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Reaching Into Silence, World Without Sound Book One

By Linda Sammaritan

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Chapter 1: German Measles (June 1965)
All is dark, silent.
I yawn, I stretch, I float in
My warm, salty lake.

***

If I’d known we were celebrating the first day of summer vacation with cheese Danish, I might’ve put down my book and run for breakfast an hour ago.
Mom handed me the plate bordered with little blue seashells but didn’t leave the room. Instead, she sat on the sofa across from me, which made the round bump of her belly more noticeable. After two little brothers, maybe I’d get a sister this time. I could hardly wait. A sister would make a great birthday present.
Mom patted the place beside her, indicating I should join her. A serious discussion must be in the works. Back when I was ten, she’d invited me to sit next to her for a “little talk” about girls becoming young ladies. I hoped she wasn’t about to have another “little talk” that would leave me wishing to disappear from embarrassment. To avoid eye contact, I perched on the edge of the cushion and focused on each mouthful of sweet, cream cheese filling from my Danish.
Mom heaved one of those sighs I’d gotten used to since last winter. “Debbie, I know you’re happy about the new baby, but I need to tell you something.”
What would make me unhappy about the baby? I switched my attention from the Danish to her face, searching for a clue. She attempted a smile but gave up, and I glanced away to avoid the worry in her eyes.
What if the something she needed to tell me about was something wrong with her? She’d been acting weird lately, never smiling, staring off into space, and not noticing stuff going on right in front of her. In fact, just the other day, she let my seven-year-old brother, Wade, eat ten sandwich cookies. Ten. We hadn’t even had breakfast. My normal mother, Mrs. Eggs and Toast, would have never let that happen.
I licked the last smidgen of Danish off my fingers and wiped them on my pajamas before I dared to finally look straight at Mom. Her bright red lipstick contrasted with her dark hair and eyes making her movie-star beautiful. People even compared her to Jackie Kennedy, one of the most glamorous women alive. My mom was more than just beautiful—she was a stunner, inside and out, as Daddy always said.
What if Mom was going to lose the baby the way the First Lady had? I tried to swallow the sudden lump that had formed in my throat. Everybody had cried when the President got shot, but I cried for poor Mrs. Kennedy. First, she lost the new baby, and then she lost her husband. And I sure didn’t want to be in the same boat as poor little Caroline Kennedy who lost her father and her baby sister.
Mom sighed again and stroked the satiny, raised paisley pattern on the couch while I twined my fingers together and squeezed hard like they’d crush any bad news to death.
“There might be something wrong with the baby.” She stared at her fingertip as it followed the lines of green and blue swirls. “In fact, the doctor says it probably won’t be normal.” Her voice cracked as she spoke that last word. As if normal was something delicate, like fine crystal and easily shattered.
Her words didn’t make sense. No one could even see the baby yet. I peered at Mom’s stomach trying to picture a teeny-tiny infant curled up in there. Sound asleep. Safe.
Mom was fine. She just needed to find a different doctor instead of the quack she’d been going to.
“How can anybody know if there’s something wrong with a baby before it’s born?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
A single tear rolled to her chin, and she let it drop, as if she didn’t have the energy to brush it off her face.
I shifted my gaze to the window. I hadn’t meant to make her cry, but if Doctor Quack had been in the room, I would’ve lit into him so hard his liar, liar pants on fire would’ve flamed to the ceiling.
In a softer voice, I asked, “Why does he say the baby won’t be normal?”
“Do you remember when your brothers had German measles back in January? And then I got it, too?”
“Yes.” I remembered clearly because everyone had gotten a rash and swollen glands except for me and Daddy.
“That’s why we know something’s wrong… because I had German measles when the baby was first beginning to grow inside of me.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and wadded it into a tight ball.
“But you were hardly sick at all,” I protested. “The boys weren’t that sick either.”
“It may not seem like much when you catch it, but rubella—German measles—damages babies who aren’t born yet.” She brushed away a few strands of blond hair tickling my cheek. “I want you to be ready.” Mom squared her shoulders like a soldier preparing to march into battle. “This baby could be blind or deaf. Other things could be wrong, too. We won’t know until after it’s born.”
A baby who will never see? Never hear? Something worse?
Her words buzzed around me like a swarm of bees, alighting on my brain and immediately lifting off in swirling, paisley patterns of their own. If I stayed really still and didn’t act scared, maybe none of those words would sting me.
Problems like this happened to heroes in stories, not to regular people like us. Besides, God wouldn’t let awful things happen to our family. Would He?
And if He did, maybe there would be a miracle. In Sunday school, we always heard stories about Jesus healing blind people and deaf people. If God did miracles back then, He could do the same things now.
Mom grasped my chin, so I had to look into her eyes. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
No. Not really. I nodded anyway.
“Daddy and I want you to be ready for whatever could happen. I know you’ve been so excited that you’re old enough to help with this baby. We may need a lot more help than any of us bargained for.” She leaned over and hugged me. “Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head no. I had too many questions to count. Where would I begin?

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