Tracie Peterson (31 page)

The landing back at base was a rather hard one, but no one seemed to mind. Deac had worried over leaving the three men in the nose, but there was no other recourse. They couldn’t move Matt without risking further bleeding. The crippled B-17 performed admirably, however, and after bouncing once and then twice, she rolled to a stop on the tarmac amidst the high-pitched sound of ambulance and fire equipment.

Before he could even think about the events that had just transpired, Deacon and his men were off the
Circuit Rider
, congratulating one another on a job well done and fussing over their wounded navigator.

Digger stood strangely quiet beside the ambulance as Deacon made one final check on Matt before the medics rushed him to the
hospital. There was no way of knowing whether they could save him or not, but Deacon was hopeful.

“You seem kind of quiet for a man who just cheated death,” Deacon said, slapping Digger on the back. “Come on, we’ve got a celebration ahead of us after debriefing.”

“Aren’t you going to say something about that Spitfire?” Digger questioned, taking off his leather flight helmet.

“I’m sure glad he showed up when he did,” Deacon replied. “Answered prayer, if you ask me, but I know you don’t hold any stock in that.”

“You didn’t see it, did you?” Digger said, pulling back. He studied Deacon for a moment. “You didn’t see it.”

“See what?” Deacon questioned, shaking his head. “I saw the Spitfire—she led us home. What are you saying, I didn’t see it?”

Digger began to laugh. “I figured you’d be rubbing my nose in it for sure. But I guess I’m the only one who saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The name on the Spitfire,” Digger said in disbelief. “It was there as big as the nose on your face.”

Deacon shook his head again. “I didn’t see it, Digger. What was it?”

“
Ipswich Angel
.”

Deacon looked at his co-pilot and smiled. Walking away he said, “
Angel
, huh?”

Digger came after him. “Go ahead. Tell me how God sent us an angel to lead us home. Go ahead and tell me how God was looking out for us and how we wouldn’t be here now except that He was listening to our prayers. Come on, Deac,” Digger prompted. “Tell me how God answered our prayers.”

“
Our
prayers?” Deacon said, stopping to look Digger in the eye. “Did you say
our
prayers?”

Digger grew red in the face and looked away. “You know what I meant. I just figured you’d want to make some comment about it—that’s all. I just figured you’d want to give God the credit.”

“Don’t need to,” Deacon said, grinning. “You just did.”

“Merry Christmas, Deac,” Digger said as Deacon came into the room they shared. He’d been waiting nervously for his friend to appear.

Deacon seemed surprised by the greeting. “Merry Christmas, yourself. I got the word—looks like Matt’s going to be all right. They’ve operated and his chances look real good.”

“That’s the best news yet,” Digger agreed. Then he grew thoughtful. “You know, Deac, I’ve been giving some thought to what you said.”

“About what I said when?”

“When we were on the plane. You said that God was so much more than most religions allowed Him to be. You said He cared and He forgave people.”

“True enough,” Deacon said. Giving his hat a toss to a nearby chair, he shrugged out of his Class A coat and removed his tie. “Look, I’m tired, Digger, and I don’t feel like listening to you argue your points on why God isn’t who I believe He is. Can we talk about this another time?” Deac said as he eyed his bed hopefully.

Digger frowned. “I thought you’d be glad to have this conversation, Deac.”

“I’m always glad to listen to your arguments against God,” he said, yawning. “It only serves to make my faith grow that much stronger. It’s just that right now I’m tired. I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours.”

“If you remember, I haven’t either,” Digger replied. There was none of his usual sarcasm; instead, there was almost a worried tone to his voice. Deacon just had to listen to him. He just had to. This thing had to be done.

“So let’s catch some sleep and we can argue all you want when I wake up.”

“I don’t want to argue, Deac.”

“Okay, so we’ll debate, discuss, consider, or whatever else you want to call it, after I get a chance to rest.” Deac stripped out of the remaining uniform and slid into bed. “I promise. I’ll let you rant and rave all you like. We’ll do whatever you want—just let me sleep.”

“Will you pray with me, Deac?”

Deacon had barely closed his eyes when Digger’s question came. He opened his eyes quickly. “What did you say?”

Digger swallowed his pride. “I said would you pray with me? You know, when you wake up.”

Leaning up on his elbow, Deacon eyed his co-pilot quite seriously. “What’s this all about, Digger?”

Digger smiled sheepishly. “Well, it’s like I’ve been trying to tell you. I’ve been thinking about what happened on the plane. I’ve been thinking about all the things you’ve been saying to me since we first met. I guess seeing your faith in practice when everything was going wrong that could possibly go wrong made me realize that this was something more than lip service. You have something I want, Deac. You have hope and you have a purpose and you have a friend in God.” He looked to the floor and his voice broke slightly. “You’re the only friend I’ve got, Deac. You and Melody.”

Deacon swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. “You’re wrong there, Digger. You’ve got a friend in Jesus. He’s been there all along. He’s just been waiting for you to notice.”

“You think He’s still there?” Digger asked softly.

“I know He is, and to answer your question,” Deacon said, reaching out to touch Digger’s shoulder, “I would be honored to pray with you.”

Ginny had barely tucked the baby into blankets and secured him in the bassinet that she’d brought down from the attic before Melody began to rally. She knew she had to keep the girl calm so that she could get the bleeding stopped.

“Melody, lie still, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine,” Ginny stated as she put her hand on Melody’s shoulder.

“Baby,” Melody murmured. “My baby . . .”

“Is just fine,” Ginny replied. “You have a fine healthy boy, but you need to lie still. You’re losing quite a bit of blood, and I need to see what I can do to get it stopped.

“I’m dying,” Melody said before passing back into unconsciousness.

Ginny shook her head. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Just then she heard a knock on the front door and voices.

“Ginny, are you in here?”

It was Doc Ketterman. Ginny looked heavenward and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Father.” She left Melody and hurried to the front of the house. “We’re back here. Hurry. She’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Has she given birth?” the older man questioned. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to a young woman.

“Yes. It’s a boy and he wasn’t breathing at first, but I revived him.”

“Good job, Ginny. Let me wash up. Oh, and this is Nurse Stanford. She’s come to assist us.”

Ginny nodded. “Glad for the help. You can both wash up in here,” she said, turning them toward the kitchen. She took their coats and hung them in the hall closet.

“I have Melody in John’s old room. She delivered the baby with great difficulty.”

“Breech birth, as I heard from the nurse at the hospital. That’s when I decided they could handle old Gus and I’d just head on over here.”

“Yes, the baby was breech. I couldn’t begin to turn him, he was just wedged in there too tight. Come this way,” she replied, leading them down the hall to the bedroom.

Doc Ketterman went immediately to work. He was undaunted by the bleeding and seemed to quickly assess the problem. Nurse Stanford turned her attention to the sleeping baby boy, and Ginny stood by waiting for instructions.

Within an hour everything seemed to come under control and Doc Ketterman stood back to consider the situation as a whole.

“You did a good job here, Ginny,” the man said. “They both probably would have died without you. Breech deliveries are never easy.”

“Then they’ll be all right?” Ginny questioned, feeling herself begin to relax.

“I think they’ll be just fine. You need to keep our little mother in bed for at least a week, but otherwise, I don’t see too much to worry about. If she starts running a fever or starts bleeding more than she ought to be, you get in touch with me. You know what to look for.”

Ginny did indeed. She didn’t know why she’d let herself get so worried and distraught. Maybe it was because of Melody’s connection to John and Collin. Maybe by keeping Melody and the baby alive, Ginny had somehow figured it would keep her son alive as well.

Hours after the doctor and nurse had made their way back to the hospital, Ginny brought Melody a tray of food. The girl looked so pale and small lying there in the seemingly massive double bed. Ginny’s heart went out to her. “I’ve brought you some supper.”

Melody tried to sit up, but Ginny waved her back. “Don’t be straining yourself. I’ll prop you up with the pillows. Doc Ketterman said you’re to take it absolutely easy. No getting up and no straining yourself. You lost a lot of blood and we need to build your strength back up.”

“I almost died, didn’t I?” Melody questioned. Her huge saucer
eyes searched Ginny’s face for confirmation of her suspicions.

“You had a tough time of it,” Ginny admitted, placing the tray on the nightstand. She helped Melody to sit up a bit, then eased down on the bed beside her. “I can’t say I wasn’t worried there a couple of times, but God knew what He was doing.”

Melody nodded. “I prayed, Ginny. I really prayed. I kept hearing the Christmas music you were playing and I kept hearing that song saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest.’ All I could think about was that this was Christmas Eve and my baby was about to be born. I had to live and I knew I had to trust that God was still as faithful as I had thought Him to be before I made a mess of my life.”

Ginny felt shaken by Melody’s declaration. She patted the girl’s hand, however, and tried not to show how Melody’s words had affected her. “He is good, Melody. He’s good and true and He loves you more than anyone on this earth. Now, I want you to start eating, and I’ll go get you some milk to go along with the food. You have to drink milk to make milk, don’t you know.” She smiled at the petite girl and felt overwhelmed with the sense of what God had done.

It wasn’t until Ginny left the room and made her way to the kitchen that she allowed herself the full impact of what Melody had told her. “
I kept hearing the Christmas music you were playing and I kept hearing that song saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest,’
” Melody had said so innocently.

The only problem was, Ginny hadn’t been playing the radio. There were no Christmas carols playing in the Williams’ house that day, unless they were angelic praises. The thought caused Ginny to shiver. God had truly visited her house that day and He’d brought a choir of angels with Him.

Ginny smiled and looked out the kitchen window. She thought of Harold and how he must even now be enjoying such wonderful music as well. “I wish I could have heard it,” she murmured. “I wish I could have heard the angels.” And then she realized that in some ways she had. It had come in the cry of a newborn’s first breath. Yes, she had heard angels that day and there was no sound more beautiful on earth.

She looked to the shed and smiled. Someday, hopefully soon, John would be home and it would be his form she watched at the woodpile. He would come home safe and sound—she felt confident
of it. She felt sure that God was giving her that confidence as a gift.

“Merry Christmas, John,” she whispered, her mother’s heart overflowing with love. “Wherever you are, my darling boy, merry Christmas.”