Read Online Wildflowers from Winter by Katie Ganshert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Ganshert
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after he’d fallen asleep. He’d jumped up in bed, almost out of his skin, so fast that she screamed and swatted him for scaring her so thoroughly. Then they both laughed, and the sound of it chased away her fear.
Holding her breath, she reached out a tentative hand and touched his arm. But this time he didn’t jump. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t do anything. “Micah.” The warmth of his whispered name blew across her lips and floated away, just out of reach.
She squeezed his hand.
Nothing.
Please, Lord, bring him back .
It wasn’t a hopeless prayer. Or a halfhearted one. She believed God could do it. She believed with every ounce of her being that God could give her Micah back if He wanted. The God of the universe—who had spoken the heavens and earth into being—could surely breathe life into herhusband’s brain. It felt like such a simple request compared to the creation of the world.
Please, Lord …
The bed creaked as she eased herself onto it. She took Micah’s hand and placed it over her stomach. She leaned over his body and brought her lips to his forehead. The warmth touching her skin stirred her soul. He was alive and she was pregnant. After eighteen long months of trying, of negative pregnancy tests, of dashed hopes, of pokes and prods and Clomid galore, their dream was finally coming true. Only Micah had collapsed before she could tell him the news. Once he knew, his eyes would open, and he’d look at her and he’d smile. She moved her lips across his forehead, the softness of his hair brushing against her chin.
“Micah.” She kissed his temple. “Please wake up.”
Nothing.
She stared at his closed eyes, willing them to open. Desperate to see that look of his—two parts intimate, one part mischievous, as if he had a private joke just for her. She wanted to gaze into the depths of his hazel-green eyes and see her love reflected there. She wanted him to open them and give her that thousand-watt smile he was so famous for.
She wove her fingers through his. “I have something to tell you.”
Should she say the words? Was she ready? She took a deep breath. What if she said them and nothing changed? The organ procurement coordinator was down the hall, pen in hand, ready for her to sign. The surgeons were standing by, ready to fly Micah’s organs in a dozen different directions. His family waited outside, preparing to say good-bye so they could begin the grieving process.
But what if they didn’t have to grieve? What if she could run into the hallway and cry out that Micah was awake? Her chest swelled. Jesus brought Lazarus back to life. Was it really too much to ask Him to do the same for her husband?
She wove her fingers tighter, squeezing his large palm in her own. Hewould wake up. Their dreams—plans to have children, open a café, and grow old side by side—were fused together, welded into a whole that could not be separated. And with a positive pregnancy test and plans for the café down on paper, they were too close to their future for God to take it away now. She bent over and brought her face next to his. She shut her eyes and poured the words into his ear.
“Micah, I’m pregnant.”
She imagined them working through his ear canal and snuggling deep inside his brain. She imagined them fixing whatever was broken. She took a breath. Then another. And another. Her heartbeat gathered momentum, picking up speed until the thunderous pounding drowned out the whoosh ing of the ventilator.
She opened her eyes, one at a time. His lids were still closed. His lax expression unchanged. She jiggled his hand.
Nothing.
She shook it harder.
Nothing.
“Wake up.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed them against the bed. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m pregnant.”
Her hand slapped his bicep.
His eyes stayed closed.
She grabbed his chin, as if he were a naughty child who’d said a bad word. His head lolled. The Micah she knew would jump at the news. He’d
Holding her breath, she reached out a tentative hand and touched his arm. But this time he didn’t jump. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t do anything. “Micah.” The warmth of his whispered name blew across her lips and floated away, just out of reach.
She squeezed his hand.
Nothing.
Please, Lord, bring him back .
It wasn’t a hopeless prayer. Or a halfhearted one. She believed God could do it. She believed with every ounce of her being that God could give her Micah back if He wanted. The God of the universe—who had spoken the heavens and earth into being—could surely breathe life into herhusband’s brain. It felt like such a simple request compared to the creation of the world.
Please, Lord …
The bed creaked as she eased herself onto it. She took Micah’s hand and placed it over her stomach. She leaned over his body and brought her lips to his forehead. The warmth touching her skin stirred her soul. He was alive and she was pregnant. After eighteen long months of trying, of negative pregnancy tests, of dashed hopes, of pokes and prods and Clomid galore, their dream was finally coming true. Only Micah had collapsed before she could tell him the news. Once he knew, his eyes would open, and he’d look at her and he’d smile. She moved her lips across his forehead, the softness of his hair brushing against her chin.
“Micah.” She kissed his temple. “Please wake up.”
Nothing.
She stared at his closed eyes, willing them to open. Desperate to see that look of his—two parts intimate, one part mischievous, as if he had a private joke just for her. She wanted to gaze into the depths of his hazel-green eyes and see her love reflected there. She wanted him to open them and give her that thousand-watt smile he was so famous for.
She wove her fingers through his. “I have something to tell you.”
Should she say the words? Was she ready? She took a deep breath. What if she said them and nothing changed? The organ procurement coordinator was down the hall, pen in hand, ready for her to sign. The surgeons were standing by, ready to fly Micah’s organs in a dozen different directions. His family waited outside, preparing to say good-bye so they could begin the grieving process.
But what if they didn’t have to grieve? What if she could run into the hallway and cry out that Micah was awake? Her chest swelled. Jesus brought Lazarus back to life. Was it really too much to ask Him to do the same for her husband?
She wove her fingers tighter, squeezing his large palm in her own. Hewould wake up. Their dreams—plans to have children, open a café, and grow old side by side—were fused together, welded into a whole that could not be separated. And with a positive pregnancy test and plans for the café down on paper, they were too close to their future for God to take it away now. She bent over and brought her face next to his. She shut her eyes and poured the words into his ear.
“Micah, I’m pregnant.”
She imagined them working through his ear canal and snuggling deep inside his brain. She imagined them fixing whatever was broken. She took a breath. Then another. And another. Her heartbeat gathered momentum, picking up speed until the thunderous pounding drowned out the whoosh ing of the ventilator.
She opened her eyes, one at a time. His lids were still closed. His lax expression unchanged. She jiggled his hand.
Nothing.
She shook it harder.
Nothing.
“Wake up.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed them against the bed. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m pregnant.”
Her hand slapped his bicep.
His eyes stayed closed.
She grabbed his chin, as if he were a naughty child who’d said a bad word. His head lolled. The Micah she knew would jump at the news. He’d
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