After the Rains (20 page)

Their attorney opened the door and held it for them, but Cole held up a hand. “Hang on, Dennis. Could we have a moment?”

“Sure,” he said with a nod. “I’ll wait inside for you.”

Cole put an arm around Daria, and taking Natalie’s hand, he guided them to the side of the portico. “We’ll say our goodbyes now, honey, okay?”

Dennis had warned them that Natalie would be required to serve forty-eight hours of mandatory jail time immediately following the sentencing.

Natalie nodded, her chin quivering, but she didn’t break down. Cole bowed his head, and Daria wept silently.

“Father God,” Cole prayed, “we know you will go with us into that courtroom today—and after. We trust that what happens will be your will. Father, give Natalie—give us all—the strength we need to make it through.”

Daria heard the emotion in his voice and knew that Cole was struggling to continue. Finally he whispered, “Amen.” They embraced Natalie, and though she willingly accepted their hugs, she seemed stiff, wooden.

As they walked through the doors, Daria couldn’t help but remember another day long ago when they’d entered a different courthouse with equally anguished feelings about the verdict that would be handed down. Daria vividly recalled the warring emotions that had filled her heart as the judge had declared her marriage to Cole intact. She was glad and yet unspeakably sad that Nathan—her first love—had had to sacrificially and
lovingly relinquish his rights to her as his wife and to custody of their daughter.

Today Daria, too, had—in her heart—given up her rights to Natalie, turning her daughter over to the heavenly Father, trusting that whatever he allowed, he would also give them the strength to bear.

Weeks that seemed an eternity ago, Natalie had stood before a judge and pled guilty to the charge of driving under the influence. Today she would be sentenced.

Dennis Chastain met them inside the door and led them down the long corridor and into the courtroom. They all followed him blindly, their footsteps echoing on the polished floor. Daria had never been so grateful for their lawyer’s reassuring authority. There were half a dozen people scattered throughout the large room, and Daria wondered vaguely what had brought each of them here.

Dennis stopped and pointed to the first row of seats in the gallery. Cole stood aside, and Daria started to slide into the narrow space between the rows, but Natalie turned to them suddenly, a look of desperation on her face. Daria thought her heart would break. At that moment, she would gladly have taken Natalie’s place beside Dennis, would have willingly faced the judge on her daughter’s behalf. But this was something no one could do for Natalie.

Daria reached out and ran a hand down Natalie’s arm. “It’ll be okay, honey,” she whispered.

Cole patted Natalie’s shoulder and turned away. Daria knew by the hard set of his jaw that he, too, was struggling to contain his emotions. Cole put a steady hand on Daria’s back and guided her to a seat in the gallery.

Dennis pulled out a chair for Natalie at a large desk in front of the judge’s bench. Alicia Barstow, the prosecuting attorney came into the courtroom. She and Dennis shook hands and exchanged sober greetings.

A few minutes later, Judge Sanders appeared through a door behind the bench. Everyone stood as he took his seat above them.

“You may be seated,” the judge said, looking out over the nearly empty room. He acknowledged each attorney with a slight nod of his
head, then slid a pair of reading glasses over the bridge of his nose. For what seemed an eternity, he shuffled through a sheaf of papers that he’d taken from a folder.

Daria shifted in her seat, and Cole reached for her hand. Finally the judge looked up to address the county attorney. “Ms. Barstow?”

Though Dennis had informed them of how the proceedings would go, still Daria’s ears rang with humiliation as the charges against their daughter were read aloud. The prosecutor made her request for sentencing. As Dennis had predicted, her recommendations were mild.

The prosecutor took her seat, and Judge Sanders gave the floor to Dennis Chastain.

Dennis rose from his chair and stepped from behind the desk. “Your Honor, the prosecutor’s recommendations seem reasonable and prudent to us. We have no argument against them.”

Judge Sanders focused his eyes on Natalie. “Is there anything you wish to say, Miss Camfield? Or any evidence to present in mitigation of sentence before I pronounce the sentence?”

Daria couldn’t see her daughter’s face, but she could tell by the judge’s demeanor that Natalie was meeting his gaze. Natalie’s shoulders rose and fell, and Daria heard the deep intake of air before she spoke.

“Y-Your honor.” Daria could hear the torment in her voice. “I just want to say that I am very, very sorry for what I’ve done. I would give anything—” Natalie’s voice broke, and she shook her head, unable to go on. She turned to Dennis, and Daria saw that her face was contorted with pain, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Dennis nodded reassuringly.

“I’m sorry,” Natalie croaked out, her voice rising an octave. “That’s all … sir …”

Again, the judge studied the papers before him. Finally, he took off his glasses and raised his head to look directly at Natalie. “Miss Camfield, I’m going to follow the recommendations of the prosecuting attorney—and the recommendation of the DUI Work Restitution. I sentence you to a fine of $500 and forty-eight hours in the county jail. You will serve a probationary period of one year, during which you will report regularly to
your probation officer. And as per Kansas law, you will also be required to attend an alcohol information school. Do you understand the conditions of your sentence, Miss Camfield?”

Natalie nodded, and her breath caught on a violent shudder.

The judge closed the folder and looked from Dennis Chastain to the prosecuting attorney. “Custody of the defendant is hereby remanded to the sheriff for execution of the sentence. Unless there is anything further, that concludes this proceeding. This court is adjourned.”

Though Natalie’s sentence was one of the mildest she could have been given, still it was painful for Daria to hear these words spoken and realize that they were meant for her firstborn. Her little girl would not go home with them today. It seemed unbelievable.

And yet Daria and Cole both heaved audible sighs of relief when the sentence was delivered. The mandatory jail sentence was an alarming prospect, and Daria knew that Natalie was frightened. It would not be a picnic, but Dennis had assured them that Natalie would be safe during her stay in the facility. And it would all be over in forty-eight hours—a pittance compared to the weeks of uncertainty that had imprisoned them all since the night of the accident. Daria was so grateful that this terrible time was finally nearing an end.

With tears in their eyes, and gratitude mingled with sorrow, Daria and Cole went forward to thank Dennis. They went to Natalie then and each hugged her for a moment, weeping quietly.

She could not bear to watch as Natalie was led from the courtroom. She let Cole put his arm around her and lead her outside. They walked together through the parking lot, joined in their silence. Cole opened the car door, waited for her to slide across the seat, then closed it after her. He came around and got behind the wheel. For a long minute, they both sat, heads bowed, unspeaking.

What would they have thought if they could have seen this moment from those other courthouse steps so long ago, from that other day of decision in the past? Would they have made the same decisions? Chosen a different way to raise Natalie? Could they have done something that might have spared Sara’s life? Daria shivered involuntarily at the thought.

No, it was good that God did not allow a view into the future. And yet now she couldn’t help but long for a glimpse into Natalie’s future. A year from now, two years, would they be able to look back on this day the way they now looked on that other verdict? Would the passage of time allow them to rejoice that something good had come of this crucible, too? Would time benevolently diminish the anguish they had all experienced over the past weeks and months? Or did the future hold something even more bleak?

Finally, Cole sighed heavily, buckled his seat belt, and reached quietly across the front seat for Daria’s hand. Without looking her way, he squeezed her hand tightly in his own, and she knew that, in the tender language shared only by long-wed lovers, he was telling her,
We’ll be all right. We cleared another hurdle, and we’re still breathing, still living, still loving
. She squeezed his hand in return, and in her spirit, she whispered a prayer for her daughter.

Seventeen

T
he heavy door slammed shut. Its thunder reverberated down the corridor and back again, over and over, as though it would never end. Natalie put her face in her hands, but she could not weep.

She was grateful to find that the two beds in the room were empty. She could hear voices outside the door and knew that there were other prisoners in the pod, but for now, at least, she was alone in the small room. She looked down at the ill-fitting bright orange jumpsuit she’d been given to wear, and her face burned with humiliation.

Her lawyer had told her exactly what to expect from her time in jail. But her worst imaginings could not have prepared her for the degradation of being stripped of every personal belonging, searched, forced to shower and shampoo, and then being shown to this cell by the none-too-pleasant officer.

And yet she had received the treatment she deserved. She had no one to blame but herself. Sinking onto the bare mattress of the nearest bed, she sat with her elbows on her knees. Somewhere deep inside, a part of her desperately wanted the release of tears. She longed to cry and scream and wail. But it was all she could do to make herself continue breathing in and out.

She knew Mom and Daddy had tried to be strong for her sake, but she hadn’t missed the looks of agony on their faces as they left the courtroom. She had humiliated everyone she ever cared about. If she lived to be a hundred, she didn’t think she could ever make it up to them.

Time seemed to stand still, and her thoughts swirled in a swift current, like a whirlpool threatening to suck her into its vortex. Finally, her back and arms began to ache from sitting in one position for so long. She crawled onto the mattress, not bothering to put on the sheets that lay folded at the end of the bed. She curled into a fetal position and sought sleep, but instead, the accusing thoughts assailed her. Her breathing
became shallow, and her skin felt clammy and cold. Panic rose in her throat, and she wondered if she was having some kind of attack.

“Oh, God. Help me. Forgive me. Please, God, forgive me!” she whimpered. “You have to forgive me!”

She waited, feeling nothing. But slowly the panic subsided, and she was able to stretch out on the mattress. Her racing heartbeat gradually slowed. Staring at the empty ceiling she prayed. Pleading for mercy, forgiveness. Begging God for a chance to redeem her life. But Sara was as dead as she’d been yesterday and the day before. How could that ever be made right?

Natalie grew drowsy and reached for the thick blanket that lay under the stack of unused sheets. She pulled the scratchy fabric around her shoulders and finally drifted off. When she opened her eyes next, harsh light from the central room of the pod shone in through the windowed door. Her room remained in shadow. She closed her eyes again and slept deeply.

When she woke again, she somehow knew it was morning. The smell of burnt toast hung in the air. She heard the clatter of some sort of cart being wheeled down the corridor. She sat up on the side of the bed and waited, not knowing what to expect. Her door opened, and a uniformed woman deposited a tray on her desk. Natalie got up and went to sit in front of the congealed oatmeal and soggy toast but soon returned to her bunk. After an hour, the same guard came to pick it up.

“You ought to eat something,” the woman said without emotion.

“I’m not hungry.”

The guard lifted broad shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “Suit yourself.” She picked up the untouched tray and left the room. Natalie was alone again.

The next thirty hours crept by. Natalie was barely aware of her surroundings, scarcely moving from the utilitarian mattress on the stripped bed. When offered an opportunity to exercise in the facility’s gym, she declined. She wasn’t asked again. She’d been told that she would be allowed to call home, collect. What would she say to them, she wondered. It was better not to call at all. Besides, she couldn’t make herself go out among the other inmates.

Inmate
. A label that—like the orange jumpsuit—she’d never, in a lifetime of thoughts and dreams, imagined she would someday wear.

Natalie refused the lunch they brought her as well, but when the supper tray came, she went to the desk, pulled out the chair, and ate the tasteless food. Later, after they’d taken the tray away, she could not remember what it was she had eaten. A Gideon Bible lay on the desk. Natalie stared at it, feeling drawn to it. But she couldn’t bring herself to open the cover and accept the comfort she knew it offered. These hours were part of her punishment. She didn’t deserve comfort. She deserved the dull ache, the numbness she felt in this place—this hell of her own making.

She scarcely moved from the bed for the rest of her incarceration. When the door swung open and the same uniformed officer who’d admitted her informed her that her parents were waiting to take her home, it was as though she’d awakened from a macabre dream.

She shed the orange jumpsuit and put on her own clothes again, but she could not shed the guilt that she’d worn into this place. That burden remained as heavy as it had been when she’d walked in through the doors of the county jail.

Natalie fell asleep in her own bed that night, one more debt for her sins allegedly erased from the ledger. But she knew in her heart that forty-eight
years
in jail would not be enough to atone for what she had done.