, Catherine went to the convent infirmary where there were two iron beds with mattresses. Sister Teresa, the midwife, gave Catherine a draught after the delivery. Catherine slept. When she woke, Sister Mary Margaret sat on a chair next to the bed, her back six inches from the splat. The sheets were clean. Catherine accepted a class of apple cider from her friend. Catherine’s body hurt when she rose up to drink. She handed the glass back and fell back, exhausted at the effort.
“Well?’ Catherine asked Sister. “Did you see my baby?”
Sister was silent.
“Was it a girl?” Catherine asked.
“A little girl,” Sister said in English.
Catherine found her friend’s hesitancy unexpected, and she turned on the bed to see her friend better. Sister was sobbing.
“What’s the matter, Maggie?”
Sister stood up and turned so Catherine could not see her face, then she hurried out the door.
“Please don’t go,” Catherine called. But Sister did not stop.
Catherine slept that afternoon. Sister Mary Maggie returned in the evening. Catherine was glad to see her.
“I want to see my baby,” Catherine said again.
“The baby is gone already.”
“So soon.”
“It was Mother Superior’s plan.”
“What’s gotten into you? I thought you were my friend.”
Sister Mary Margaret cried again.
“You’re useless,” Catherine said immediately sorry when Sister turned her head away. “I want to talk to Mother Superior.”
“It is not possible,” Sister said.
Catherine threw her feet over the edge of the bed, wincing with pain. “I will go to her,” she said.
“No! I will be punished. I was not supposed to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Sister began crying again.
“What? Tell me, Maggie.”
“The baby.”
Catherine knew her friend too well to not fear the worse.
“Is the baby dead?” Catherine finally asked.
“Oh, no, not dead.”
“What then?”
“She is . . . alive good.”
“What is that? What is not right about a baby? Tell me!”
Sister did not speak but squeezed her eyes shut, helping Catherine stand, and holding her arm as they went to Mother Superior. Twice Catherine had to sit on benches to rest. Her friend could not speak for her sobs. “Run ahead. Tell Mother Superior I’m coming,” Catherine said. Sister hesitated. “Go,” Catherine said, disturbed by her friend’s crying.
Catherine was surprised that Mother Superior hugged her for the first time ever, firmly and long. Mother Superior stepped back. “The family would not take her,” she said.
Catherine looked to the floor away from Mother Superior. “Why?”
“The baby is not well. They were afraid.”
“What is wrong?”
“I didn’t see her. But she has no feet.”
“That is ridiculous,” Catherine said. “I must see her.”
“I had the baby sent to a special hospital for children near Lyon. She will be given special care.”
“And the parents?”
“They have refused to be involved.”
“I must go,” Catherine said.
“No. She will have the care she needs to grow . . . and serve Christ.”
“I must see her. I will pay the way. Father has sent me more than I need.”
“It is not the money.”
“I will go. I do not need your blessing.”
“You always have my blessings, child.”
“I must go too,” Sister Mary Margaret said looking directly into the eyes of Mother Superior.
Catherine used her savings and she and Sister, with the now silent gardener and cheese maker driving, took a wagon to the train station in the next town. With stops, the train took six and a half hours to the city. To save money for the return trip, Catherine and Maggie walked two miles from the station to the hospital.
At the hospital, Catherine looked down at the baby, covered in a nightgown. Catherine has already decided her name was Patricia, not Audrey, as the nun dressed in a black and white starched habit had told her. Patricia was in a little nightgown with buttons on the back. One arm in a sleeve waved. The other sleeve partially covered a short arm that ended in three finger stubs that jerked up and out. The nightgown hem lay flat. Catherine retracted the edge. The right leg ended in a smooth knob above where the knee should be. The other leg tapered to an end above where the ankle would be—with no foot. The corner of the baby’s mouth tried to smile in a strong effort with unsure results, and the eyes wiggled and waved, sparkling as if sharing the irony of trying to make everything all work right.
“You have seen enough?” the nurse said. Her harsh accent was difficult to understand.
Catherine removed the little nightgown. She smiled at her child, and the child’s roving eyes seem to fix on her, at least for a few seconds, until they wandered off, but they came back again. And how soft her skin was, her red hair so fine. Her eyes were faded of color, but inquisitive and sharp. Her lips continued to wiggle at times in an uncoordinated smile.
“She is mine,” Catherine said.
“She must stay here with us,” the nurse said firmly.
She put the nightgown back on her daughter. She touched the side of her cheek. The little arm waved. She touched the chest with her index finger. There was a little passage of gas with a squeeze of the face.
Searching for French words exasperated Catherine. “Tell her Maggie,” she said to Sister Mary Margaret. “Tell her who I am. And get some milk and food for the trip.”
Maggie explained in French. The nurse listened intently without response.
Catherine began to take off her sweater to use as a blanket, but the nurse, with a gentle hand on Catherine’s arm, let Catherine know to keep her sweater . . . and then wrapped little Patricia in a hospital blanket. “It is for you,” she said in broken English. When Catherine was holding Patricia against her breast, the Sister leaned over and kissed the back of Patricia’s head. “Elle est miraculée,” she said.
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November 10th, 2011 at 2:21 am
Loved your story. When I was in hospital having my first baby, I had met an unmarried young lady who was in tears because she wanted to keep her baby, but felt that she had to abort the child due to peer pressures. I thought of the Virgin Mary, thinking that she would not be too pleased. I gave her advise to keep the child.
Your story sure gives advice to parents and in-laws, who discriminate, instead of loving the greatest divine gift of all.
November 6th, 2011 at 2:01 pm
gr8 craic
not suitable for children!!!
i want yer cheese crackers
but over all i love it
ps. I LOVE ANNIE KENNEDY
November 1st, 2011 at 7:31 am
Love the story, the mother love is so great.
October 31st, 2011 at 10:16 am
i enjoyed. i do not knowenglish very good, but it was so attractive that i spent more time and went through it.i am a persian live in London .
October 24th, 2011 at 1:49 pm
Thanks for your comment. I've thought about it and regret that I haven't even come up with a memory of what you need or a resource where stories are categorized to help. I'm sure you have, but if not, you might just "Google" search short story and soccer. " Sports stories" and similar might also work. Best of luck. WHC
October 24th, 2011 at 12:18 pm
Can you lead me to an inspirational short story to motivate my soccer team? The story should relate to either "teamwork" or rebounding from a loss. Thank you!
October 17th, 2011 at 10:49 am
Many thanks. WHC
October 17th, 2011 at 2:09 am
I 'happened' across this story just after reading a 'bibliography' a dear little 96-year old friend had left hidden away prior to her passing last month. In her writing, she tells about her own longing for children when she and her husband married in 1937. She really desired four, but she would be grateful for just one healthy child. As it happened, she gave birth to a baby boy eleven months after conception, who had had a cerebral hemorhage (sp) and was unable to walk or talk all of his 53 years. The love and thanksgiving she expressed for her son was amazing. She demonstrated this her entire life, caring for him at home and then placing him in a special school where she spent nearly five hours a day with him until he died. She never complained and often spoke of him so lovingly until she, too, was laid to rest. I firmly believe God chooses special people, whom he equips, to share His love and be our 'mentors'.
Great story!
October 17th, 2011 at 1:07 am
one typo on page 3 in the 4th paragraph..waste should be waist. Touching story.
October 8th, 2011 at 11:39 am
Thank you for your comment. Your thoughts mean a lot to me and I value the time and effort. Best regards. WHC
October 8th, 2011 at 9:10 am
Like others, I happened upon this story quite by accident. Your story is beautiful, not at all flowery, nothing superfluous, not sickening in sentimentality but very touching, and mostly, it provides a lot of heart along with many lessons. I see many comments asking for “an ending” or “more story”, but in my humble opinion, like life itself, this story ended on just the right note, with human imperfection: Agnes’s selfishness, judgmental attitude and inability to see past “flaws” to the greater truth. But, there is love aplenty in this story–even in Agnes–and your protagonist is a wonderful example of strength and character. I think this story is about imperfection and about acceptance and forgiveness. It is well-written and satisfies both the mind and the heart. Your characters are fully-developed in such a short space and your reader feels a kinship with Catherine and Patricia immediately. Thank you for the gift of your story–so appropriately named–and for the warmth that lingers and for the important life lessons. This was beautiful in so many ways. A pleasure to read. Best wishes with your writing.
October 5th, 2011 at 8:40 pm
this is wonderful story i really enjoyed it, it made me get the full concept about narrative essay.thank you
September 30th, 2011 at 6:10 pm
GRARL U DO NOT NO WE HAVE HOMEWARKE
September 25th, 2011 at 9:04 am
There are lessons in this story. We do not need any "the end". Thank you!
September 22nd, 2011 at 10:17 pm
Beautifully written! I disagree with those who demand "an ending." Love transcends the small details of our day to day, but for Agnes…she only ever wanted to learn to love. The most she could muster seems to be a grudging silence, and it is her lack of transcendent love that makes the ending ring with truth. Outstanding!
September 6th, 2011 at 12:34 pm
it is a great story
September 5th, 2011 at 12:46 pm
i really liked the story a lot
September 2nd, 2011 at 12:32 pm
I located this when looking for the story about the Passion Flower. I am so glad because I couldn't stop reading it. I really enjoyed it and plan to revisit
August 31st, 2011 at 1:54 pm
Loved the story but disappointed in the ending. Come on, I know you can finish this off with some unusual twist.Must say though thatI often have the same problem.
August 31st, 2011 at 11:35 am
Great writing,quite a bit different from
the gift.
August 31st, 2011 at 10:13 am
I was searching for a concordace bible
reference when I came across this story.
I could not stop reading it. It's a wonderful true to life story. The end was great because it was more real to life and shows that you can't always have a fairy tale ending.Great job.
August 31st, 2011 at 2:57 am
i loved this stoy
it just shows that no matter how ugly a child is you love the no matter what
August 30th, 2011 at 4:58 pm
wow what a graet story, really enjoyed it though it would of been nice if her mother had come around at the end
August 28th, 2011 at 3:19 pm
You seem to share the frustration of a number of readers. Thanks for getting in touch and expressing your thoughts. It provides a learning experience in the art of story telling. Best regards. WHC
August 28th, 2011 at 1:19 pm
what happened with the rest of the story? way to leave us hanging. good story, but where is the rest.
August 24th, 2011 at 2:03 pm
Thanks for getting in touch. And apologies for story ending. Others have wanted more to this story also. I thank you for taking the time to read but regret that it was unsatisfactory at the end. WHC
August 24th, 2011 at 10:48 am
The story just ended with no ending. I think I must have missed something. At the end of the 3rd page it had an arrow stating to go to previous page, but there was no ending. What happened? The story couldn't have ended with Agnes' bitter thoughts and then no more. I just don't understand. Please send me the rest of the story.
August 11th, 2011 at 4:20 pm
Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story, so full of love and hope. I stumbled across it quite by accident. which is sometimes how life seems to put the things you need at the time directly in front of your face. You have no idea how appropriate and meaningful this story was for me to read at precisely this moment. . . to say more would negate what a true "gift" this was for me to read. Many, many thanks.
August 9th, 2011 at 3:59 am
I loved this short story. I would have loved more. I think Mr. Coles style of writing makes all of us wanting to turn the page. God gave us a "fail safe" that reminds us that maybe our life isn't so bad. We really do have many things to be thankful for. It just takes the talant that Mr. Cole has that brings out sadness, empathy and finally happiness that makes me want more. He knew exactly what he was doing. Reading The Gift at this very moment in my life has been uplifting and I'm not in that little funk we all have once in awhile. Thank you Sir. I just hope I made sense to those that may actually read this.
July 30th, 2011 at 12:21 pm
That was a heart felt story,it has inspired me not to give up and to have faith …always trusting in God and what he can do for us if we only believe and trust him.Am sure that others who read this story will be inspired as have …This was a story well written.Keep up the good work god bless u!
June 12th, 2011 at 3:24 am
Thank you for this truly Human and Humane story. Human weaknes, Strength, Patience and Love are all traits of character vividly 'word-pictured'.
Congratulations on a story well written.
May 13th, 2011 at 2:37 pm
WOW! What a suberb story or human character!!! I will think of it everytime I see a baby and a person of a so called disability. Thanx … This affected me now and will benefit me in the future.
April 30th, 2011 at 3:53 pm
This was a wonderful story. You are a very good writer. I enjoyed the story very much.
April 22nd, 2011 at 7:47 pm
It soooooo good i like it
March 27th, 2011 at 9:55 am
Thank you for your comment and the recommendation. Very much appreciated. WHC.
March 27th, 2011 at 3:39 am
What a beautiful story! I don't usually like literary fiction (I'm all about fantasy), but this was beautiful and meaningful to me.
What a great mother Catherine is, and what a great father she has. The amazing thing is that the greatest gift may have been that disability — because it allowed Catherine to keep her baby. And Patricia sounds like a major blessing.
You might like the true story One Tattered Angel, by Blaine Yorgasen — it made me cry in the same sort of way.
Thank you for sharing this story!
February 24th, 2011 at 10:15 pm
Thanks for comment.
February 24th, 2011 at 10:12 pm
Life is amusing! And enigmatic too. WHC
February 24th, 2011 at 8:28 pm
Life is amusing. This is a great story and very real in the person of Agnus. We all know our Agnus' and mine just so happens to be my own mother of the same name. This would be a great novel I agree!
February 24th, 2011 at 8:25 pm
Awesome story! The others are right it would make an wonderful novel. Very refreshing and yes we all now an Agnus in our lives, mine is my own mother by the same name. Life is amusing don't you think!
February 22nd, 2011 at 12:07 pm
Many thanks for your comment, and I'm pleased you enjoyed this story. WHC
February 20th, 2011 at 2:51 am
I really enjoyed this story, even within the short amount of time we spent with them, we really got to know the characters. I can't say I like the ending though. It's a happy ending for mom and daughter but just too short. I don't like agnes and I think everyone can relate her to someone they know.. Keep up the good work!!
June 22nd, 2010 at 11:17 am
FRIST THIS STORY WAS GREAT AND I THOUGHT THAT IT MADE A WONDERFUL LESSON ON LOVE AND HOW YOU NEED TO TREAT CHILDREN AND TEACH THEM THAT THEY DO NOT HAVE TO BE TREATED ANY DIFFERNT THEN ANY OTHER PERSON AND I AM GLAD THAT HER MOTHER SAW THAT JUST BECAUSE SHE WAS NOT BORN WITH FEET AND SHE KNOW THE POTENSAIL THAT HER DAUGTHER HAD AND THAT NO MATTER WHAT SHE ALWAYS SHOW THAT TO HER AND SHE WANTED HER TO BE READY NO MATTER WHAT LIFE WOULD THROW AT HER THANKS FOR THIS STORY.
June 20th, 2010 at 7:25 am
it is a good story .i liked it .
April 1st, 2010 at 9:02 am
what a wonderful story.I too wanted more. This is so applicable to daily life.It really gives you lots to think about. thank you.
March 27th, 2010 at 11:42 am
Oh you are great,i think god has really giving u wisdom and talent, iread all sorts of book but dis is the best,i wish u more blessing from God to bless others.
March 17th, 2010 at 1:00 am
hey jst wanted to say great story and its given me a gud idea on what to write for my short story in my exam. :)
February 24th, 2010 at 1:47 pm
I just got done reading your story and I think it is wonderful. I write childrens stories and hope one day to be published, but to write a story like this… you are very talented and a very good writer. I had to leave a comment on this because I've never read anything like it and I do appriciate a very good story. I do however wish it were a long novel, I could only imagine the things you could come up with for that. I hope you continue to write more stories like this, and I'll continue to read them.