“Offering sanctuary is a revolutionary act; it expresses love, when others offer scorn or hate. It recognizes humanity, when others deny and seek to debase it. Sanctuary says 'we' rather than 'I'. It is belonging—the building block of community.” Diane Kalen-Sukra
A cold wind whistled around and between the dark canyons of the city streets, carrying with it flakes of snow and pellets of sleet that stung when they collided with bare skin. As he made his brisk way along the icy walks, Murphy MacGregor would catch the occasional whiff of something savory as he passed by pubs where bright holiday music and laughter spilled out in blasts of warm fog each time a door opened. But he wasn't interested in company tonight.
It was the night before Christmas Eve, or as his four-year-old son used to say, Christmas Eve Eve, but there was little to be joyous about in his world. Helpless anger roiled from old wounds that were ripped open each holiday season. Loneliness and a desperate sense of loss seemed to fuel the nightmares that he, thankfully, seldom had to endure anymore. But it was hell when he did. Like tonight, when he had shot up in bed with the cries of his wife and son, as well as the screams of the men with whom he'd served, echoing through his tortured mind. To escape, as he so often had, he had arisen, dressed hurriedly in the clothes he had discarded just hours before, and started walking, trying to escape from his demons.
On Christmas Eve, seven years ago, his unit had been ambushed while on reconnaissance in Afghanistan. Three years ago, a drunk driver had blindsided the SUV that was carrying him and his family to a Christmas Eve mass. His wife and only child had died in the crash and Mac had spent two weeks in a medically induced coma while the swelling receded from his brain. He'd awoke to a darkness deeper than any he had experienced during the coma and spent the better part of the following year living from bottle to bottle trying to deny his new, bitter reality.
Tonight, he was stone cold sober only because his sister, fed up with his downward spiral, had quietly asked one night if he would have wanted little Mark to have seen him this way. After rehab, he had been medically discharged, awarded disability for the PTSD that mercilessly dogged him, and now spent his days creating exquisite works from reclaimed wood that were steadily gaining him recognition and critical acclaim. But, it was just time being served. Without consciously realizing it, Mac was simply living to die.
The sidewalk led him away from the party atmosphere of downtown to a quieter area frequented by storefronts, dark now but for the lights of the Christmas displays in their windows, and finally to the town's deserted park. Coming to an intersection, he found himself standing across the street from the gothic Episcopal church with its ground lights illuminating the snowy manger scene that had appeared every year for as long as anyone could remember.
In the dimmer light of the porticoed side entry to the sanctuary, Mac caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows. Curiosity stirred, followed by an impulse to investigate, and he carefully crossed the icy street. Growing closer, he was able to make out a huddled form in one corner as a quiet cry reached his ears through the snow, wind, and sleet. His steps quickened until he was close enough to see the figure of a young woman pressed close against the corner of the doorway. Her moans were barely heard as her raised legs parted and her back arched in pain.
“Ma'am?” he asked softly, not wanting to startle her, “Ma'am, are you alright?”
Panic filled her blackened eyes when saw the big man approach and she tried to cringe away.
“Ma'am?” He held out his hands, trying to reassure her. “It's okay. I'm here to help.”
Again she moaned and turned her face away against the painted deep red door as her back arched once again. For the first time, he noticed the rounded form beneath the long, heavy coat that seemed three sizes too big for her. A puddle of rapidly freezing water was spreading from beneath her.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, and hurried forward to kneel beside her. “Ma'am? Ma'am, look at me.”
As her back relaxed, she turned her head toward him. She looked to be in her mid twenties with her dirty, pallid face chapped by the cold, and long, dark hair hanging limp from beneath a brown beanie. Her beautiful green eyes were nearly swollen shut.
“Who-who are you?” she asked, panting, then gasped as her back arched again. “Help me, please!”
“My name is Murphy MacGregor. I need to get you some help but I don't think there's time for it to reach you.”
“My baby!” She groaned and tears escaped from between her swollen lids, “You've got to help my baby!”
Quickly stripping the gloves from his hands, he reached into his pocket for his phone and called 911. Once he had connected with the dispatcher, he explained the situation then put the call on speaker and settled himself more securely beside her.
“Help's on the way but right now, I need to see what I can do to help. What's your name, darlin'?”
“M-Marcy.”
“Okay, Marcy. I'm Mac. Now, let me get you situated here so we can see where we're at.”
Following the dispatcher's instructions, he helped Marcy to lie down with her knees still bent. He shed his jacket and bunched it beneath her head to protect it from the hard concrete then quickly unbuttoned her voluminous coat. Beneath it he found she was wearing a long, shapeless, thin cotton dress like his grandmother used to wear while watching her afternoon soaps. It was hardly good attire for such a cold night. As he was raising the hem, he heard the sound of a police siren in the distance.
As he pulled down her sodden panties, he discovered the baby was already crowning. At that instant, she cried out and again arched her back.
“Okay, Marcy,” he soothed, ignoring the panic that threatened to overcome him, “Okay, looks like you're already almost there.” He described what he was seeing to the dispatcher just as a police cruiser pulled up to curb. As the officers ran up the sidewalk, Marcy cried out again and Mac watched as the baby slid a little further out and placed his hand beneath it as it turned to one side. With a final scream, the young mother bore down and the infant slid free in a steaming gush of bloody fluid into Mac's waiting hands. After a gasp and a couple of small cries, she lustily began to show her indignation at being forced from the warm womb into the cold air of night.
“Marcy!” He laughed softly. “You have a daughter!”
Gasping for breath, she closed her eyes for a moment before straining to pull herself up.
“Is she alright?”
Mac smiled as he laid the infant on her mother's belly. The umbilical cord still pulsed between them.
“Yes, ma'am and she's beautiful.” The baby continued to cry with a voice seemingly too loud for one so small. “She's got some fine lungs on her, too.”
Marcy laughed as her hands, reaching as far as they could, eagerly began touching the baby's wet skin. They could hear the siren of an approaching ambulance as one of the officers handed Mac a blanket, which he spread over Marcy and the baby. Belatedly, he thanked the dispatcher for his help and hung up his phone. Only then did he become aware of how cold he was. He started to make room for the officer to kneel down but stopped when Marcy grabbed his hand.
“No! Please! Stay, please stay.”
Taking her hand in his he smiled reassuringly into her exhausted eyes.
“I will, as long as you want.”
At that time, the ambulance pulled up and the EMT's soon joined them with their equipment and gurney. Mac was shoved aside but, as he'd promised, stayed where Marcy could see him. After they had her and baby packaged and ready to transport, she again reached for his hand.
“Don't leave me,” she begged, and he looked at the EMT.
“Can I go with her?”
“I'm sorry, sir, you can't ride in the ambulance.”
“You can go with me,” the officer offered and Mac again smiled at Marcy as they began to roll her away.
“I'm right behind you, darlin'” he promised with a reassuring wink.
As it was, he wasn't allowed to accompany her as she was wheeled to maternity, nor was he advised as to how long it would be before she could receive visitors. So he returned home where he showered and had some breakfast, then laid down for a rest, exhausted, but conscious of a rare internal peace.
Hours later he returned to the hospital and, after knocking softly, walked into Marcy's room to find her cleaned up and dressed in a hospital gown as she nursed the little girl. Exhaustion was evident in her battered face, but contentment was also plainly written there, despite her blackened eyes. Her long hair hung over one shoulder in a lustrous mohagany tail.
“Hey, remember me?” he murmured and she looked up with a tremulous smile.
“Yes, Mac, of course. Please, come in.”
He took a seat on the chair beside her bed, feeling awkward and overly aware of his large size beside the smaller woman and her tiny child.
“How are you feelin'?”
“Good. Tired.”
He watched as she tenderly brushed a bead of milk from the corner of the baby's mouth then lifted her gaze to his as she laid her head back against the pillow.
“Thank you for helping me, us,” she whispered and Mac shook his head.
“No need. I'm just glad I was there.” He glanced at the baby then back at Marcy. “Do you have anyone I can call for you?”
A spasm of fear chased across her face.
No! I mean, no. There's no one.”
He paused then asked, “Are you from here, Marcy?”
She sighed and kissed the baby's head.
“No.”
There was silence for a long moment as Mac struggled with what to ask next.
“Are you homeless?”
Tears brimmed in her green eyes.
“I am now.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Again, silence.
“Who hurt you, Marcy? Your husband?”
She shook her head as she soothed a hand over the baby's head.
“I'm not married.”
“Then your boyfriend?”
“No.” She sighed. “He wasn't my boyfriend.”
“Then who was he?”
“Someone I met at the shelter.”
“Was he the baby's father?”
“N-No.” Her chin quivered. “That was my sister's boyfriend.”
“Your sister's?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know about the baby?”
“Yes.” Her voice broke. “He-he made me have sex with him then threatened to kill us both if I told anyone.”
“He raped you?”
She hicupped on a sob.
“No-no. I didn't fight him. I-We had sex so that I could stay with my sister.”
“That's still rape, Marcy,” Mac insisted, anger evident in his tone, “Why would you want to stay with your sister if he was forcing you to have sex?”
“She had multiple sclerosis and couldn't take care of herself any longer. She didn't have any money so she couldn't afford a good place for her to stay. And he couldn't, or wouldn't help her. He was threatening to throw her out, so I moved in.” She took a breath. “Then she died but I couldn't leave. He wouldn't let me leave. He said he would hunt me down and kill me if I did.”
Mac shook his head.
“But you left anyway?”
“Yes. And he found me so I ran away again. I was afraid to stay in one place very long so I kept moving, living in homeless shelters.” She kissed the baby's head. “I thought he'd found me again tonight so I trusted someone I thought could help.” She sighed brokenly,.“I was so stupid...”
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
She smiled sadly, “About my sister's boyfriend?”
Mac nodded.
“He is the police.”
“He's a cop?”
“State trooper, yes.”
“Shit.” Mac leaned forward with his elbows on the side of her bed. “Did you tell the police here?”
“No.” Marcy raised beseeching eyes to him and whispered, “Please don't tell them I told you all this! He'll find me again!”
“I won't,” he assured her quietly, “Did you tell them your name?”
“Not my real name.”
“So if you can't go home or use your real name, where will you go after this?”
“I don't know. I just know I can't go home.”
“Where's home?”
“Omaha.”
“What did you do there?”
“I worked as a certified nursing assistant while I was going to school to become a nurse.”
“Do you have any family?
“No. My sister and I grew up in foster care after our mother abandoned us. I don't know anything about her.”
The baby had fallen asleep, and he gently ran a finger over her downy head.
“What are you going to call her?”
“Janine Michelle, after my sister.”
“That's a pretty name.”
She nodded and smiled softly.
“Thank you.”
“Do you know when they'll be releasing you?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Christmas Day? Then what?”
“I don't know.”
They sat in silence while Mac considered the situation.
“Why don't you come home with me? My house has plenty of room for you and Janine. You can stay there until you decide what to do next.”
Marcy started to shake her head.
“Look, Marcy, you don't have anywhere to go and you need somewhere to recover. What's more you'll be basically off the grid.”
“I don't know anything about you. What about your wife? What will she say?”
Mac looked away for moment.
“I'm not married. My wife and son died three years ago.”
“Oh, Mac! I'm so sorry.”
He nodded once.
“Yeah, well, so you see, I have plenty of room. I can tell you that I'm a disabled vet without a criminal record. I live simply and quietly, don't smoke, don't drink, rarely swear, and I have a good friend who is a minister if you need reassurance of how harmless I am.”
She smiled as she met the twinkle in his brown eyes.
“And, Marcy,” he added quietly, “you'll be safe with me. The guy hunting you won't find you.” He nodded toward the baby. “You and that little lady there need someplace to light for a while.”
She looked down at her sleeping baby then, with a sigh, back up at him.
“Thank you.”
After leaving the hospital, Mac drove across town to a big box store and bought a collapsible playpen that doubled as a bed before enlisting the aid of a store clerk in picking out things the baby would need for the next few days. Then, guessing at Marcy's size, he purchased some comfortable fleece sweats, a couple of loose nightgowns and a robe, a package of panties, some warm socks, and a pair of pink terry house slippers. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up a warm, puffy coat in forest green to protect her from the cold. Finally, he stopped on the way home and loaded up on groceries, understanding that she would need something more than cold cuts and soda to live on.
She was waiting the next morning when he arrived and thanked him profusely for the clothes.
“I was afraid I'd have to live in hospital gowns until I could get back to the shelter for my things.”
“Don't worry about the shelter right now,” he advised before stepping from the room so she could dress in private.
The hallway was busy with visitors and staff, some of whom were wearing Santa hats. There was laughter coming from various rooms. A teenager passed wearing jingle bells on her sneakers, blinking reindeer antlers on her head, and bearing a tiny poinsettia. A discharge wheelchair went past with a new mother holding her snuggled newborn in front and the back covered with a riot of flowers and balloons. A man walked alongside, smiling as he carried her overnight bag. He felt sad that Marcy was alone on Christmas Day, without anyone close to her to take her and the baby home. Perhaps because of his role in the baby's delivery, he felt protective of them, and it only seemed right that he take them in until she was on her feet again. In the meanwhile, he would make use of his personal resources to ensure she need never fear her rapist again.
By lunch time, he had them ensconced in the modest house he and his wife had bought early on in their marriage. It was still decorated as she had left it which, for some reason, made Mac feel uncomfortable. But Marcy was grateful for the warmth and sense of security it represented. After feeding Janine and putting her to bed, she walked carefully into the kitchen where Mac was flipping grilled cheese sandwiches on an electric griddle to accompany the vegetable beef soup simmering on the stove.
“Have a seat,” he invited, gesturing toward the small table at one end of the eat in kitchen. Setting aside the spatula, he opened the refrigerator. “What would you like to drink? I have milk, juice and soda.”
“Milk, please.”
After placing the jug of milk on the table, he retrieved two glasses and set them before her, before turning back to the counter. Moments later, he had plated the sandwiches and served them with steaming bowls of soup.
“Warm and simple,” he commented with a smile as he took his seat across from her, and she smiled in return.
“Thank you, Mac. For this and everything.” Tears suddenly glistened in her lovely eyes. “I don't know what...”
He shook his head and placed his hand over hers where it rested beside her plate.
“No need to thank me. I'm happy to do it.” His lips quirked on one side. “I think you're being good for me.”
She sniffed as she looked up at him, “Why do you say that?”
“It's Christmas. I've spent each of the past three Christmases missing my wife and son and living in a very dark place. Christmas was something to be endured. Now you and Janine are giving me something good to enjoy for a change.”
Marcy smiled and he gave her hand a squeeze before turning back to his meal.
A few minutes later, she retreated to her bedroom to rest, leaving Mac to clean up the kitchen. Afterward, feeling oddly at ends, he looked about the living room and considered how drab and even depressing it must seem. The couch and chairs, though comfortable, were looking worn, and a fine layer of dust covered everything. Looking out through the large bay window he could see snow falling once again through the air, adding to the several inches already on the ground, and the thought occurred to him that any Christmas spirit stopped dead outside his front door. Glancing down the hall in the direction of Marcy's bedroom, he made a decision and made his way to the attic over the garage.
The crying baby woke Marcy a couple of hours later and soon she was yawning as Janine nursed contentedly at her breast. She could hear music coming from the living room and she smiled as she realized Mac was singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town along with Bruce Springsteen. Tears prickled in her eyes again even as she smiled and trailed a tender finger across Janine's soft, pink cheek.
Sometime later, she emerged from the bedroom after having put the sleeping baby back to bed to find Mac putting the finishing touches on a plush artificial Christmas tree set before the window. Lights in a multitude of colors twinkled from within the boughs, and all manner of ornaments and garland hung from its tips. A porcelain angel graced the top and a small train circled a track below.
“Oh, Mac!” she breathed and he smiled when he saw her.
“Merry Christmas, Marcy.”
“Oh, Mac, how lovely!”
“You like it?”
“Oh, yes! But you really didn't have to do this.”
He shrugged, “I know but I wanted to. I thought that even though she won't remember a thing about it, Janine deserved a tree for her first Christmas.”
Marcy smiled softly and advanced further into the room.
“No, she won't remember. But I will.” Reaching his side, she stood on her toes to brush a soft kiss on his cheek. “You are such a sweet, sweet man to have thought of this.”
She grinned as a ruddy hue spread over his face.
Janine awoke several times over the ensuing hours, requiring feeding and changing and cuddling. Mac eagerly accepted when Marcy invited him to hold the baby, and over the course of the evening, he was able to gently learn more about the man who hunted her. Once she went to bed, he picked up his phone and retreated to the garage.
The days passed and they settled into a routine reminiscent of those he had shared with his wife when their son was born. He was left feeling more than a little bemused at how easily remembered some things were about having an infant in the house. To give Marcy time to rest, he helped with the baby's care, including changing her and crooning as he held her and walked slowly back and forth over the floor. He was able to reassure her when Janine had her first bout with colic and a silly smile brightened his face whenever the baby seemed to smile at him. He refused to believe it was just gas.
Mac had just finished putting on a pot of decaf and Marcy was bathing Janine in the bathroom when the phone rang late in the afternoon of NewYear's Eve. Seeing the name on his caller ID, he withdrew to the garage for privacy. Minutes later, his face grim with satisfaction, he hung up, thinking that he owed Pete more than a hot meal and a case of beer the next time he was in town.
As the night passed, they decided to eschew the usual Times Square festivities in favor of a quiet night listening to easy listening music on the digital TV. Relaxed in his easy chair, Mac watched as Marcy held Janine against her shoulder and gently patted the little girl's back.
“I have some good news for you,” he said and Marcy met his eyes with a gentle smile.
“What kind of good news?”
“You and Janine are safe. He won't bother you any more.”
For a moment, she stared at him blankly before frowning and giving her head a little shake.
“Safe? In don't understand.”
Mac looked down at the book he had been reading for a moment before once again meeting her eyes.
“When I was in the military, I worked closely with a group of guys for a long time in a lot of difficult places. In many ways, they were the brothers I never had. We depended upon each other and always had each other's backs. When one of us needed help, the rest of us were there. That didn't change when we left the service.”
She nodded solemnly.
“You and Janine are now part of my family, for as long as you want or need, and that brings you under the protection of me and my brothers.”
Marcy's eyes rounded in horror.
“You didn't have him killed, did you?”
Mac chuckled, “No, but I made damn sure he will wish I had if he ever comes within a hundred miles of you again.”
For long moments, she continued to stare at him before, reassured he hadn't committed murder, she began to relax. Switching the baby to her other shoulder, she continued patting the tiny back before looking back at Mac.
“I, I don't know what to say except, thank you. Again.”
“Oh, believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”
Sitting forward, he set the book aside.
“So, you're free now to go wherever you want. But, Marcy, I wish you would consider staying here for a while. You'll need help with the baby when you return to school and, well, I've grown rather fond of the little lady. Frankly this house gets too quiet and kind of lonely sometimes and I've enjoyed having you both around. I don't want to give that up just yet.” He looked down at his clasped hands. “There's a good college here in town and you can stay here rent free...”
“If I stay it won't be rent free,” she objected, “I insist on paying something for our being here.”
“Then maybe we'll split expenses. Whatever. Just think about it, okay?”
Silence stretched between them and he watched as she considered his offer. Finally, she looked back at him and smiled the soft smile he'd come to love.
Another beautifully written story that could be true, it is so realistic. But the coincidence of Mac finding Mercy like he did at the church is rare, but happens. I recall the times when it seemed like no one was there to help, good Samaritans appeared out of nowhere and landed a hand.
I can see where both of them were healed greatly by their meeting. Although you left that off, I could easily see them continuing life, both filling a hole in the others.
Just in time for Christmas. A poignant and wonderful story for the season.
'Catholic Voices in a World on Fire' Anthology, includes 'The Poorest of the Poor'; by Judy Joy Jones which is a chapter from her upcoming book about her volunteer work at Mother Teresas houses around the world including her house in Washington DC w
A cold wind whistled around and between the dark canyons of the city streets, carrying with it flakes of snow and pellets of sleet that stung when they collided with bare skin. As he made his brisk way along the icy walks, Murphy MacGregor would catch the occasional whiff of something savory as he passed by pubs where bright holiday music and laughter spilled out in blasts of warm fog each time a door opened. But he wasn't interested in company tonight.
