Present Day Shadows and sound darted around the room like children playing tag in a park. In the distance, Beth heard laughter, followed by muffled conversation. The voices ebbed and flowed.

Pain had gone, at least for the moment. Its absence brought freedom. Ecstasy. Almost weightlessness. She drifted on an ocean breeze. Palm trees, caressed by the wind, waved against a cloudless, blue sky. Although distant, the sun's rays warmed her.

Then she realized that something, someone, held her down. She flexed her forearm, producing no movement. A slight irritation rose inside her. Then panic.

Where was she? She tried harder to pull herself up. Heat surged through her body, and she became aware of an intense light surrounding her.

She must escape.

The shadows gathered closer, blocking out the artificial sun, and a sharp object pricked her skin. Numbness began to spread. Was it her body or her mind being anesthetized?

A silent scream sprang from deep inside her. Trapped by flesh and bones, it ricocheted across her soul. Irritation turned to discomfort, then hopelessness. Without warning, a low whine cut through the muffled sound of voices. Life was being pulled away from her.

She heard herself scream.

"Mrs. Harrison, please. Relax."

Beth tried to focus on the woman's face. "My baby . . ."

The nurse stroked her forehead. "Your baby is fine, dear. You've had a nightmare."

Josh rushed toward her. "Is everything okay?"

Beth reached for his hand. "I'm glad you're here."

A few minutes later Josh stepped outside his wife's hospital room and approached Dr. Abrams, who was standing in the hallway and scribbling onto a chart.

"What just happened in there, doctor?"

Dr. Abrams motioned for him to walk down the hallway. "Your wife had a morphine-induced dream." They stopped a few steps from the nurses' station, and the doctor looked squarely into Josh's eyes. "It's nothing to be concerned about."

"I have a hard time accepting that." Josh ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm afraid these drugs will affect the baby."

"Any medication can put the baby at risk, but-"

"I've heard the word risk way too many times this week. I need facts, reassurances. How long will Beth have to stay on the morphine?" Josh pointed to the clipboard in the doctor's hands. "Or any of these drugs?"

Dr. Abrams studied him. "I don't think you understand. Your wife is in a lot of pain. She needs medication just to get through the day." He frowned. "Her pain is intolerable. Do you understand that?"

"Of course, I do, but . . ."

The physician continued. "We don't dispense morphine, or any narcotic, unless it's necessary. In Bethany's case, narcotics may be required for months." The muscles in his jaws twitched. "If there is no sign of healing after a few months, then we'll discuss surgery, which has its own set of risks."

Josh shook his head. "I'm not challenging your judgment, but . . ."

The doctor heaved a long sigh. "You're emotionally involved. You've chosen to keep the baby." He softened his stance a bit. "Of course, that's your and your wife's decision. But, please, realize that this pregnancy is a complication to an already serious condition."

The doctor's piercing blue eyes cut through the chilled air between them.

Josh steadied himself against the wall, trapped between two difficult choices, and nodded.

"My priorities are with your wife. Her artery is microscopically dissected. It's weak and vulnerable. The more stress on that tiny tear, the more likely it will rupture. Even the smallest complication could cause that to happen."

"Shouldn't she have surgery right away?"

"In many cases, these fissures repair themselves. But it takes time. We should know more in three or four months. In the meantime, I want to give Bethany all of the advantages I can."

"Because the pregnancy adds risk. . . ." Josh heard himself repeat the word he had come to hate. "What happens if her artery doesn't heal in seven months, when the baby is born?"

"Pregnancy is a natural condition, but it puts additional stress on the body," the doctor said.

"Beth could die in childbirth?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Of course, it's a possibility. The trauma of labor will put pressure on her artery and if it hasn't healed by that time, well . . . we don't know what will happen." He took a long breath. "But you have to understand that just getting to that point is dangerous." The doctor studied Josh's reaction. "It's not too late to terminate, to give your wife every advantage you can."

"Dr. Abrams, Beth doesn't want to do that." Josh chose his words carefully. "I appreciate you shooting straight with me and your concern for my wife's best interests. I need all the insight you can give me." He ran his fingers through his hair. "But Beth is determined."

Josh looked down at the floor and then back to the doctor.

"She has-we both have-a strong faith, and we must ultimately believe that God will get us, and the baby, through this."

Ben Abrams shrugged a shoulder. "I wish you the best, and I'll do all I can to help you. Just understand, I'm not in the business of miracles."

Ben Abrams shook his head as he walked away. What was it with religious types always basing their lives on the unseen? The intangible rather than the tangible. How could that kind of thinking help get someone through life much less influence their afterlife, as they all seemed to believe?

Such irrational thinking wasn't for him. It was nothing more than a bubbe-meise, a fairytale told on a grandmother's knee. Those days were gone for him, if they had ever really been. He had chosen to live a reality-centered life, one based on science not superstition or spiritual mumbo jumbo. Perhaps his philosophy about life wasn't perfect, but he had helped many more people than religion ever could.

He made a quick stop at the sink to wash his hands before entering his next patient's room. Slathering his hands with liquid soap, he rubbed them together quickly, rinsed with hot water, and reached for a paper towel to dry.

You can no more clean your soul with prayers than you can clean it with soap and water.

Ben hoped that Bethany Harrison's religious beliefs didn't play a role in ending her young life too soon. But he had done all he could do.

He wadded up the paper towel and threw it in the trash, disposing of the matter.

Nashville rush-hour traffic diminished as Josh stood, staring out the window of Beth's seventh-floor hospital room taking in the panoramic view of Nashville in front of him. Looking down onto the flat, pea-gravel roof of the reception building and the vast concrete-and-brick hospital complex to each side, he had a transcendent perspective on the world below.

The ambulance entrance, although quiet now, awaited the next trauma that would pass through the doors and alter a life, a family, forever. The windows of the huge hospital wing across from where he stood lined up like a giant crossword puzzle, twelve stories high and half a city block wide. Some were backlit. Some dark and ominous. Josh imagined a different story playing out behind each pane of glass.

A birth. A fight for life. Perhaps even a battle lost.

He said a silent prayer for those whose lives depended on the bittersweet cocktail of human compassion and sterile technology, with the assurance that God could work through both.

In the distance a church steeple reached to the sky. Beyond it was the beginning of a perfect sunset. Blue and purple clouds swam through streams of orange, as dusk replaced the imperfect clarity of the daylight. Another day ending left hope for tomorrow-hope, and the realization that life could change in an instant.

At this point, Beth and the baby were doing okay. Still, he hated to go. But in a few hours he must leave for his shows in Oklahoma. Beth had insisted he fulfill his commitments, despite his protests to the contrary.

A noise in the hallway outside the door jolted Josh back to the moment. The night staff was coming on duty, greeting each other with eager conversation and good-natured laughter.

Life continued.

"What are you thinking about, honey?" Beth asked.

"How much I hate to leave you." Her handsome husband turned to look at her. His boyish grin always brought her comfort.

"I'll be fine. Besides, there's not much you can do here except toss and turn on that squeaky old cot all night." She pointed toward the daybed in the corner of her small room.

"My bus bunk will feel great compared to that thing." He leaned over to kiss her. "I'm glad you're better."

She smiled. Having Josh nearby always made her feel better, even if her head continued to hurt as if it might explode at any minute.

"Don't worry about me, Joshua. You go and sing your songs. That's what you're supposed to do. I'll be waiting for you to take me home on Sunday."

"Are you sure?"

"We've been through this a dozen times. Alex will take good care of me while you're gone. Don't worry!"

"I wish your mom could be here."

"Josh, I'm fine." She loved the way he worried about her. "Mom has her hands full with Grandma. I will be fine with Alex here. End of discussion."

"Okay." He drew the word out. "I guess I need to be going. The bus leaves at midnight. I've got laundry to do when I get home."

It was her turn to fret. "I'm sorry, I wish I could-"

He pressed his lips to hers, silencing her protest. Her jaw quivered, and tears welled in her eyes. Despite her putting on a strong front, his leaving tore her apart. With her unfettered arm, she reached up and pulled him closer, wanting to hold him forever. Josh responded with lingering lips on hers, and a dam of pent-up emotions broke inside her. Tears streamed down her face. If only she could tell him everything.

She retreated into his warm, strong embrace, the fragrance of him reassuring her for the moment. Life had been so good. Why had her past come back to confront her?

They held each other until darkness overtook the dusk outside her window. Finally, feigning sleep, she allowed her husband to slip quietly out of the room, leaving her alone with questions, fear, pain-and guilt for what she could not tell him.

6.

Present Day Hey, girl! How are you feeling this morning?" Alex walked into the hospital room carrying a huge bouquet of purple blooms.

"Those are beautiful," Beth said, trying to sit up in bed and reach for the flowers. When she did, she became entangled in the tubes and wires that ran from the medical machines lined up beside her. Without warning she burst into tears.

Not again. The thought of crying made her cry even harder.

"Here, let me help." Alex set the vase on the bedside table and began to methodically untangle the tubing that filled Beth's veins with drips and doses of solutions.

Beth wasn't quite sure what kind of solution they represented. Her head still hurt and her mental focus fluctuated from zero to obsession in sixty seconds. "I'm sorry," she said, doing her best to regain control.

"Why are you crying, Mama? Everything is going to be okay."

The word mama brought a smile to Beth's face. Alex had been calling her that since she found out about Beth's pregnancy a few days ago.

Her neighbor and friend had been a godsend. She had stepped in to take care of everything since Josh left town on Thursday night. Alex fed and exercised Buster at home and then brought food and personal items to Beth at the hospital. Beth was thankful her neighbor had the time to give. If Alex had a family of her own, she might not be able to help.

Beth had often wondered why Alexandra Hayes had stayed single into her early forties. It certainly wasn't for a lack of physical beauty. She imagined the vivacious redhead had left a trail of broken hearts behind her. Today, Alex's copper-colored hair hung in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she looked fit and trim in a white cotton shirt and khaki pants.

"Do you want a tissue?" Alex asked, picking up the box from beside the bed.

"Yes, please." Beth took one with her free hand and wiped away the stream of saltwater that had trickled down her cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little emotional right now."

"Well, I can certainly understand why. It's not like your life hasn't changed drastically in the past week." Alex plumped Beth's pillow and then returned to the task of untangling wires and tubes.

"Thanks for your help."

"I'm afraid I'm not doing a very good job." Alex laughed as she picked at the mess. The freckles on her face knit together while she worked. "I'm afraid I might pull something loose if I apply too much pressure. If I did, do you think you would deflate like a hot air balloon?" Alex offered a wry smile.

Beth laughed out loud. "I'm not too worried about that. But I'm worried about falling asleep and offending my company." She yawned. The sedatives Dr. Abrams had ordered were keeping her down.

"Lie back and relax," Alex said. "You won't hurt my feelings, I promise."

Beth turned away, staring at the ceiling. She took several slow breaths, in and out, while Alex worked. The lines between the ceiling tiles began to blur, and then Beth heard them. Laughing. Talking. Playing.

"I give up. I'm calling a nurse." Alex hit the call button on the side of the bed.

"Do you hear them?" Beth turned to her friend.

"The nurses?"

"No. The children."

"What children?" Alex looked puzzled.

"They're singing now. Don't you hear them?"

"I hear the nurses down the hall-"

"Shhhh."

"Bethany, I don't . . ."

"How can I help you, Mrs. Harrison?" A nurse walked into the room and approached Beth's bed.

Beth stared at her, still thinking about the children.