Child of Her Heart. Irene Brand

across the street to see that people were leaving the church, and she was sorry she had missed going.

      Her stomach rebelled at the odor of fried bacon permeating the apartment, and she rushed to the bathroom. With the adequate ventilating system and soundproof walls at Sandhill Apartments, they had hardly realized they had neighbors. But the walls here must be paper thin, she thought. Children ran in the room above her, a television played in the room beside her apartment, and the wails of a crying baby filtered in from across the hall.

      Weak with nausea she crept back into bed and slept for another hour. After all that sleep, she should feel rested, but she didn’t. Moving slowly to the kitchen area, she toasted a slice of bread and made a pot of strong coffee. Boxes of kitchen utensils and groceries crowded the cabinet top, and she had many other things to unpack, too. She had to generate energy somehow. She must get the apartment in order before tomorrow when she started to work.

      While she sipped on the coffee and nibbled the toast, Sonya wondered how she would like a full-time job. She had worked for her parents on the farm, but she’d never had a salaried position. Such inexperience would have made any job difficult, but when she felt so lousy, she doubted she could give a satisfactory day’s employment to anyone.

      Sonya forced herself to finish a glass of cold milk, as her doctor had instructed. During the afternoon while she unpacked boxes, her stomach crawled with hunger, but when she tried to eat, the very scent of the food caused her to gag. The work was finished by four o’clock, and she faced a long evening.

      She drew on a jacket over her sweats and went down to her car. Several children played football in the parking lot. She slid into the car, ignoring the glances of three men lounging on benches. She had intended on going to see Leta or the Shraders, but she remembered that the gas gauge had shown empty yesterday. Should she use her small hoard of money to buy gas for pleasure riding?

      She got out of the car when she noticed the men staring at her, and that one of them, a short man with a handsome face, had headed in her direction. “Need any help?”

      “No, thank you. I’ve decided to walk.”

      “Anytime you need any help, let me know. People are neighborly here.”

      She rushed out of the parking lot, trying to avoid the man’s attention. Walking would be better for her, anyway, but she needed companionship.

      The area around the Washburn Complex had sprouted many housing developments. The larger houses were surrounded by a brick fence, and it was obvious that spectators would not be welcomed. Sonya walked west along a street of moderate houses until she came to a corn field. A brisk breeze rattled the dry blades, and the heavy, drooping ears on the stalks awaiting the picker reminded her of the farm at home.

      Sonya retraced her steps, tears in her eyes. When she passed the Community Lighthouse, cars poured into the parking lot. Families entered the first floor carrying covered trays and picnic baskets. Momentarily, Sonya was tempted to follow them, but glancing at her dirty sweats, she moved on. She hadn’t even showered today—she couldn’t inflict her presence on them. No doubt Adam and Marie Benson would welcome her, but she didn’t want to spoil their evening when they’d been so kind to her. She wasn’t fit company for anyone tonight.

      When she entered the lobby of the apartment house, Sonya went to the telephone booth. She hesitated about spending the quarter, but she had to talk to someone. Not the Shraders, for they usually ate out on Sunday nights. Surely not her parents! Leta? Maybe, but in the end, she dialed the number of Bryon’s parents. She had always called his parents “Mother and Father Dixon,” but would that be appropriate now?

      When Mrs. Dixon answered the phone, Sonya said, without any salutation, “Hello. This is Sonya. We haven’t talked for several weeks. How are you?”

      “Well enough, I suppose. Tom is snoozing now. He’s been golfing all afternoon. Has Bryon come back from San Francisco yet?”

      Mrs. Dixon’s voice sounded normal, and Sonya concluded she didn’t know about her son’s perfidy.

      “Didn’t he tell you? He isn’t coming back. He’s left me.”

      Mrs. Dixon’s gasp couldn’t have been feigned. “I can’t believe that. What has happened?”

      “I really feel that Bryon should be the one to tell you, because he’s the one who initiated the separation. I’m very bitter about it, so it’s best if I don’t say anything until you’ve heard his version of the situation.”

      “When did this happen?”

      “I had a note from him a few weeks ago saying that he didn’t expect to return…and he had someone come for all his possessions. In a later letter he indicated that he would no longer be responsible for my support, so I had to move. I’m living at the Washburn Complex. I have a one-room efficiency here.”

      “Why that’s a welfare establishment!”

      Sonya laughed shortly. “It’s certainly not luxury living, but it’s all I can afford now.”

      “I’m going to contact Bryon and get to the bottom of this, and I’ll be in touch with you again. Is your telephone number the same?”

      “I don’t have a telephone. I’m calling from the lobby. I’m sorry to trouble you with this, but if Bryon hadn’t told you, I thought you deserved to know.”

      Sonya could hear Mrs. Dixon crying softly, and she hung up the receiver gently. She had never been overly fond of her in-laws, but she did feel sorry for them. They would feel keenly the fact that their only son’s marriage had failed.

      Adam Benson was on hand to greet Sonya the next morning when she timorously entered the ground floor of the church building. She arrived at eight o’clock, thinking she would be early, but numerous cars had pulled up at the door and unloaded children while she had crossed the parking lot

      “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said to Adam. “What time should I come to work?”

      “You aren’t late because we hadn’t discussed your hours. About all you can do today is meet our other staff and observe. Tomorrow, you should come at seven o’clock and plan to work until two. We try to accommodate parents who go to work early. A few children are here after two o’clock, but we have sitters with them. No school after two.”

      “I haven’t had any experience working with children.”

      Adam patted her on the shoulder. “Sonya, you’re going to be great at this job. Stop fretting.”

      But when he led her into a room housing more than a dozen active three-year-olds, Sonya’s courage deserted her completely. Only Adam’s hand on her arm kept her from bolting out of the room. A woman held the hands of a pair of blond girls, who were evidently twins. They tugged to get free of her hold.

      Behind the woman two little boys threw play dough at one another. When Adam and Sonya appeared, one black boy raced to Adam, shouting, “Here’s the preacher. Catch me,” he said as he jumped into Adam’s arms.

      The scene was pure bedlam, and Sonya thought maybe Bryon was right about having children. But the door behind them banged suddenly, a whistle blew, and the children dived toward their assigned seats at the table. In a few seconds hardly a sound could be heard.

      Sonya turned to see who had wrought this miracle. A small, gray-haired woman walked toward Sonya with outstretched hand. “Is this my new helper?” she asked. The woman radiated energy and efficiency.

      “Sonya, meet our dedicated nursery teacher, Eloise Dedham. This woman could make twice the salary in a public school as she does here. We’re fortunate to have her.”

      “Now, Adam, you know it’s a ministry for me. I’m delighted to have you, Sonya,” Eloise said. “The children are always hyper on Monday morning, but once we start our activities, they settle down. Don’t worry about learning everything at once. You can mostly observe today, and I’ll gradually fit you into the schedule.”