Pain and grief wrapped around my heart, squeezing so hard that I could not breathe. My body began to shiver violently, and I tried to pull the covers around me, but it was no use. I was in shock—and though I had some awareness of it, I could not seem to calm down. Great sobs racked my body, and I became so nauseated, I had to leave my bed to vomit into a wastebasket.
I sat on the cold floor, hugging the wastebasket as tears streamed down my cheeks.
For a split second, I tried to convince myself that perhaps I had been knocked unconscious and was lying in a hospital in 2001, but I knew it couldn’t be true. I could not have possibly survived whatever happened to my body in 2001. The searing heat and explosion had blasted through me.
I rocked back and forth, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe that I would never see Mom and Dad again, or Delilah, or my coworkers at GUH. There had been a possibility that I would have to say good-bye someday, but I wasn’t ready. If I had known—if I had been able to say good-bye properly—would it hurt so much? I thought I had at least four months left, but it had been torn from me without consultation.
“Why?” I called out to God, who felt more like an angry storm than a gentle breeze in this moment. “Why didn’t you let me choose?”
I remembered the last conversation I’d had with Delilah. I had told her I wished God would choose for me. Now that He had, it hurt far worse than I had realized it would. Why was I so flippant that last day? Surely God hadn’t taken 2001 from me because of a glib comment.
My only consolation was that Delilah knew I was still alive—somewhere. She knew the truth, even if my parents did not. Would she try to tell them, to relieve them of some of their pain? Or would she keep the secret forever?
I set the wastebasket aside and hugged my knees to my chest, my long nightgown covering my legs. I couldn’t imagine the pain my loved ones were feeling in 2001. Had the attacks stopped with the Pentagon? Or had they continued, taking out other government buildings? What was the fate of America?
And what about my father? Had the Navy Yard been attacked? I doubted it, though I feared for the US Capitol and the White House.
I suddenly understood how Papa felt when I refused to tell him how the Civil War would play out. I wanted to know thefate of my loved ones and my country. Was it wrong of Papa to want the same?
My heart broke there on my bedroom floor as the tears continued to flow. For me, for those I loved, for the thousands who were mourning after the attacks, and for the loss of my hopes and dreams in 2001. I cried for America too, as I thought of all she had sacrificed for freedom, and would continue to sacrifice as history unfolded.
I didn’t know how long I sat on the floor with the storm raging outside. But eventually I climbed back into my bed on shaky legs and pulled the covers up to my chin.
“Lord,” I prayed quietly, my eyes burning from all the tears, “I knew I would eventually lose two of my paths, and I knew it would be difficult, but why does it have to hurt so much? Is this punishment for my lack of faith? For my anger toward You for giving me this gift?”
Even as I asked, I knew it wasn’t true. No matter how angry or faithless I was, God was good and He loved me. He understood what it was to be human, to be uncertain and angry. For my lack of understanding, He would not punish me—and I would not allow myself to see Him as mean and uncaring. I had asked Him to tell me what path I should choose, and He had given me an answer. At least, a partial answer. I was not supposed to choose 2001. It was as simple as that. I hadn’t wanted Him to rip it from me, but perhaps that was the only way I would have let it go.
“I don’t want my other paths torn from me,” I whispered to God as thunder rumbled through my room. “I’m sorry I’ve been angry about making my final decision. My lifeisa gift—a unique and rare gift. And I will use the next four months to truly seek Your will for my future. I will choose to believe You have a plan and that You will fulfill that plan in my life.”
I still had two lives to live. Granted, I had lost a great deal, and I would mourn the loss for the rest of my life, but my storyhad not ended. One chapter had simply been closed. And I still had time to discern which path He wanted me to take.
I hadn’t found the answers I’d been searching for, so perhaps I had been looking in the wrong places. I was comparing my lives based on my career, my purpose, and the people who populated each path. What I hadn’t done was turn inward and ask myself what my heart was longing after. Wasn’t that what Daddy and Mama had been trying to tell me in Williamsburg? That I needed to make the best choice for me and not anyone else?
But today wasn’t the day to ponder that question. My heart had just been broken, and I couldn’t trust it to be honest.
As the storm slowly abated, so too did my tears. I could almost hear Mama’s gentle voice telling me it would be okay. My life would go on, and I would ultimately make the right choice. And no matter what, God would be sovereign, and He would show me the way. I just needed to trust myself and Him.
A knock sounded at my door a moment before Saphira entered. Her black hair was caught up in a handkerchief, and she wore a fresh, crisp apron over her colorful dress. She saw me and immediately came to my side.
“Are you feeling poorly?” she asked, her eyebrows tilted in concern.
“Yes.” My head pounded, and my eyes felt like sandpaper. “I do not feel well at all.”
“Would you like for me to send for Dr. Ayers?”
“No.” My malady was a condition of the heart, and no amount of doctoring could fix it.
I stayed in bed for most of the morning, tending to my heart. When I finally got up, my limbs felt heavy, as if I were treading through a pool of mud. Everything exhausted me, from my toilette to walking down the stairs, to sitting at the dining roomtable and forcing myself to drink a cup of tea. Goldie tried to get me to eat some toast, but I couldn’t stomach anything.
The intensity of the storm had moved on, but it was still raining, filling the streets with mud. I had planned to go to the Sanitary Commission to apply to work as a nurse, but I wasn’t fit to do anything today. Besides, it would be difficult to go out in this weather, and I didn’t want to ask Joseph to hitch up the carriage. Since Papa wouldn’t be home until evening, I contemplated going back to bed, but I didn’t want to alarm Saphira, who was already concerned.
I was still at the table with my tea, debating what to do, when there was a knock at the front door.
As Joseph came through the dining room to answer it, I said, “Whoever it is, please tell them I’m not receiving visitors today.”
“Yes, Miss Margaret.” He smiled, his face filled with compassion, and I was certain Saphira or Goldie had told him I was not feeling well.
I stayed in the dining room, planning to hide there until the caller left, and heard Joseph say, “Good morning, Mr. Cooper.”
