As the women started walking, about three blocks from the Mackey house, their conversation became light-hearted again, and Rita smiled to herself. She couldn’t help but notice a joy in her friend’s manner that she had never seen before. It reminded her of the jubilant feeling she herself had had that morning after she’d had coffee with Nancy Chadwell.
As they approached the Mackey’s place, Rita and Patrice saw the green van approaching. They slowed their pace to help make possible a brief visit with Austin and his parents. They both felt a friendship was growing between them and this little family with each Sunday’s casual encounter. After the van pulled into the garage, the garage door remained open. Robert Mackey opened the trunk door to unload the car while June unbuckled Austin from his car seat and set him down. The toddler recognized the women approaching and ran towards them as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him, but just ten or so feet from them, he suddenly darted towards the street instead, wanting them to chase him.
June was watching and called out, “Stop, Austin! Get away from the street!” But she didn’t see the gray car coming around the curve with a driver unsuspecting of a wayward toddler. Rita watched in horror as Austin headed right into its path. Her horror grew as she saw Patrice run out after him, grabbing Austin with a violent arm gesture and throwing him back towards the yard. June and Rita both screamed as the driver slammed on the brakes, but not soon enough to avoid running over Patrice where she had fallen after grabbing and flinging the little boy.
While June tended to Austin, Bob called 911 as he came running over to Patrice. Rita was already there, holding Patrice’s crushed body and cradling her head. “Please, God, help,” she cried, the tears streaming down her face. “Patrice. Patrice! Please don’t die.”
Patrice opened her eyes and looked up into Rita’s face so close to her own. “Oh, Patrice,” Rita sobbed.
“Jesus… Trent…” The words were said with the greatest effort as Patrice’s hand locked onto Rita’s arm in a momentary desperate squeeze. She moaned and two more words escaped with difficulty. “Marc… sorry…” In the distance, sirens sounded, growing louder and louder as Bob Mackey and the driver of the gray car knelt by Rita and Patrice.
Patrice was slipping in and out of consciousness as Rita whispered urgently, “You saved Austin’s life, Patrice. You saved little Austin’s life. Please don’t die.” Then, tears running down her cheeks, Rita cried out loud, as she stroked Patrice’s cheek, “God, what shall I do?”
Rita’s facial expression almost instantly became resolute as she forced herself to smile at Patrice and began singing brokenly through her sobbing.
“Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong.”
Bob Mackey joined in when Rita’s crying didn’t allow her to continue. He sang unabashedly, his own voice breaking.
“Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.”
Patrice’s eyes, fixed on Rita, seemed to show a spark of consciousness. Unable to talk, she was mouthing something. Rita couldn’t decipher what it was.
“She’s saying, ‘Again.’ She wants you to sing it again!” Bob said. He could hardly get the words out between his own blurted sobs. “Yes, we’ll sing it,” he said. “I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done.” He laid his hand on her bloodied one ever so gently and shook his head as he crouched there beside her. Overcome by the tragedy and with thankfulness to the dying woman lying in Rita’s arms, he managed to get out, between sobs, “How could you be so selfless?”
June knelt down beside him, holding Austin whose clothes were bloodied from multiple but minor scrapes, and scared and crying himself. She tried to join in on the chorus as Rita began singing again, but couldn’t, for her weeping.
Rita pressed her cheek against Patrice’s. “We love you, Patrice. Please don’t die.” When she lifted her head to look at her friend, she saw that Patrice’s eyes, fading steadily, remained fixed on her. “Again,” Patrice mouthed.
“Jesus loves me, He who died, Heaven’s gates to open wide,
He will wash away my sin, Let His little child come in.”
Patrice’s eyes were closed now, and Rita kept her eyes on Patrice’s lips. “Yes, Patrice. Jesus. He’s washed away all your sins. And you’re His child! He loves you so much. You’re His child!”
The paramedics and police arrived. While the police talked with Bob and the driver of the gray car, two paramedics tended to Patrice, then lifted her, now unconscious, into the ambulance. Rita climbed in also. She quietly prayed while the paramedics tended to Patrice.
“I think we’re losing her,” one said quietly.
“Yeah,” whispered the other, glancing at Rita. “Is this your daughter?”
“No,” Rita answered, shaking her head sadly, tears streaming down her face. “Just a friend—a wonderful friend.” Then, as if she had just remembered one good thought, she smiled and added, “She’s my sister now.” Rita’s clothes were soaked with blood, and her tears just kept coming. “Just this last hour—before the accident—she became part of God’s family. She said yes to Jesus and His sacrifice. She’s…” The last words were too difficult to recognize through Rita’s crying. She looked at one of the attendants who gave her a blank look, and then at the other.
The second young man nodded and said quietly, reverently, “That’s awesome, Ma’am.” His compassionate smile was comforting. “Then she’s my sister, too.” Rita tried to smile, but her face crimped again in a stifled sob.
“We’ve lost her,” the first attendant said quietly.
Rita involuntarily gasped.
“I’m so sorry, Ma’am. I…”
“Yes. Thank you.” Rita dropped her face into her hands, sobbing. But instead of despair, an amazing peace came over her, as she felt God whisper words of comfort to her own spirit.
Rita, it’s all right. Patrice is with Me. She is safe with Me.
……….
Just after noon that same day, when the Sunday service at Rock Church was over, Marc had gently but firmly steered Carla out the church exit doors and to his car. He apologized for the hurry, reiterating that he wanted a chance to talk one on one with her.
They headed to Sicily’s for a Sunday brunch. The hostess escorted them back to the quiet section to a table with fresh flowers.
“Baby carnations. They’re so pretty!” Carla commented. “Such a beautiful pink.” As soon as she’d finished speaking, she rued her words. It was a perfect opportunity for Marc to tease her regarding her propensity to blush.
But he didn’t. She looked at Marc, and his eyes told her he was purposely giving up the opportunity.
“Thanks,” she said simply, a whisper of a smile on her face.
He smiled in return. “I’ve never been here for brunch. In fact, the last time I was here was with you last spring.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious,” Carla said. “I’m really hungry.
They settled on spinach Benedict and an Italian omelet and enjoyed small talk for a few minutes when their food came before Marc turned the conversation.
“You asked me what’s going on, Carla. Remember I spent last Christmas with Joe Denspot and his family? He’s become a very good friend. So has a man you’d think I could never connect with, given the events of the past two years.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s a doctor—an OBG…” Marc hesitated.
“An OB-GYN?”
“Yes, that’s what I was looking for. He used to perform abortions.”
Carla’s raised eyebrows turned into a frown. “What?”
“You heard me right,” Marc said, nodding. “I met him at Covella’s. I mean, I was at Covella’s one day not long after Trent died, and Joe and this guy were talking. I was in the adjacent booth, and I overheard their conversation,” he said sheepishly, but still with a serious look on his face. “It was a whole lot more interesting than the paper I’d brought to read.”
Carla still frowned. “Go on,” she prompted.
“Well, I ended up contacting and actually meeting with Joe. That’s why he recognized me that night in Projects. Later, I also met with the other guy—Gene Chemosh—by sheer accident, who…”
“Gene Chemosh?” Carla asked, her mouth open and her eyes wide in amazement.
“You know him?”
“I know of him. He used to be the abortionist at the Metro abortuary.” She shook her head, incredulous. “Go on!”
“Well, to make a long story short, the three of us are all fathers of aborted children, and Joe has been helping Gene and me learn about God and His ways.” He paused, waiting for Carla’s reaction.
“‘Gene’ and you—about God?” Marc’s use of the abortionist’s first name obviously surprised her as much as what he said.
“That’s right. I’m finding out that your whole perspective changes when you find out what God’s all about.” He grinned. “But I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”
Carla’s mouth had stayed open. She was having a hard time believing what she was hearing. She tilted her head towards her shoulder in a questioning posture, a puzzled frown on her face. “When did this start?”
“Well… I’m not exactly sure.” He chuckled. “Time flies when you’re having fun. Who would ever think three men could become so interested in the Bible. I mean, I can’t believe it myself. But here we are.”
“What part are you studying?” Carla leaned forward, still trying to grasp what Marc was telling her.
“Well, we’re hunting down all the places that have to do with the worship of other gods and what it leads to. You know one thing it leads to, Carla?”
When she shook her head, he answered, “Child sacrifice.”
“Mmm.” Carla’s eyebrows arched.
“I’ve come to one conclusion, for sure.” Marc looked at Carla intently. “Mankind hasn’t evolved into a kinder species in the last few thousand years.”
“Hmm,” Carla murmured, momentarily distracted by her cell phone ringing. She reached for it, glancing up at Marc. “It’s Nancy. Would you mind?” she asked apologetically, putting the phone to her ear. “Hey, Nancy. How’re you?”
“Carla. There’s been an accident. Can you get in touch with Marc?”
“He’s right here. What’s the matter?”
“It’s Patrice. Let me talk with him.”
Carla obediently handed her phone over to Marc.
“Hello?”
“Marc, I’m so sorry. Patrice was run over by a car just a little while ago, and… “ Nancy’s voice broke.
“What?”
“Patrice was in an accident.”
“I heard you. Is she all right?”
“No, Marc. I’m so sorry.” Nancy released the information between sobs. “She and Rita were walking, and a toddler ran out into the street in front of a car. Patrice saw the car coming and jumped out and threw the little boy out of the way, but the driver couldn’t stop in time and ran over her. She died on the way to the hospital. Rita was with her.”
Marc said nothing, but his breathing became faster and faster.
“Marc?”
“I… I’m here.”
“Could I talk with Carla again?”
Marc handed the phone to Carla.
“Carla, did you hear?”
“Oh, Nancy, I can’t believe it! I don’t want to believe it. She was so close to…” Carla broke into tears.
“Carla! Listen,” Nancy interrupted. “What you haven’t heard is that Rita led Patrice to Jesus…” Nancy’s voice broke, but she went on, “…just before the accident happened. And right after the accident, as Rita was holding her in her arms, Patrice couldn’t talk, but she mouthed the words. ‘Jesus… Trent…’”
Carla looked up at Marc who was busy scooping up her purse. He pulled Carla up and out of the booth, steering her towards the exit of the restaurant. As he paid the cashier, Carla’s mind was awhirl, but with Nancy’s comforting words predominating. As Nancy went into more detail, Carla remembered Mike’s prayer from that day so long ago when Patrice had gone into Metro Women’s Clinic, the day that Trent was aborted. Mike had prayed that God would give Patrice the grace to run to Him.
They were outside now, and Carla was crying unrestrainedly.
Marc took Carla’s phone. “Where are you, Nancy?”
“Mike and I are headed for the Helgessen’s house. Carla knows where she lives.”
“We’ll be there in a moment.”
……….
That evening and in the following days, all the regional television stations covered the story of the tragic heroism of a beautiful young woman who saved the life of an extraordinarily cute toddler. The newspapers carried pictures and stories of Patrice Hamlin as a bright, confident person who aspired to become a medical doctor.
Austin Mackey’s latest picture did justice to the handsome little boy. Interviews with Bob and June Mackey and their son were featured on several television stations, and “Austin Mackey,” for a brief period, became a household name.
But the day of the accident, it was Nick Brommer’s phone call that brought the news of Austin’s tragic rescue to the attention of the Ferguson household.
Just after 9:00 p.m. that Sunday evening, the phone rang, and Midge answered.
“Hello?”
“Midge, turn on Channel 5. Fast. Nicky’s on TV.” Click.
Midge hollered to her parents and the three of them stood horrified and spellbound watching the report of the accident. The next day, Midge read every single newspaper account to find out more of what happened, and when Nick called again Monday evening, she gave him a brief account of her having met both Patrice and Rita Helgessen the night she and Marlene had visited Carla Chadwell. Nick listened, interested. When there was a pause in the conversation, he spoke up.
“My…uh… folks would like to attend the funeral service. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“No, that’s fine. I don’t think it’s going to be a closed service, but I doubt Austin will be there. There’s been so much publicity.”
“That’s all right. My dad said he respects Patrice Hamlin for what she did more than anyone he knows.”
“Well, there are no words that can convey how grateful I am, that’s for sure,” Midge replied.
There was an awkward pause before Nick spoke again. “We haven’t talked lately, Midge, but I need to tell you that my parents appreciated your letter a lot. They agree with you now, you know.”
“Agree with me?”
“Yeah. They’re really glad Austin’s alive. They say he’s about as cute a little boy as they’ve ever seen.”
“My feeling exactly. Thanks for telling me. Oh, Nick, I’m so very thankful.” Midge exhaled loudly in relief.
“He does kind of look a lot like me, doesn’t he?”
Midge rolled her eyes, but a grin played on one side of her mouth. “I don’t know, Nick. Probably not all that much,” she said with a tease in her voice. “But I’ve got to get going.” She sighed and her voice took on a serous note. “Nick, please, pray for the people involved in the accident. I’m sure they could use it.”
“I will, for sure.”
“Goodbye.”
“Bye, Midge.”