The call came in at three thirty in the morning. Marshall wasn't worried or surprised. Although, he wasn't a youth minister yet, he was already doing the work under a mentor and partnered with his fiancée. 

"Marshal Dennis?" 

"Speaking."

"Regional labor and delivery, Samantha Collins is in labor and has requested your presence."

"Thanks, I'm on my way." He would worry because she was early and a crack addict. God had his back though; He had everyone's back. Before getting ready and calling his fiancée, he knelt down and raised Sammy's name to The Lord in prayer. 

"Hey Dawn." he said and listened to her breathing.

"What's up?" She asked. 

"Sam's in labor. She asked for us." he explained. 

"She's early. Not due for another month." Sleep still made her voice crack but Marshall heard the sheets rustle as she began kicking them off. She was getting up. 

"Want me to pick you up?" He asked hopefully. 

"No, I have to work today. I wouldn't want you to have to leave because of me." 

"Okay then. I'll see you there." He grew up with Dawn and knew her better than anyone but God. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what she wore to sleep at night. He would know soon enough. Her folks asked her to postpone getting married until she graduated. Then, they would pay for it. He was annoyed but eventually agreed. 

"Dawn, this is the last thing." he told her in an even tone. She studied his face. Never having seen Marshall's anger, she wondered if this calm resolve was it. 

"After this wait, our folks don't decide anything for us again: not kids, not college, where we live, how we travel;  nothing. It's just gonna be you and me." 

"They're just thinking about what's best for us..." She explained. 

"No, they're doing what is neater, easier, for them." he had cut her off. "I've wanted you a long time. We could have finished college and started our lives together at the same time." 

"I want you too, believe me, but we've waited this long..." She trailed off. They had counseled other couples and teenagers about saving themselves for marriage. It brought to mind the scriptures they'd so often quoted for them. Jacob had agreed to work for seven years for Laban to gain Rachel's hand in marriage. Marshall let her know how much he loved her by quoting it then. 

"So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her." So now he had waited four more years for her to finish college and for himself to finish his religious training. Every now and then he would whisper to her. 

"29:21" and only she would know he meant Genesis and blush and squeeze his arm or hand. 

Marshall had the whole story in mind though, when he warned her. Laban had swindled Jacob out of Rachel's hand by sneaking the ugly daughter into the marriage bed.  Instead of getting Rachel right away, he got seven more years of free labor out of him. 

At the hospital, Marshall didn't have to wait for Dawn very long, and they came up together. 

"Mr. Dennis, the doctor will meet with you in the family room." Said a nurse with permanent resting bitch face. 

"Why? What's happened?" asked Dawn: both of them assuming the worst.

Samantha didn't know who the father was. She only knew she would do anything for another hit of crack. Becoming pregnant was the only thing that made her pause. She quit cold turkey and entered a rehab program. 

Somehow the public assistance she was receiving ended early and she found herself back at her mother's house turning tricks and smoking crack. She had smoked through the first few months not knowing she was already pregnant. Then she had smoked sometime recently. In between, Marshall and Dawn had worked with her and bought her things for the baby. 

"What's your relationship to the patient miss?" asked the nurse. 

"Uh, sister in Christ?" she blurted "We minister to her needs as a team." 

"Then I'm sorry Miss but, I can't share patient information with you. Your name isn't on the card." Her emotionless gaze softened momentarily, but she did not divulge anything good or bad. 

"See if you can find her mother and have her put you on the card." Marshall asked. Dawn agreed punching numbers into her cell phone.

"Coffee?" she asked as she backed down the hallway towards the elevator. 

"Nah, I don't know how long this will be. I might not get to come out right away."

"Right this way Mr. Dennis." Upon entering the family room Marshall noticed that there were three clipboards full of paperwork on a round table. 

"Miss Collins asked for you to speak with, but she's gone into distress. The doctors are working on her and as soon as we have news you will be informed here in this room. Do you understand?" asked the nurse, again indifferently.

"Uh, okay. Thanks." Marshall sat down and began to text a group message to his prayer warrior group now that he had some more details. The nurse hmphed and left quickly slamming the door. It was the first time he registered her indifference as contempt instead of cool professionalism. 

The beeps and buzzes of acknowledgement began to come in slowly as people were still waking up at different hours of the morning. Some hours passed and the nurse returned taking up the clipboards, looking at them, then pinching her furrowed brow with two fingers. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Dennis. I was supposed to ask you to fill these out when you came in. Do you have insurance?" She asked. 

"My insurance? Why?" Marshall wasn't sure what was going on yet. 

"Yes, Miss Collins indicated you were the father on the birth certificate. If you are the father we need your insurance information." 

"I need to speak with her before I fill out anything." He insisted. His ears were getting hot because he knew now why she was treating him this way. 

"I'm afraid that's not possible. The doctor is on his way so you should talk with him.  Her eyes moved quickly as she set the clipboard and pen back down but she would no longer meet his gaze. 

Another forty minutes passed before the doctor knocked slightly louder than a whisper, clicked the door open and poked his head in. 

"Mr. Marshall?" he asked with salt and pepper caterpillars meeting angrily upon his brow. 

"Yes, that's me." He sat up and dried his palms on his jeans before extending  a hand to shake. 

The doctor stepped in and shook the offered hand, and then held his own hands in front of his chest as he looked up and to the left before speaking. 

"I'm sorry to inform you that there were complications during the delivery of your son. The boy is fine, he's just suffering from withdrawal symptoms from cocaine exposure. We won't know if there is any permanent damage until he gets older. Miss Collins did not survive the ordeal though. We're not sure what she had in her system when she came to us so we were limited in what kinds of medications we could treat her with. The whole ordeal was extremely painful. When she went into distress we treated her as best we could, but despite everything we tried she still died.  I'm sorry for your loss." 

"What if I'm not the father?" Marshall regretted it as soon as he asked. He knew what the Collins' were like. Children were meal tickets. When they were too old to draw a check they were forced to make money any way their bodies could. That was if they were lucky and survived to adulthood. This child needed rescuing but Marshall didn't know how things would turn out  if he suddenly had a son from a crack whore he'd been ministering to. Scratch that; he knew exactly what it would mean for his career. 

"Here. It's a summary of the most frequently asked questions regarding paternity and the law," the doctor handed him a pamphlet published for the hospital. "You should get an attorney though, before making your decision." The doctor checked his beeper even though it had not gone off. Perhaps he was wondering how many hours of sleep he could still get before starting his regular rounds. 

After reading it for what seemed like hours Marshall kept coming back to the first page for his answer. Paternity was presumed when listed on a birth certificate and the child spent the first two years of his life being represented as the child of the parent. Everything else required genetic testing which would negate his claim. The actual father would be sought after by the state for child support, and the nearest eligible legal relative would assume care. Adoption would only be possible if court ordered and sanctioned ahead of time. 

Marshall began to think of why he was hell bent on becoming a youth minister and then he called his own father. 

"Father?" Marshall asked after dialing. He immediately picked up but said nothing. 

"What is it? What's happened?" It didn't sound like he'd been asleep. 

"I'm going to need your help."

"Why, what have you done?" 

"Nothing yet, it's what I'm going to do." Marshall was only answered with a sigh this time. 

"I'm going to adopt a boy dad..." 

"You don't need my help for that." 

"It's complicated though, its going to look really bad." 

"Explain this to me."

"It's a crack baby and we were helping her. " Marshall was suddenly cut off. 

"Is it yours?" his father asked and a pen could be heard clicking open and closed. Marshall knew his father was in attack mode now. 

"No, but she put me down as the father on the birth certificate." 

"What does she want, money?" 

"No, father, she died having the baby." The pen bounced a couple of times where it had been dropped again and plinked off of something on his desk. 

"That's easy, take a paternity test and be done with it. If it turns out to be yours, Jameson will buy silence. If it isn't he'll sue the ass off of anyone who says otherwise." 

"It's not mine father, but ..." again he was cutoff. 

"Don't give me that shit! You don't call! You don't come by. I'm some kinda pariah to you. Now you're up to your eyeballs in shit, and who do you call? Take the test and leave the mutt to the state or the family. If you're lonely get a god damned dog or come home! Good night!" 

"I want to keep it father. You don't know these people. They would destroy it." 

"Yeah? That's what family does to you; chews you up and spits you out." 

"I've never asked you for anything dad." 

"Why is that son? Is it supposed to make me feel better? You don't take my money, my time, or my plans for you." His father breathed heavily into the receiver a few times calming himself down before continuing. "You finally called me dad, but you didn't do anything I raised you to do. You aren't the way I raised you to be, so who's your dad son?" 

"God is." 

"Okay. Take the test or don't come crying to me. Call God." The click came abruptly. That hour in the family room was his last moment of good standing and living above reproach. Marshall picked up the clip board and began to enter his own insurance information. His father's words stung him. Marshal had always seen his refusal to use his father's money and influence as  a spiritual sacrifice. Today though, he felt like the rich young man who loved money too much to sell all he owned and follow Jesus because when the chips were down he tried to access just that. Marshall hoped the Holy Spirit was groaning to God on his behalf because he didn't know what to pray. His youth ministry had begun at that very hour in earnest. He knew the backlash would be bad but he couldn't imagine what his life had now become until it was too late.