Never Really Alone

Chapter Eleven

The next few days were unlike any I ever remembered.  No matter what I did, Miranda Jean refused to show herself.  Awake, asleep, pleading, cajoling, insistent or simply asking, it seemed as far as she was concerned I just didn't exist any longer.  My emotions were like a roller-coaster.  On the one hand, I began to grieve for her.  I experienced a pain so deep that at times I could only take short, shallow breaths.  If I breathed deeper, I feared my heart would surely stop.

On the other hand, odd as it may sound, I still experienced the joy that my unborn child wrapped around my heart and soul.  I was in such emotional conflict during that time that I could barely put two words together to form a logical thought.  So, I was completely unprepared for the news I received at the doctor's office at my six-month check-up.

"Do you hear that, Sarah?"  Dr. Wagner asked me.  "Listen carefully," as he put the earpieces of the stethoscope on my ears.

"Is that the baby's heartbeat?"

"Yes, that's it.  Now, I'm going to move it over here to the right.  Now listen carefully.  Tell me what you hear."

For a moment I didn't hear anything.  Then he moved it over a bit more and then loud and clear I heard the heartbeat again.  "I can hear it now.  But I don't understand," I said.  "How can I hear it over here, when the baby didn't move.  Is the baby alright?"

He took the stethoscope and folded it into his pocket and smiled.  "I suppose we shouldn't be too surprised, should we?  After all, you told me you're an identical twin.  So, it's not all that unusual that you would have twins."

I just stared at him.  Nothing made sense to me.

"Sarah, you're having twins.  You have two babies in there, and it appears that you have two healthy babies in there, with two, strong, healthy heartbeats."

It started to sink in, "I'm having twins, are you sure, twins?"

Dr. Wagner just grinned again.  "I'm sure.  You heard the heartbeats yourself, didn't you?  But we're going to have to make some changes.  Twins are often born too early, Sarah.  We don't want that to happen.  You've already gained a good bit of weight with these little ones and your blood pressure is higher than I'd like.  From now on I'd like you to stay off your feet.  It's off to bed with you for the next twelve weeks.  Or as long as we can get these babies to wait.  I only want you up and around when it's absolutely neccessary.  Now, do you have any questions?"

'Did I have any questions?'  I had hardly taken in the idea of having twins.  How could I have possibly formulated any questions yet?  "Uh, no I guess not."

"Okay, good.  From now on, I'll want to see you every two weeks, but I'll come to see you at home.  You can set that up with Janet in the outer office on your way out.  Congratulations.  I'll see you in two weeks."  He shook my hand and that was that.

After Stephen peeled himself off the ceiling, he couldn't have been happier about the news and wouldn't let me lift a finger.  Fortunately, I was able to convince him that help from Aggie and LeAnn would be more than enough, and a nurse would not be neccessary.  So, for better or worse I became the captive queen of my domain, waited on, fluffed and coddled, as I protected the two tiny lives I held inside of me from any and all dangers, real or imagined in the crazy world in which I lived.

I say crazy because it was during that time that odd things began to happen.  I was still trying to pull Miranda Jean back from wherever it was that she had gone, with no success.  But, now I wonder if she wasn't the reason for the frightening things that plagued me.

I had been on restriction for over six weeks when the nightmares began.  I'd just finished a late lunch and must have dozed off.  It was warm and I was standing on the bank of the river on my father's farm.  The willow trees and water were sun-dappled and I could smell the rich summer earth.  I turned my head and Miranda Jean was standing next to me.  I looked down at her feet and I could see my own, the same size as hers and I realized I was small again.

I could feel her hand, warm on my back and suddenly she was pushing me.  Her voice was taunting, teasing, "Go on, scaredy-cat, jump in!"  Then she pushed hard and the next thing I knew I was falling, head first into the river.  The water rushed up all around me, filling my nose and my mouth.  I choked and sputtered, swallowing as fast as I could, trying to breath, but only choking harder.  I tried to get to the surface, but the river's tow pulled me under and I didn't know which way was up and which was down.  Suddenly I wasn't struggling anymore.

The next thing I saw was my father carrying my body across the field in his arms.  Miranda Jean was following behind him, watching everything.  He ran with me in his arms to the porch, all the way to my mother, who began to scream.  It was then that I woke up.

I was covered in perspiration and my heart was pounding as if it would surely burst clean out of my chest.  The image that stayed in my mind was the look on Miranda Jean's face as she stood next to my father while he held my dead body in his arms.  She was smiling.  Like the day she had thrown the dishes to the floor, I was frightened.  I put my fingers to my face and felt the hot tears that had gathered on my cheeks.

At the time, it didn't occur to me that she might be responsible for the dream.  But after the first one, they became more frequent and with each subsequent one, more detailed and more telling, certainly more terrifying.

She always pushed me into the river.  The outcome was always the same.  I always died.  But with each dream, more details were added.  At first, time expanded; like taking more time to drown, choking longer, spending more time in the river.  Then, more of the actual day was revealed.  I saw myself laid out, dressed in my blue Easter dress, little lace socks on my feet, braids undone, and hair brushed out.  And, always, there was Miranda Jean standing by and smiling, quite pleased with herself.

The stress was becoming unbearable.  I couldn't eat, I simply had no appetite, no matter which of my favorite foods Aggie prepared.  I was terrified to sleep, afraid I would slip back into the dream.  I feared that if I stayed in one of those dreams too long I might actually die.  So not sleeping was the only defense I had.

All of them, Stephen, Aggie, LeAnn and Dr. Wagner tried to get me to tell them what was wrong, to unburden myself.  But sharing just didn't seem like an option.  I couldn't be sure that Miranda Jean was causing the dreams, but I couldn't be sure that she wasn't.  And though it seemed that talking about them might seem like a good idea to an adult, to a seven-year-old it would certainly seem like 'tattling', and the last thing I wanted to do was anger Miranda Jean further.  It wasn't really me I was worried about, but I was too frightened to take any risks that might harm my babies.

********
Dr. Wagner had just arrived for my regular visit and was in the kitchen talking with Stephen.  Aggie was keeping me company in the bedroom.  I was eight months pregnant and going on sheer will.  "Honey, you've got to get some sleep.  You have to start thinking like a mother.  Those little babies need you to rest.  Now let me fix those pillows for you, okay?"

She moved to the head of the bed and put her arm around my shoulders to ease me up a bit, so she could adjust the pillows behind me.  As she did, I immediately felt a sharp stab of pain at the base of my belly and suddenly a rush of warm liquid between my legs.  "Ahh, oh my God, Aggie!"

"What, honey, what is it?"

"I think my water just broke.  Go get Dr. Wagner."

"Are you sure?  It's too early, you're not due 'til next month."  She lifted up the blankets and looked down.  "You're sure!  Okay, I'll get him, you just sit tight."

"Where do you think I'm gonna go?  Ahh!"  Another sharp pain landed against the bottom of my belly again and bent me over.

Before I could catch my breath Aggie returned with Stephen and Dr. Wagner.  "So, you decided to jump the gun, huh, Sarah?  You didn't even give me a chance to examine you yet."

"I didn't do anything, it just happened."  Stephen moved to the head of the bed and took my hand.

Dr. Wagner removed the blanket and with one look, covered me again and said.  "You're just fine, dear.  Now, it looks like we're going to have a couple of babies today.  You've got nothing to worry about Sarah.  They seem to be a pretty good weight and they're only about three weeks early.  So, let's get you up and dressed and Stephen can bring you to the hospital.  It's best you deliver there.  I'll go and get everything ready for you."  And with that he picked up his bag and left.

Early the next morning, November 11th, 1965 at 4:14 a.m. and 4:17 a.m., Stephen and I welcomed two, identical, tiny girls into our lives and hearts.  Of course, Grandpa Jonah, Aunties Aggie and LeAnn were awaiting them with as much enthusiasm as we were.  As soon as Stephen got home, about 10:45 a.m., he called my parents and Sousa and shared the news with them.  A second generation of identical twin girls had been born.  Sousa's response was simply, "Praise be, it's about time!"  Followed by, "How's my baby girl?"

To which Stephen gratefully answered, "Sousa, she's finally sleeping, and I can't ask for anything else."  It was the first time in months that I slept peacefully in a deep and dreamless sleep.  I didn't wake until dinnertime when the nurse brought my two beautiful daughters to me for their evening meal.

It wasn't until the twins and I arrived home when they were eight days old that I realized the strain I'd been under.  Spending all that time in bed, I hadn't spent much time worrying about how I looked.  Once we were home from the hospital, the first chance I got, I shampooed my hair and pulled out my make-up and curlers.  One look in the mirror told me what had been obvious to everyone else.  The circles under my eyes reached my cheekbones and even with the left-over baby weight I still had, my face was hollow and I was pale and ashen.  'Good grief, I had not only feared death, I looked like it.'

Well, I hadn't had the dream since the girls had been born, so enough was enough.  I rolled my hair, put on some make-up and determined that today was the start of a new me.  No more fear and no more stress.  Neither one was the basis of good mothering, and that was something I was determined to excel at.  My daughters meant everything to me, and if letting go of Miranda Jean was necessary for their welfare, then that was what I would do.

Stephen and I went round and round about naming the girls.  Neither of us wanted to do the rhyming thing, Terry and Kerry, or Sandy and Mandy.  We also weren't sold on the benefits for same-letter names like Elizabeth and Emily or Sandra and Sally.  But we certainly were the repository for unsolicited advice from every person we'd ever known.  People who would never think of offering you personal advice seemed to assume that they had the right, no the obligation, to share their opinion regarding naming your children.

At any rate, after much discussion we decided to give the girls family names.  Catherine, for Stephen's mother and Julia, for his grandmother.  We chose their middle names from my side of the family, giving them both the name Lee, which was my mother's maiden name.  The only remaining problem was telling them apart.  We solved this by tying a green satin ribbon around Catherine's ankle and a yellow satin ribbon around Julia's ankle.  Until they began developing their own personalities it was absolutely necessary, for they were truly identical.

In the back of my mind I assumed Miranda Jean would return once the girls were born.  When we were children she was the one who loved playing with our baby dolls, dressing them, bathing them, giving them baths and so on.  I assumed that she would want to be part of their lives.  As I waited, as I readied myself for her return, time passed and she didn't show herself.  But there were times I know she was there.

Instead of two cribs we decided to use just one.  When they got older we would separate them, but for now I wanted to keep them together.  I only had one dressing table, since I could only change one baby at a time.  One morning I was changing Julia and I had left Catherine in the crib with the side-rail up.  I finished changing Julia and took her into the living room to put her into the playpen and returned to the bedroom to get Catherine.  When I reached the crib, the side-rail was down.  I checked the mechanism to see if it was faulty but it worked just fine.  I picked Catherine up, changed her and forgot about it, but later in the day it happened again.  Then other things began to happen.

I would put the girls in their high-chairs and fasten the safety belt, then a few minutes later the belt would be undone.  Or I would fill the baby tub for their bath, check the water and it would be fine.  Then right before I would lower the baby into the tub, I would check the water again and it would be too hot.  Things like this kept happening.  Either I was going crazy or it was Miranda Jean.

One Saturday, without telling Stephen why, I asked him if he could look after the girls all day, because I wasn't feeling well.  I wanted to see if he might experience the same kinds of thing.  I knew that even if he did, they would be fine, because he was hyper-vigilant and he always double-checked everything.  By the end of the day he had the same story to tell me.  That's when he asked me if I thought it might be Miranda Jean.  I thought it could be, what I didn't know was why?  Why would she want to hurt my babies?

It didn't make any sense.  Miranda Jean was not mean, she was not evil.  She was a child, with a child's mind.  If anything, she was probably just trying to get my attention and this was the only way she could think of to do it.  She certainly couldn't mean any harm, it just wasn't in her nature.  But, now that she had my attention, what next?  I didn't know.

We had managed to give both girls their bottles, bathe them and get them into bed by eight o'clock, a record so far and we had settled into the living room with a bit of red wine.  "Stephen, you're so good at figuring out how people's minds work.  Do you have any idea how I might get through to Miranda Jean?  Any way that she might understand that there's no reason to feel threatened, that I love her the same now, that I always have?"

He set his wine glass on the coffee table and took my hands in his.  "I don't know that there's anything specific that you can do, honey.  After the episode in the kitchen, she disappeared.  Now we both think she's up to some hi-jinks with these things with the girls, the bath water and the crib-rails and such.  It's all pretty harmless stuff.  So maybe if we just let go of it, she'll tire of it pretty quickly.  Before you know it, she'll be missing you so much, she'll come back to you on her own.  Besides, how long do you think she'll stay away from Catherine and Julia, as cute as they are?  Could you stay away?"  His smile was so convincing, it was easy to believe everything he said.

********

In retrospect, I should have known that talking to Stephen about Miranda Jean would have appeared to her as a betrayal.  I was approaching the problem from the perspective of an adult, but as usual she was seeing things through the eyes of a child.

The day after I talked to Stephen I awoke as usual without the alarm clock, but to the sounds of Julia, my early riser.  She wasn't a crier, but always woke first and tended to babble and coo for awhile before she really started to cry.  It was early dawn and still mostly dark as I walked into the nursery tying my robe around me. 

I was just inside the doorway when I stepped on something sharp and stumbled.  I managed to keep myself from falling to the floor and hopped on one foot to the rocking chair by the window.  I turned on the Little Lamb lamp on the night stand table and looked at the bottom of my foot. It had a deep three-inch cut on the heel and was bleeding profusely.  I couldn't imagine what I had stepped on.  I grabbed a clean diaper from the nearby changing table, wrapped it around my foot and hobbled to the doorway.

There on the floor, shattered in a dozen pieces, was one of a set of crystal teddy bears Aggie had given the girls.  The impossible thing was that those bears sat on the bookshelf by the window on the opposite end of the room.  How on earth had that bear gotten on the floor at the doorway?  It was a mystery that remained unsolved.  I needed thirteen stitches to close the gash. 

As unnerving as that episode was, I finally started to relax, because the other odd little mishaps stopped.  There were no more undone seatbelts or hot bathwater.  No more lowered crib-rails.  But just as calamine lotion seems to relieve the itch of chicken pox and you begin to finally get comfortable, even enough to begin to sleep; just as you are about to drop off, the calamine lotion starts to wear off and the vile itch comes roaring back, crawling inside and outside of your skin, threatening to drive you to madness.  You are never safe, and I wasn't.

Jonah bought us an ingenious double-stroller and the weather was perfect for an outing, so after I fed Catherine and Julia, we went for a long walk.  We'd just returned and I'd put them in for a nap and decided to take one myself.  There was a lovely breeze coming in the window and in no time at all I had drifted off to sleep. 

The next thing I knew I was choking and I smelled smoke. I jumped out of bed and ran for the nursery.  There was smoke coming from the kitchen and it filled the hallway.  I scooped both girls out of the crib and ran out the front door and didn't stop until I was on my neighbor's front porch, hollering for her to call the fire department.  It only took them about five minutes to arrive and another ten or so to put out the fire.  They insisted that the twins and I go to the hospital to get checked for smoke inhalation and I was not going to argue, not when it came to my babies.

We weren't at the hospital more than twenty-five minutes or so when Stephen arrived in a mad rush.  Once he knew we were alright I asked him if he knew anything about the fire or what caused it.  He said that the fire chief told him that it was a baby bottle in a pan on the stove, with the burner left on.  "There's not too much damage really, mostly smoke and water damage in the kitchen.  But the main thing is that you and the girls are alright.  That's what's really important."

I went absolutely pale.  "Oh my God."

"What?  What is it Sarah, what's wrong?"

I stared at him and I could feel tears running down my face.  "Stephen we just came back from a walk.  I put the girls in for a nap and then I laid down too.  But Stephen, I fed the girls before we left.  There was no bottle in a pan on the stove.  There were only two rinsed out bottles in the sink.  I just fed them before we went out.  There was no reason to put a bottle on the stove.  It was her.  Oh my God, Stephen.  It was Miranda Jean.  She tried to kill us.  She tried to kill us, Stephen.  Why would she do that?"  The tears continued to fall and I collapsed in his arms.