Gladden the Heart

by Olivia Newport

  “An idea,” Daed said simply. “One that will require great thought and will not be decided standing here. Your mamm and I will pray and wait on the Lord for guidance.”

  “I have had letters from Marianne in Indiana. They are quite happy there.”

  “We must not hold up Susanna any longer,” Elias said.

  Susanna inspected her work area again. The fire was out. The lid was on the pot. The shed door was closed tight. The poker was the only tool left outside, and it would come to no harm.

  “Go, Susanna,” her father said. “Assure Phoebe and Noah of our affection and bring us a good report.”

  Patsy’s horse snorted. The sound flickered and died with one second, but Patsy knew well that the air passing through a horse’s nostrils could be heard from yards away. But only Susanna’s eyes rose toward the orchard. The horse had already relaxed. Whatever scent of danger made him raise his head had passed, and he nosed around on the ground.

  Susanna hurried toward Patsy as if beckoned by the horse.

  “You stayed!” Susanna said.

  “Of course I stayed.” Patsy stroked her horse’s long nose. “I am not one to deliver an urgent message and then wash my hands of the matter.”

  Please don’t ask me how much I heard. Enough of the Hooley family conversation had wafted toward Patsy to know that her father’s actions were under scrutiny. But every family had its ways. Her own parents could have a protracted disagreement—usually about her father’s absence—without ever speaking a word. Patsy saw no point in embarrassing her friend by probing into private family matters.

  “I must hurry,” Susanna said. “I think my mare may be in the pasture, and she is a slowpoke at the best of times. At least the cart is handy.”

  “Taking the cart is a waste of time,” Patsy said.

  “’Tis faster than walking.”

  “But not nearly as fast as my horse.”

  Susanna’s eyes widened.

  “If I scoot forward in the saddle, there is room for two,” Patsy said.

  Patsy lifted the hem of her skirt, gripped the saddle horn, put one foot in a stirrup, and hoisted herself up. Then she cleared the stirrup and offered a hand to Susanna.

  “You do not have to get involved in this,” Susanna said.

  “I choose to. Just because I’m not Amish does not mean that I can’t be a good neighbor.”

  “I did not mean to imply that it did.”

  “We are friends, no matter what.” Patsy wiggled her fingers and once again held her hand out to Susanna. “Just get on.”

  This time Susanna took it and squirmed into place behind Patsy.

  “Hang on tight,” Patsy said, “and get ready to ride like the wind.”

  CHAPTER 9

  They had last ridden like the wind together when they were young enough to be excused for a childish choice, though they should have known better. The saddle was roomier then. Though the gelding then was no Galahad, they galloped through the valley for the sheer joy of it, both of them leaving their chores behind. In the years since, Susanna had not dared wish for another afternoon like that one, and Patsy must have known better than to offer, because she never had.

  Until today.

  Until this moment of need.

  Until this purposeful choice in young womanhood, not the folly of children.

  “Thank you!” Susanna shouted.

  “What did you say?” The wind pushed Patsy’s syllables toward Susanna’s ears, only inches away, but they arrived fragmented.

  Susanna hunched forward. “Thank you!”

  Still they galloped. This was Susanna’s first time on Galahad’s back, but she would be as disappointed as Patsy when one day the stallion could no longer offer this exuberance. Only after they rounded the last curve beyond the Zug farm did Patsy slow the horse to a canter.

  “I should explain,” Susanna said, now that they could hear one another.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  “Please allow me. If you come inside with me, you may be shocked.”

  Susanna explained Sunday’s fit or seizure or whatever medical term might be appropriate but which she had no grasp of. The collapse. The unconsciousness. And the sermon. And the sermons in the days since.

  “You cannot tell anyone,” Phoebe had said. “Not even Adam.”

  But Patsy had delivered Phoebe’s message and now was delivering Susanna. It was hardly fair to ask her to wait outside without an explanation. Susanna would make it right with Phoebe.

  So Susanna explained. Patsy’s eyes turned to bottomless bowls of curiosity.

  “When I promised to help,” Susanna said, “I did not know my mamm would object.”

  “But your father has given his blessing,” Patsy said.

  “If Noah continues to preach in the middle of the day, Phoebe will need more help.” Patsy’s father was gone a great deal, and her mother was the most easygoing person Susanna knew. “What if this ‘illness’ continues? My mamm will put her foot down again. Maybe you and I might split the days.”

  The horse came to a stop beside the front stoop of the Kauffman house. Susanna slid off, with Patsy hitting the ground next to her.

  “Are you sure I should go inside?” Patsy asked. “What if Phoebe is upset that I’ve come?”

  “I will explain my proposal.” Susanna would not repeat to Phoebe—or Noah, if he was conscious—everything her mother had said. But Phoebe would understand the simple practicality that it might be hard to get off the farm every day. “If she knows that telling you means she will have help every day, I am hopeful we will ease her distress.”

  And every day was what Phoebe needed. Susanna was sure of it.

  Patsy tied up the stallion. “You choose your days. Our farmhand will make sure I can get away on my days.”

  “You cannot tell him why!”

  Patsy smiled with one side of her mouth. “I won’t have to tell him why. But what are you going to do about Adam?”

  Susanna ignored Patsy’s question and knocked on the front door without waiting for a response before swinging the door open. Patsy followed her inside. The farmhouse was smaller than most in the valley, perhaps because the Kauffmans had no children and no need to add on. Patsy had been inside the Hooley house from time to time, but this was the only other Amish home she had seen up close. The furnishings were sparse but functional. Chairs. Tables. Dishes. Shelves. A main room with doorways leading in two directions. One must be the way to the kitchen, and the other to the bedrooms. There could not be more than two. There was no second story, and Patsy doubted there was a cellar beneath them. More likely there were steps behind the house descending into an outbuilding halfway beneath the ground.

  What surprised Patsy most was Phoebe. They had only met a few times in passing, usually when Susanna was present, but the bags beneath Phoebe’s eyes and the slump in her shoulders were new.

  Phoebe’s startled eyes darted from Patsy to Susanna.

  “’Tis all right, Cousin Phoebe,” Susanna said. “Patsy brought me your message from Mrs. Zimmerman and carried me here. I trust her, and I know you can as well.”

  Phoebe moved her wordless glance to Noah, who stood before the open window, his wrists crossed behind his back and his shoulders squared.

  “I want to come whenever I can,” Susanna said. “But Patsy can help, too. You will not have to be on your own so much.”

  Phoebe exhaled and nodded. Patsy did not mistake the gesture for approval so much as surrender.

  “He is not speaking,” Susanna said.

  “’Tis but a brief interlude,” Phoebe said. “He collapsed hours ago. He stops and starts, but he will not agree to sit down. He does not hear my pleas. I do not dare let him out of my sight.”

  “But Mrs. Zimmerman,” Patsy said.

  Phoebe raised both hands to her cheeks. “I managed to entertain her briefly in the shade outside.”

  “She was quite put out at the lack of pie,” Patsy said.
/>   Phoebe rolled her eyes. “I had to give her something to do. I thought it might as well be useful, so I asked her to get a message to Susanna.”

  “She will tell half the district,” Susanna said.

  “She did not see anything to tell them,” Phoebe said. “Noah was still awake, but I knew he would start preaching soon.”

  “And have you opened your hearts to the Lord?”

  Patsy gasped at the force of Noah’s voice.

  “Do you hear His voice? For the Scriptures assure us that He knows our names and the number of hairs on our heads. We are worth more to Him than all the sparrows in all the fields of all the world.”

  Patsy gulped. “I thought he would be … mumbling … or whispering. He is preaching with enough force to fill one of my father’s tents.”

  “Susanna,” Phoebe said, “I have decided I must remove the rag rug for good.”

  “But it makes the room so cozy,” Patsy said. It must have taken Phoebe years to collect the remnants to make such a large rug. Blues and browns and reds and whites were braided tightly and wound into a perfect oval before the fireplace.

  “’Tis dangerous,” Phoebe said. “Sometimes Noah paces. He does not know where he is.”

  “If he were to trip …,” Susanna started.

  Patsy nodded. Now she understood. “I’ll help you roll it up. Susanna and I can carry it out. Would you like it in the barn?”

  Phoebe looked distracted in addition to exhausted.

  “Of course we will take the rug out,” Susanna said. She lifted a small table off the rug and placed it safely against the wall. Phoebe was already tugging the davenport clear of the rug.

  “I hope your mother will understand if you are not home to help with supper,” Phoebe said. “I need more than help with the rug.”

  “What is it?” Susanna said. “Anything.”

  “You know my sister.”

  “Of course.”

  “Her back is out again.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “I have to drive over there and see to her, but I cannot leave Noah alone.”

  “We are here now,” Susanna said. They had come together on Patsy’s horse, and they would leave together only when Noah was safe.

  “What if he … wakes up?” Patsy said. “Is that the right word?”

  “’Twill do.”

  “What if he wakes up while you are gone?”

  “Susanna knows what to do. He will come to himself and then be asleep very quickly.”

  Susanna nodded. “I will make sure he lies down.”

  “The davenport will do,” Phoebe said. “He likes a quilt if it is not too warm.”

  “God yearns for you? Do you know that?” Noah stabbed the air with a forefinger. “Why else would He send His only begotten Son to die on a cross for your salvation? He yearns for you to come to Him, to find your refuge in Him, to trust your future to His loving-kindness.”

  Patsy’s jaw hung open, and Susanna nudged her friend back into action to roll up the rug.

  “I’m sorry,” Patsy said. “I’ve never seen anything like this—not when someone is asleep.”

  “Call it what you will,” Phoebe said, “but he is not himself. He will know nothing of this later.”

  Susanna began rolling the rug and tugged on Patsy’s skirt. If Patsy was going to stand there and gawk, she would be no help at all.

  Patsy knelt beside Susanna, and together they rolled the rug evenly. “What a true gift from God!” Patsy said.

  “He could get hurt.” Phoebe’s tone was stern. “If you want to help, you must keep your mind on his safety and not on his words.”

  “She understands,” Susanna said. “’Tis new for her, but she understands.”

  “You cannot guide him,” Phoebe said. “He will pace at will. You must only try to keep yourself between him and danger. The fireplace, the stove, the furniture, the lamps, anything glass, the steps if he goes outside.”

  “It will be as if he does not see it,” Susanna said.

  “He truly does not know it is there,” Phoebe said.

  Patsy nodded.

  “And when you yield your heart to Him,” Noah said, “you will find His heart ever ready to receive you. As the Word of God assures us, when we confess our sin, God is faithful to forgive us.”

  Patsy had stilled her motions again.

  “Patsy,” Susanna said.

  “I’m sorry. Truly,” Patsy said. “What a wondrous thing.”

  Phoebe caught Susanna’s eye. “Are you certain this will work?”

  “Yes. Surely. Go to your sister. We will be here when you return.”

  “And one of us will come every afternoon,” Patsy said.

  Phoebe fixed her eyes on Patsy. “You must not tell anyone. I pray that these daytime occurrences will fade and it will not be necessary to cause any stir.”

  “I understand,” Patsy said. She picked up one end of the rug. “You can depend on me.”

  After Phoebe left, Patsy leaned against the wall in the main room, beside the window, watching the glow in Noah’s face. His eyes were fixed on something—or perhaps nothing at all—outside, well beyond the house.

  “He is standing up and talking,” Patsy said. “How can he be asleep or unconscious?”

  On the other side of the window, Susanna shrugged one shoulder. “Does it matter whether we can explain it? ’Tis happening. We see with our eyes and know with our hearts it is true.”

  “Won’t he miss the rug when he wakes?”

  Susanna nodded. “Phoebe will have to decide what to tell him.”

  “He truly doesn’t remember?”

  “No, but he knows he has spells. Phoebe has never kept the truth from him.”

  “He recovers quickly?”

  “With some sleep.”

  “How many times have you seen this?” Patsy leaned in for a closer look at Noah’s face. He showed no awareness but only kept speaking, quoting a long section from the Good Shepherd passage in the book of John. Patsy knew it well. It was one of her father’s favorites.

  Her father.

  Perhaps by the time he next returned from his circuit, Noah would be himself all the time. Patsy was not sure whether she hoped he would be or would not be. But it would be hard not to tell her father about something that would delight him so deeply.

  CHAPTER 10

  Susanna mixed dyes and stirred cloth in the bath all afternoon the next day. Even knowing that Patsy planned to go to the Kauffmans’ to see if Phoebe needed help did not keep her mind off Noah. After speaking the Lord’s Prayer, just as Phoebe said he always did, he had collapsed at the end of his trance straight onto the davenport and slept heavily. Though Susanna and Patsy watched him for several hours, he did not awaken. He would never even know they had been there or that Phoebe needed to leave, but would wake to see his wife knitting by firelight.

  Sunday was Susanna’s turn, and since it was a visiting Sabbath rather than a church Sabbath, little explanation was required. Her parents had taken the younger boys and driven halfway across the district for their own visit to the Maists. Susanna slowed her cart as she went past the Zug farm, wondering if Adam was home, but she resisted the temptation to put herself in his path. She would not have time for a walk to gather roots or bark, and he would want to know where she had to hurry off to and why they had not happened to see each other all week when they had become so adept at it, especially in the last few months.

  Noah had not preached on Sunday. Instead, Susanna had a true Sabbath visit with her favorite cousin—and gave her parents a forthright account. Veronica asked several questions that Susanna had answered with sufficient detail to satisfy her mother.

  On Monday Susanna prayed under her breath all afternoon—for Noah, for Phoebe, for Patsy who had promised to be at the Kauffmans’. Had he preached to an invisible congregation outside the window on Monday? Susanna did not see Patsy to inquire, and on Tuesday when Susanna arrived, Noah already stood at the window.<
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  “You are sure?” Phoebe said, the two of them standing behind Noah.

  “Yes, I’m certain. Go clean the chicken coop,” Susanna said. “Or I can clean the coop if you would rather stay with Noah.”

  Phoebe hesitated. “I could use the distraction of the task. And you have enough chickens to clean up after on your own family’s farm.”

  “Do whatever you wish,” Susanna said. “I am here to help in the way you deem best.”

  Phoebe glanced out the window. “I might need to walk out to the other side of the pasture and check on the fence. I think Noah may have forgotten he said he needed to fix it, and I am not sure how bad the disrepair is.”

  “Take your time. I will be here.” Susanna’s impulse was to volunteer Adam to repair the fence, but first she would have to persuade Phoebe to allow her to confide in him.

  Susanna pulled a straight-backed chair up closer to the window, allowing plenty of room for Noah to gesture and pace while still keeping him within view. She was a congregation of one, and the Holy Ghost blew through her cousin’s words.

  “‘Charity suffereth long,’” he said, quoting the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, “‘and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil.’”

  Susanna had no trouble suffering long for Noah. It was her mother who challenged her. But what challenged her mother? The last few days were as if someone had dropped a burlap bag over Mamm and carried her away, leaving a fearful soul in her place. Trying to forbid Susanna from visiting Noah. Talking of moving farther west, to a new district in a new state when their ancestors had been among the first Amish to come to Kish Valley. Raising her voice to the boys. Murmuring in that urgent tone she had taken on of late. Her mamm had lost the peace of Christ, and Susanna wanted her to find it again—soon. Veronica was ill-suited to a disposition of anxiety, unpracticed at managing her daily affairs in the unfamiliar surroundings of fear.

  “‘Charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things,’” Noah continued. “‘Charity never faileth.’ God’s charity toward us is eternal. Surely our charity toward one another can endure the length of our days.”