by Leslie Gould
I watched Marie as she slept, praying that she didn’t have cancer.
God had some lesson for all of us in this. Perhaps one of the purposes of this scare was to get me in that diner, to care for the husband and father.
Surely Marie didn’t have cancer. The mass could easily be benign.
I took the opportunity to text Nick, bringing him up to date. When I didn’t hear back from him, I figured he was sleeping.
When Marie woke, she said she felt much better. “When will they let me go home?”
I told her I didn’t know, but when the nurse returned, she said the doctor wanted Marie to spend another night. Her eyes filled with tears, but she agreed. I knew how much she wanted to get home to Caden, but her health was far more important right now.
After the nurse left, Marie asked me to call Gordon on my cell. “Then when he returns, you should go home,” Marie said. “Get some food. Get some sleep. Hug Caden for me and sing him a song.”
“How about I hum to him? No one wants to hear me sing, not even a baby. I wasn’t blessed with your beautiful voice,” I joked, trying to lighten her mood.
She barely smiled. As I stepped out into the hall to call Gordon, I wondered how long it had been since she felt well enough to sing.
Two hours later, I drove east toward the Bachmann farm, dreading seeing Mamm. Would she blame Marie’s illness on her leaving the church? And predict something as bad—or worse—for me?
As I left the city and then reached the farmland, the fields sparkled with new growth. I relaxed a little, turning off the highway toward home.
Home. Even though I dreaded Mamm’s reaction to me, my soul stirred as I drove around the curve in the lane and our white house came into view. Tulips bloomed in the front flowerbeds, and Mamm had already filled the pots on the porch with geraniums. Two black rocking chairs, Mamm’s and Dat’s, sat on the porch. As children, we played around their feet on warm evenings while Mamm read the latest edition of the Budget and Dat read one of his medical journals. There was never a question of us being physically safe, getting enough food, or having a warm house. We were well cared for—not like some children I’d seen during my training rotations.
Of course, Mamm’s negativity hung all around us. We had an older sister, Rebecca, who died when she was five, shortly after Jessica was born. Our brothers, who were teenagers at the time, were left in charge of her. Mamm was in the hospital with newborn Jessica, and Dat was on his way home.
Rebecca had floundered in the pond and was rescued by our brother, Amos. No one realized she’d taken water into her lungs—she’d seemed absolutely fine. But then she’d died in the middle of the night, and it wasn’t until the next morning that Amos and his twin Arden discovered she was gone. Dry drowning was the term. I’d researched it in the set of encyclopedias Dat kept in his study.
I wanted to know how common dry drowning was and what could be done to prevent it. The medical term was pulmonary edema. It was rare—only one to two percent of drownings. And from what I’d read, the victim usually had trouble breathing right away, which Rebecca hadn’t. From what I’d heard, she’d gone to sleep soon after the incident in the pond. The other symptoms were coughing, chest pain, trouble breathing, and feeling extremely tired. Perhaps the last one had been predominant and had sent her to bed early. To her fate.
I shivered. A life could be lost so easily. Dat had seemed to accept Rebecca’s death as most Amish would—after all, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away—but I sensed Mamm had struggled with it her entire life. We all agreed that it broke her heart. I felt sad about that, and through the years I realized the event had not only hurt Mamm deeply, but it had shaped our lives too. Jessica constantly wondered what our lives, and specifically our mother’s, would have been like if Rebecca hadn’t died.
Mamm blamed Amos for Rebecca’s death, which eventually led him to leave both our home and the Amish. That had been another tragedy in our family. While Jessica dug for answers about Mamm’s behavior, I’d done my best not to bring up Rebecca or Amos at all. Better to avoid those topics than cause more conflict.
I parked my car to the left of the house and then sat for a moment, my eyes shifting from the windmill to the woods to the barn. Finally, I climbed out and grabbed my bag out of the back seat. A bird chirped in the pine tree, and I turned my head toward the sun. The day was warm and bright. A perfect spring day, accented with the scent of soil and cows, and a cool breeze.
Off to my right, my nephew Milton drove a team of mules, plowing the field. As I started toward the porch, I heard voices from the backyard and headed around the side of the house. Jessica stood with her hands on her hips. “Ruby, share with Caden.”
The two children sat in a sandbox, both with their hands on a red bucket. Both had honey-blond hair and dark eyes. Ruby’s hair was divided into two pigtails and she wore a miniature Amish dress, while Caden wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
Jessica bent down and picked up a blue bucket, handing it to Ruby.
The little girl shook her head and stuck out her lower lip.
“Hi!” I called out, hoping to distract my niece and nephew. “How is everyone?”
Caden grinned and Ruby yanked the bucket away. My nephew’s smile turned to a pout and then a sputter.
I dropped my bag, hurried to the sandbox, and scooped him up, brushing my face over his flyaway hair. But then Ruby started reaching for me and crying. I didn’t get home a lot, but it was often enough that the children remembered me now. Jessica picked up her daughter, shaking her head as she did. She put her arm around me.
I’d always admired my oldest sister. She’d been kind and caring toward me growing up. She pursued her love of farming even when everyone but Dat discouraged her, and she’d stood up to our brother, Arden, and Bishop Jacobs when not even a man in her position would have. Then she left the Amish and lived an Englisch life for a time, only to return and marry her sweetheart, Silas. Jessica was one of the strongest people I knew.
I told her hello and put my arm around her too, giving her a hug.
Aenti Suz’s door was open, and she must have heard me because she came out of her Dawdi Haus onto her little porch and called out a hello. She wore a pale blue dress and a Kapp over her silvery hair. She shielded her eyes as she asked, “How is Marie doing?”
“They’re keeping her another night,” I said. “She’s on an IV—fluids and pain meds.”
“What about the tests?”
“It will be a few days before they know the results.”
Aenti Suz made a tsk sound and stepped out onto the lawn. Ruby reached for her and giggled. Everyone loved Aenti Suz.
Jessica let the little girl fall into our aunt’s arms.
I bounced Caden up and down and said, “I’m going to get a shower and some sleep. Then I’ll see if Gordon wants me to spend the night at the hospital. Maybe this little guy needs some time with one of his parents.”
“He seems to be doing okay,” Jessica said. “But jah, he’s probably starting to feel pretty confused. This is the first time he’s ever been away from Marie.”
He reached for my mouth. “Oh no you don’t,” I said, grabbing his sandy hand. “Let’s brush you off first.”
“I was just going to take them in for a snack.” Jessica turned toward Aenti Suz. “Want to come in with us?”
She nodded. As I picked up my bag with my free hand, Jessica stepped to the sandbox and put the cover over the top. Silas had added a few kid-friendly activities to Mamm’s yard for the younger grandkids. The sandbox. A small play structure. And a swing set.
As Jessica and I washed the sand off the kids in the downstairs bathroom, she told me Mamm was resting. Mixed emotions filled me as I carried Caden into the kitchen. I always felt that way when I came home. It still felt like home, and yet it wasn’t. Someday Arden and his family would move into it. Perhaps Mamm would live with them, but it would never be the home it was to my sisters and me when Dat was alive.
I
breathed deeply—Mamm’s lavender lotion, along with hints of cinnamon and coffee and scouring cleanser. The countertops in the kitchen sparkled, as did the linoleum floor.
There were two high chairs at the end of the long oak table, where we deposited the kids. Jessica quickly gave each a cracker to chew on while she made peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches for them.
Aenti Suz had started a fresh pot of coffee. Perhaps the strong smell of it brought Mamm down the stairs.
“Leisel?” she said as she rounded the corner from the staircase.
“Jah, Mamm, it’s me.” I stayed put. If people thought I wasn’t affectionate, they’d think my Mamm was the coldest person they’d ever met. Dat would hug us, which wasn’t really the Amish way, but Mamm rarely would. Most Amish felt hugging was too demonstrative. Others saw it as indulgent. I remember sitting on Mamm’s lap as a child while she read to us, but that was the only kind of physical contact I could recall. I didn’t even remember her brushing my hair—Jessica did that for me.
When Jessica left the church, Mamm felt shamed, as if others were judging her for not being able to keep her daughter from leaving. When Marie left the church, it wasn’t that Mamm felt responsible. It was more that she felt devastated that she’d lost a friend, probably her best friend. I imagine she felt betrayed too.
There were many Amish people who lived a kind life, but the same teaching that inspired most to serve others led some to self-righteousness. They strove so hard to live apart from the world that they measured every difference and then held it up for everyone to see. Marie had learned that straight from Mamm. Our mother had Marie under her influence for all of those years, which had made Marie self-righteous, petty, and hard to live with. When Marie left the Amish, she became the caring and compassionate person she’d been as a child.
Mamm stepped into the kitchen and asked about Marie, and I repeated what I’d told Aenti Suz.
“Well, I expected the news wouldn’t be good,” Mamm said. “There had to be some sort of consequences after she turned her back on God.”
“That’s not what happened,” Jessica said.
Mamm made a noise in the back of her throat.
I pressed my lips together.
Aenti Suz spoke up, changing the topic. “Bethel, how about a cup of coffee?” She pulled a mug out of the cupboard.
“Denki,” Mamm answered. She turned back toward Jessica. “Is Caden staying with you tonight?”
“We’re not sure yet.” Jessica took the sandwiches to the kids and put them on their trays. “Leisel will talk to Gordon, and we’ll figure it out.”
Mamm sat down at the table. “Just to make this clear, I’m not up to caring for Caden.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
Mamm wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been tired, is all. I can’t keep up with him.”
“He can stay with me,” Aenti Suz said. She was at least ten years older than Mamm.
“Denki,” Jessica said. “Or he can come home with me. We’ll figure it out once we find out what Gordon wants.”
“What about Marie?” I asked. “Where do you think she should stay, once she’s released?”
“Wherever you are.” Jessica wrinkled her brow and sighed. “I’m assuming a lot. That’s if you can stay.”
“I can,” I answered.
“It’s not that I don’t want her at my house,” Jessica continued. “It’s just that I don’t have the gift of taking care of others like you do. You’ve always been able to assess a situation and figure out what needs to be done without ever losing your cool. I’m still amazed at how well you nursed Dat, essentially all by yourself.”
Caring for Dat had been such a tender time for me. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“If you can take care of Marie the way you did Dat,” Jessica said, “that would certainly be what’s best for her.”
I nodded. Determined to stick around for at least a couple of days, I excused myself to take a shower. After I said my prayers, I crawled into the bed I used to share with Marie when we were little. I’d sleep for an hour and then call Gordon.
Caden and I spent the night in the old upstairs sewing room, where there was a crib and a bed, and Gordon stayed with Marie at the hospital. The next day, Gordon and I made the decision that the best place for Marie to recover would be the farm. Gordon, Marie, and Caden lived in a one-room apartment up three flights of stairs in downtown Lancaster, in a building with no elevator. Space-wise, it made the most sense to have her come home to the farm so I could take care of her.
It was Sunday morning, but it was an “off” Sunday, so there were no services. Mamm wasn’t one to visit another district’s service or really even visit anyone at all. After I spoke with Gordon and found out that Marie was getting out of the hospital for sure, I headed over to Mamm’s, leaving Caden with Aenti Suz.
“That’s not a good idea,” Mamm said immediately when I told her Marie would be coming out to the farm. “Marie will want to be at home, where she’s comfortable.”
“No,” I said. “She needs our help.”
“You can go stay there. Or women from their church will help.”
I bit my tongue.
“She can’t expect to come home just because she’s ill. She should have thought this through three years ago, before she left.”
“Mamm—”
“Don’t ‘Mamm’ me.” She stood in front of me with her arms crossed. “I’m still your mother and this is still my home. I decide who stays here and who doesn’t. If you press me on this, I’ll talk with Arden. He won’t want Marie here either. She left—she can’t come back at her convenience. Bishop Jacobs will support my decision too.”
My nostrils flared, but I didn’t respond. Why had I expected anything else from her? Of course Mamm wouldn’t let Marie come home. She’d left the church. She’d been shunned.
I headed out the back door to Aenti Suz’s. She sat on her little porch, Caden on her lap. She was stroking his arm as she sang to him. He leaned against her, his eyes growing heavy.
Speaking softly, I told my aunt what Mamm had said.
“Then Marie will stay here,” she said. “And Caden and Gordon too. I’ll take care of Marie.”
For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, tears stung my eyes. I swallowed hard. “But what about Mamm? And Arden? And the bishop?”
“I’m not worried about any of them,” Aenti Suz said. “Don’t you worry either.”
I couldn’t imagine what Aenti Suz would say to change Bishop Jacobs’s mind if he was against Marie staying on the farm. Avoiding the subject, I offered, “I’ll sleep on your couch and care for Marie.”
“You need to go back to Pittsburgh.”
“I have a couple more days off work.”
“All right,” Aenti Suz answered. “I do have a couple of commitments coming up. Between the two of us, we should be able to care for Marie and Caden.”
I left a message for Jessica on the answering machine located in their barn and asked if she, Silas, and Ruby wanted to come over in the afternoon to see Marie. I figured having Jessica around to keep Mamm in line might be a good idea, especially if Arden and Vi decided to stop by and make trouble.
My intuition paid off. Not long after Gordon arrived with Marie and she was settled in Aenti Suz’s spare bedroom with Gordon and Caden at her side, Arden and Vi did stop by. Unfortunately Jessica, Silas, and Ruby hadn’t arrived yet. I could hear Arden and Vi through the open door on the porch, talking with Aenti Suz and Mamm.
“Why is she staying here?” Arden asked.
“Why wouldn’t she stay here?” Aenti Suz replied.
“Bishop Jacobs won’t allow it.”
I stepped closer to the door.
Aenti Suz exhaled and smiled sweetly.
Vi’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Caden?”
“Inside, with Marie.”
“Do they know what’s wrong yet?” she asked.
“Nee,” Mamm answered.
Vi’s voice dropped as she said, “I’m still thinking she’s pregnant—”
I stepped to the door. “She’s definitely not. That’s been ruled out quite a few times.”
Vi just shrugged as if she didn’t believe me and knew more than the doctors. If Marie hadn’t left the church, Arden and Vi’s daughter Brenda, who was thirteen, would help with Caden, but they wouldn’t allow any of their five children to be around Marie.
Thankfully, Jessica and Silas arrived right then, and Arden told Jessica they had farm business to discuss. My mouth dropped open, but I quickly closed it. Normally Amish folk didn’t talk about business on Sundays.
“What’s up?” Jessica asked.
“The price of milk keeps going down. We’re no longer making a profit.”
“We already talked about this.”
“Not really,” Arden answered. “We didn’t come up with a solution.”
“Then let’s do some brainstorming, but later.”
“Sell the herd,” he said. “It’s the only thing we can do.”
Jessica sighed. “And then what?”
“Figure out a crop that will make a profit.”
“Well, I hope we don’t have to sell the herd.” Jessica set Ruby down, and she toddled into the Dawdi Haus to find Caden. “Do you want to talk more later?”
Arden nodded sharply.
He and Silas headed toward the barn, while Vi went back over to her house. Neither she nor Arden had said hello to Marie and Gordon.
Aenti Suz slipped back into her house, and I gave Jessica a questioning look.
She shrugged. “Several area farmers have sold their herds. It’s been this way for a year. I just keep thinking maybe if we hang on . . .” Her expression was as serious as I’d ever seen it. I guessed if our Dat hadn’t set up a system through his lawyer that Arden and Jessica had to agree on farm decisions that Arden would have sold the herd by now. And the woods. And leased the pasture for fracking. Thank goodness Jessica was looking out for the land.
When Silas returned from the milking, Arden wasn’t with him. “I thought he wanted to talk,” Jessica said.
