A Book of American Martyrs(7)

I had discovered online that Willard Wohlman had studied in a Jesuit seminary in Chicago as a young man but left without taking his vows to become a priest. He had been a “staunch Democrat” for all of his life until the Democrat party threw its support behind abortion on request, at which point he broke from the party to take an independent position as he called it.

“Oh! So many . . .”

Edna Mae gripped my hand tight meaning to murmur So many people but her voice faltered as we entered the church hall in Huntington. It was not common in Edna Mae’s life now to enter any place where faces were unfamiliar, and so many faces!—she did not attend any church services except our services at our church where everyone is known to everyone else and is like a family, where you do not need even to look at another person to register his identity.

It was painful for me to see my dear wife’s face at this time for her youthful features had aged with the ravages of grief, and the spirit of the Lord that had shone so bright in her eyes since she’d been a girl seemed to have vanished like a lighted wick that has been turned so low, the flame has died out.

There was a slackness to her skin, and a puffiness beneath her eyes, that had to do with the medications she was prescribed. I did not like my dear wife to take these medications, but the doctor assured us, they were necessary for Edna Mae at this time.

Edna Mae pulled at me, as a child might tug at an adult’s hand. There was an unusual eagerness about her conjoined with dread, that showed itself in her curious posture, in which her shoulders hunched forward like the shoulders of one bracing herself against a strong wind. It made me uneasy, Edna Mae was wearing a badly rumpled raincoat of a dark purple material thin as vinyl and on her feet flimsy shoes like house slippers that exposed much of her white feet that appeared to be bare as her legs were bare and very white.

I did not want to think what Edna Mae might be wearing beneath the raincoat which hurriedly she had taken from a closet. It was a fear of mine, my dear wife would not be properly dressed beneath the coat, in a public place, yet I had not thought to inspect her, in our hurry at leaving at the prepared time.

“Luther! Hurry. Here.”

I am not so bold, as to wish to sit in the very first row of any gathering. I am a tall man, with a wide frame, and it is very easy for me to become exposed, as the eyes of strangers move upon me without sympathy or recognition; my cheeks grow ruddy with the slightest provocation and especially a birthmark shaped like a spade, of a coarse red sandpaper skin-texture, on my left cheek. And Edna Mae too, until recently, had been a shy person, but no longer, for a wild sort of sorrow gripped her like an invisible creature that had her in its coils causing her sometimes to laugh shrilly for no evident reason.

From our seats at the very front of the hall, but far to one side, Edna Mae craned her neck to stare up at the stage. Her thin white hands she clasped before her at the level of her chest in a prayerful way that would seem show-offy to one who did not know my dear unhappy wife.

It is a new thing for some of us, to be at ease in the presence of Roman Catholics. It has long been known that the Roman Catholic Church considers itself the only true Christian church, which is unacceptable and historically inaccurate, but the Coalition (which was formed in the late 1970s) is based upon opposition to our common enemy and takes precedence over the divisions between us. Protestants and Catholics alike are drawn together in the service of the unborn who are threatened by the abortion providers, for nothing is more important than defending the unborn who cannot defend themselves.

There is a disapproval of birth control as well—the ugly word is contraceptives—to support and encourage a promiscuous lifestyle to which teenagers are particularly susceptible, influenced by TV, crude popular music, movies and “sex education” classes in the public schools.

Edna Mae and I had never talked of such things before our loss of Daphne. For the babies born to us had seemed to come from the Lord God with ease, with only His blessing. (At least, Edna Mae did not ever complain of physical discomfort in pregnancy or childbirth or child rearing or being “flooded” in her mind as she did now.) But lately it seemed Edna Mae wished to speak of certain things that were embarrassing to me, having to do not only with Daphne but also with the other children, and with “female troubles,” as she would speak of them within the hearing of the children as well, as if she did not quite comprehend what she was saying; and this was deeply embarrassing to our eleven-year-old Dawn especially, who was becoming disrespectful to her mother. There were some other issues, not known to me, between Edna Mae and her family—her mother, her sisters. And it was becoming obvious, Edna Mae would neglect her housekeeping to watch Christian TV during the day, that left her excited and restless and quick to weep, by the time I returned home.

I would prepare the meal, if needed. The older daughters and me.

Operation Rescue had been much publicized on Christian TV and radio, and in churches and community centers through Ohio. At our church our minister had been speaking of it for months. It was thrilling to see so many people entering the hall and to know that these strangers were our allies. By my estimate—(my mind will add numbers and multiply of its own volition, as in this case twenty-two seats in a row, and thirty rows of seats)—there were 660 persons in the hall by ten minutes after seven o’clock when the program began.

The pastor of St. Joseph’s Church greeted us. Then, the head of the Coalition, who is a minister in the Gallipolis Baptist Church (Ohio), came out onto the platform to introduce Professor Willard Wohlman.