At this point of the story it makes me wonder if I should be labeling it a drama.

"Mother! Mother!" the terrified voice called and Blossom rushed to her daughter's side.

"I'm here, Zelda. It's all right. I'm right here."

Zelda clung to her mother, trembling from head to foot. Zelda's fear of the dark had begun during childhood. Now she'd been plunged into a sea of blackness, and the slightest change set her off. Just not the wind had kicked up outside, and she'd heard a strange noise. It had been happening off and on for days. Blossom's face was drawn with exhaustion, but Zelda couldn't see this.

"Here," Blossom suggested, "the sun is shining right through these window. Move to the sofa now, and you'll be able to feel it."

"Help me," Zelda whimpered.

"I'm here. Take my hand."

They made the move with Zelda cluing at her mother's arm. Blossom's skin was already bruised and scratched from Zelda's clasping hands, and she winced when Zelda hit a sore spot.

When Zelda was settled, Blossom sank into a chair of her won and just stared into space. She wasn't certain how much longer she could do this. It was three weeks to the day since Zelda had fallen in the store, and although her headaches had abated, Zelda was terrified most of the time. The rest of the household had finally learned to sleep through her cries in the night, but Blossom went to her every time. She never calmed down in less than tow hours, and the days were not much better.

One afternoon just that week after a particularly difficult night, Blossom fell into such a hard sleep in the living room chair that by the time she heard Zelda's cries the younger woman was inconsolable. Zelda had been almost impossible to live with since, terrified that she was being left alone in her blackness. Attempts to comfort her with Scripture, God's promises to never leave His children, fell on deaf ears. Zelda had nearly reverted to infancy.

Blossom had thought it hard to have little one under foot, but nothing could have prepared her for having a 17-year-old baby. She was dressing Zelda, giving her baths, and helping her eat. Blossom didn't know how much more she could take.

From where she sat in the chair, she now rocked her head and looked at Zelda. The blind girl just sat there. Blossom tried to understand but couldn't. Zelda didn't talk anymore or ask questions. Her world had shrunk until she was the only one who existed.

It's too soon, Blossom told herself, but then an unfair thought came to mind. Zelda had always been more self-centered than any of the other children. Blind or not, Blossom didn't believe she herself would be so unreasonable. A minute later guilt poured over her. She felt terrible for thinking this way. She was prying, trying to explain her wary heart to God, when she heard someone knock at the front door.

"What was that?" Zelda was instantly afraid.

"Just someone at the door." Blossom rose to answer it.

"Are you leaving?" Zelda's hands were outreached, and Blossom rush to her.

"I'm just going to answer the door," Blossom answered. Zelda calmed a little at her touch. "Just sit tight; I'll be right back."

Zelda was shaking again, but Blossom left her and rushed to the door. She was rather startled to see Mrs. Sahasrahla standing on the small porch. Pastor had visited twice, but his wife, who was often busy with town orphans, was the last person Blossom expected. However, she was not unwelcome.

"I hope I won't be intruding, Blossom, but I thought I could be of some help."

"Oh," Blossom's manners returned to her in a rush. "Of course, Ambi, please come in."

Ambi Monroe was just two steps into the house when Zelda set up a hue cry. Blossom didn't explain, but turned and ran to her. Ambi flowed slowly. By the time she calmed Zelda down; the other woman was standing silently in the doorway.

"Come in, Ambi," she bade gently, telling herself to forget the dust and grime that seemed to pervade the room, indeed, the whole house.

"Thank you."

"Mrs. Munroe is here, Zelda."

"Hello, Zelda," Ambi greeted her softly.

"Hello." Zelda's voice was dull.

"How is your shoulder?"

Zelda didn't answer. Blossom looked apologetic and spoke for her.

"Its fine really, just very bruised. Those tins of syrup are quiet heavy. Doc Borville was rather surprised she hadn't broken any bones."

Ambi nodded, and a momentary silence fell on the threesome. It didn't last, however, as Zelda suddenly lost her mother and began to call to her in terror. Blossom was standing to go to her when Ambi spotted a bruise and a scratch on her arm. She caught Blossom's sleeve and shook her head.

"Answer her from here," she said quietly. For a moment, Blossom only stared at her. "Sit back down, Blossom, and answer her from your place in the chair."

"Mother! Mother!"

The cries escalated, but Blossom made herself sit back down.

"I'm right here, Zelda; right in my chair."

"Mother." Again Zelda's hands were outstretched, unseeing eyes searching frantically.

Blossom began to panic herself and turned to their guest, but Ambi only shook her head.

"Zelda." The strange voice caught her attention. She'd forgotten anyone else was there. "Your mother is right here. She's going to answer you from her seat." Ambi urged Blossom with her head.

"I'm right here, Zelda. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, but I need to touch you." Zelda was crying now.

Ambi shook her head vehemently.

"I'm right here." Blossom's voice wobbled with her own tears, but she managed the words. "You can here me."

Zelda's hands began to twist and flap. She was on the verge of hysteria.

"I have to touch you," she sobbed.

"No." Blossom now said on her own. "I'm right here. Just listen to the sound of my voice."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," Ambi put in. "In fact, you can tell by the sound of her voice how your mother is feeling."

Zelda was shaking her head, but Ambi went on, her soft voice compelling.

"Listen to your mother, Zelda, and tell me if she's angry."

Blossom picked up her cue. "I'm right here, Zelda, right here in the room with you."

Zelda was still moving fretfully, but she was listening too.

"Is she angry, Zelda?"

"No, but I need to touch her."

"Dose it sound like she's going to play a trick on you?"

"No." Zelda's movements were calming.

"No, she isn't, is she? If your mother tells you she's right in the room, then you know she's going to be here."

Zelda's breathing was returning to normal, and her hands now lay still in her lap.

"Go to her, Blossom," Ambi instructed, and when she did, Zelda clung to her in relief. Blossom smoothed her hair and nestled Zelda against her. The exercise had been as draining for her as it was for Zelda. She finally looked to Ambi.

"My mother was blind," the pastor's wife stated quietly. "I think I can be of help to you."
(&)

"If you run your right hand along the edge of the plate, Zelda you will fill your cup."

Zelda's hand came to the table top. She bumped her knife and spoon but found the plate. It was a good thing it was empty, or she'd have put her hand right in the food.

"You must move slower, dear," Ambi cautioned her. "Slow movements at all times, until you've found your way."

Zelda's left hand gripped the edge of the table, and Ambi prepared herself of the outburst. They'd been working for two hours every morning fro six weeks, and she knew all the signs. The progress had been very slow, but Ambi was patient beyond all description.

"No one is going to clean up any messes you make today, Zelda. If you break another plate, you'll clean up the glass on your own."

At first Zelda was so shocked she couldn't speak, but a moment later she let out a howl.

"Mother! Mother!"

"Listen, Zelda." Ambi's voice got through when Zelda was taking a breath. "She heard you upstairs. Listen to her footsteps on the stairs."

Zelda forgot her earlier irritation until she heard her teacher's next words.

"You can see, Zelda; you can see without your eyes."

"Don't say that to me!" she said through gritted teeth.

"But it's true," Ambi insisted. "And as soon as you realize it, you're going to feel set free."

Zelda was still breathing heavily with irritation when her mother entered.

"Did you call me, Zelda?"

"Yes. I'm through for the day." She started to rise. "Take me upstairs."

"If you want to get upstairs," Ambi cut in, "you'll have to go on your own."

"Mother! She immediately cried. "Help me, Mother."

Ambi didn't look at Blossom or Zelda. She sat at the table and let them decide. In the past, Blossom often helped when she shouldn't have. Ambi had told her that in the long urn it would make things worse, but too often Blossom had not been able to withstand Zelda's tears.

"I think," Blossom said softly, "that I'll let you go on your own today."

Zelda sat back down and began to cry. The women did not touch her or speak to her, and soon her tears became sobs. Bipin chose that moment to come in the door.

"What is it?" he asked immediately, not seeing anyone but Zelda.

"Oh, Father," she cried, taking immediate advantage. "I just want to go upstairs."

"I'll take you, honey," he offered and went right to her.

So taken was he with Zelda's fear that he didn't even notice his wife's face. Without further word to anyone, he took Zelda to her room.

Blossom and Ambi stared at each other before Blossom admitted quietly, "Christmas is three-and-a-half-weeks away, and a week after that is Zelda's birthday. I wish they were already over."

(&)

"How can I clean it if I can't see it?" Zelda voice was filled with anger, but Blossom ignored it.

"It doesn't' have to b e perfect, but you can tell where the polish is. Just try."

"No. I don't want it all over me."

Blossom worked to tamp down her own anger. If she told Zelda what she was really thinking, that she was a self-centered brat, it would have crushed her. However, she was not going to take no for an answer.

"I want you to do this," Blossom said in an even tone. "I want you to at least try to polish this platter. If you don't, I won't read to you tonight at bedtime."

"You're treating me like a child," Zelda whimpered.

"Because you're acting like one," Blossom snapped. She stopped herself just short of asking, what would Link say? But he was not mentioned anymore. His letters to Zelda were stacked unopened in her room, untouched and unanswered.

"I'll try," Zelda said quietly after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Blossom thanked her and moved from the room.

I must stop this, Lord. I question You at every turn. I want answers as to how I'm going to carry on and how much longer I must struggle, but You have kept silent. I am becoming frustrated and distant with You, and I can't stand it.

Blossom heard the sound of her own thoughts and knew that she alone must deal with her anger and apathy. She took the first chair she could find and began to pray. Years ago she'd heard a preacher say, "The moment you don't feel like praying, get on your knees. And the moment you don't feel like reading your Bible, you'd better get the Book open."
The words came to her now, and Blossom prayed. She didn't have the energy to go upstairs for her Bible, but she did pray. She confessed her anger and asked God for the strength to carry on. Zelda called to her a short time later, and she went to her, still praying. She talked to the Lord all the way to bedtime that night when she could finally escape to the quiet of her bedroom and write a letter to Malon. She needed someone who would listen. Malon seemed the ideal choice. Blossom was tired enough to go to bed and sleep for 12 hours, but she fought the urge, sat down at her desk, and put ink to paper.

(&)

Bipin climbed the stairs to the bedroom late that same night. He was bone tired and told himself that he didn't really need to be at the store at 6:00. In fact, he had gotten so much done today; he didn't need to be there until right before opening at 8:00. Bipin was contemplating the loveliness of turning over in the morning and going back to sleep when he opened the door and found Blossom slumped over the writing desk.

The lantern was burning, but she was sound asleep. He nearly shook her awake, but before he could do so, his eye caught some of the words of her letter to Malon. Bipin carefully slid the paper from under her hand and moved beside her to catch the light.

Zelda looks like a scarecrow, and so do I. Never has weight control been so little a problem. Zelda actually polished a platter for me today but then threw a fit when I didn't get the polish off her hands fast enough. I have prayed more today than I have in weeks, but never have I been so lonely. With Zelda not at the store to help him, Bipin is putting in double the hours, and knowing how much he worked before you can well imagine how little I see of him. When I came upstairs for the night, he wasn't even home yet. I don't know if the store needs him that badly or if he is running from this situation. I have been tempted to run myself.

I long for you, Malon, as I have never done before. Please pray for me. Uli in Labrynna seems a thousand miles away. I haven't even written to her. Ever time I try to sit down and talk with Ruto, Zelda screams for something. I know isn't best to make her do things for herself, but most of the time I do not have the fortitude to deny her. She is still too dependent on me. I ask myself when enough enough but gain is no answers. I keep making excuses for her, telling myself that she needs more time, but they are hollow excuses even to my own ears.

I believe God is sovereign, and I believe He loves me, but I feel so frail. I ask Him to ease this load, but He as said no. I must carry on here, and for this I covet your prayers. I have an 18-year-old infant on my hands, an unsaved husband, and three other daughters who haven't had my attention since September 27 of last year. I haven't seen the inside of the church since that day, and even though I parse God for Ambi Munroe, at time I think I will break under the strain of it all.

February is just around the corner, and I am asking God for something special. Maybe the snows won't be so harsh this late in the winter and spring will come early. This really would uplift my heart, especially if I could take Zelda outside or more folks would visit. Right now no one wants to be around her. At this point, I'd even enjoy working at the store instead of being with Zelda, but she will have no one but me or Bipin, and I've already told you where Bipin is most of the time. I ask again, Malon please pray for me.

Bipin set the letter down and saw that his hand was shaking. He put his hand on Blossom's shoulders and cringed at the feel of her bones protruding under her flesh. How long since he'd lost touched her?
"Come on, Blossom," he spoke softly as he tried to lift her. She was like a boneless cat.

"I'm coming, Zelda," she mumbled incoherently.

"Come to bed, honey."

Bipin now lifter her and laid her on the bed. He removed her dress but left her in her shift. He divested her of shoes and stockings and then pulled the covers over her. She slept thought it all. Bipin undressed himself and joined her, his head going down heavily on his own pillow. He didn't roll close to Blossom, but lay very still. He had been so tired when he'd climbed the stars, but now he felt wide awake. He saw the words on the letter again, and something terrible squeezed around his heart.

It may be dark right now but I promise that things will get fluffy again soon. If you got the time send me a response.