A Simple Singing

by Leslie Gould

  The bus driver assured me that our suitcases would be transported to their office in Lancaster. Then he gave me a card with their phone number. The EMTs helped Aenti Suz into the ambulance, and I climbed in after her. We were headed to Lancaster General—where Jessica was.

  Once we reached the emergency department, after I washed my hands, I dialed Gordon’s cell phone from the nurse’s station. He didn’t pick up, so I left a message, telling him what happened and that I’d try to get up to see Jessica once I knew Aenti Suz was all right. The nurse put a compress bandage on Aenti Suz, and then the doctor did a neurological check. The two discussed whether they needed to do a CT scan, with Aenti Suz saying that wasn’t necessary. The doctor said that because it had been over an hour since the accident and because she wasn’t exhibiting any signs of a concussion or brain injury, that she didn’t need one. She did need stitches, however, which we both already knew.

  The doctor said he’d be back in a few minutes, just as a nurse poked her head around the curtain and told me there was a young man out in the hall, hoping to see me.

  It had to be Gordon or Silas.

  I told Aenti Suz I’d be right back and followed the nurse.

  Gordon stood with his winter coat on, holding his hat.

  “How is Jessica?” I asked before either could speak.

  “A little better,” Gordon said. “She’s out of recovery and in a room.” Gordon’s face was pale and his eyes grew huge. “I got your message, but what exactly happened?”

  I explained again about the bus wreck. “Aenti Suz has a gash on the side of her head and needs stitches.”

  “What about you?” Gordon’s expression was full of concern, and he pointed toward me.

  I looked down at my open coat. Blood covered my apron. I quickly zipped my coat. “It’s from Aenti Suz.”

  “What about your hands?”

  I glanced at them. I thought they’d stopped bleeding by the time I washed up, but there was fresh blood coming from the cuts. “I just need some bandages,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

  I nodded back toward the emergency department. “I’ll go sit with Aenti Suz until she gets her stitches. I’ll need to get her home, but maybe we can stop and see Jessica—and Silas—first.”

  His eyes were full of concern. “Silas has the flu—respiratory with a fever, aches and pains, cough, and sore throat. He can’t be around Jessica.”

  My stomach fell.

  Gordon continued. “I’ll take Suzanne home as soon as she’s ready to go.”

  “Denki,” I said.

  “And you too.”

  “What about Jessica? Is Mamm with her?”

  Gordon shook his head.

  “Maybe you could take Aenti Suz home and Mamm can tend to her while I stay here with Jessica.” I glanced down at my coat, imagining my bloody apron. I could take it off, but the blood had probably soaked through to my dress.

  “Do you have your suitcase?”

  I shook my head. “The bus was going to be towed to the company warehouse.” I pulled the card from my pocket.

  “I’ll go get it,” he said. “Why don’t you write a note giving me permission? I’ll get both yours and Suzanne’s.”

  I pulled a pen from my purse and wrote on the back of the card. “They have identification tags on them, so they should be easy for you to find.”

  He nodded. “I’ll come straight back here.” Then he gave me Jessica’s room number and told me to call her and let her know what had happened.

  I called from the nurse’s desk so Aenti Suz didn’t have to listen to me describe what happened again. When Jessica answered, her voice was so weak I could hardly hear her.

  “It’s me,” I said.

  “Marie?”

  I began to shake as I spoke and then, to my embarrassment, I began to cry. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Sad but fine. Where are you?”

  Ashamed that I was crying when she was the one who just lost a baby, I told her about the bus wreck. “I tried to protect Aenti Suz, but she still got a gash on her head. A bad one.”

  “No wonder you’re so upset,” Jessica said. “Thank the Lord that Aenti Suz isn’t any worse and that you’re okay.”

  I told her I’d be up as soon as I could.

  “You should go home with Aenti Suz,” she said.

  “No,” I answered. “Gordon will take her home to Mamm. I’ll stay with you.”

  Jessica didn’t protest again. Instead she said, “It will be good to see you.”

  I returned to my aunt’s room, asking the nurse if I could clean up my hands. After I washed them, she put bandages on the cuts. Then I held Aenti Suz’s hand while the nurse shaved the side of her head.

  As the doctor started to stitch, even though I was on the other side and couldn’t see, I began to feel queasy. Partly from the movement of the doctor. Partly from the smell of the disinfectant.

  As if sensing my discomfort, Aenti Suz said, “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I’m fine.” Silently I recited the Lord’s Prayer, determined to stay strong. I thought of Annie and wished I were as brave as she had been. Finally, I asked Aenti Suz what her favorite thing about Pinecraft had been. “The community,” she answered. “Wasn’t it wonderful to get to know so many people from so many different Amish and Mennonite groups?”

  I agreed.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “How relaxed I felt,” I answered. But I wasn’t being entirely truthful. Along with hearing Annie’s story, in retrospect, my favorite thing had been singing with Paula and Gordon in the park. Well, it wasn’t even that, exactly. It was what I’d experienced during it—that I’d truly worshipped God. Then, as a result, I felt compelled to volunteer at the homeless shelter.

  As I held my aunt’s hand, I wondered if worshipping God could give me strength to do other things too.

  19

  The doctor gave her fifteen stitches across the bald swath where her salt-and-pepper hair had been.

  Gordon returned just after the doctor finished his work, and I met him in the hall again. Thankfully, both of our suitcases were in his hands.

  I took mine, and he headed in to sit with Aenti Suz. I wheeled my suitcase into the women’s restroom and retrieved a wrinkled apron and dress, but at least neither was covered with blood. I changed, rinsed my bloody clothes out in cold water, and then slipped them into an extra plastic bag I’d packed.

  As I returned to Aenti Suz’s room, I saw the woman from the bus whose husband had been taken off first. She told me he was getting a CT scan and would then get stitched up, and it seemed the older man did have a brain injury, but hopefully a mild one. “Ach,” she said. “It could have been so much worse. I’m glad your aunt will be all right.”

  Just before noon, Aenti Suz was released. As the nurse pushed her down the hall in a wheelchair, Gordon and I walked on either side of her. I’d grabbed my toiletries bag so I could spend the night with Jessica, but he towed both of our suitcases behind him.

  “You must be exhausted,” Aenti Suz said to me.

  “I’m fine.” I looked over her head at Gordon. “Tell Mamm to read the discharge paperwork and keep a close watch on her. The doctor said Aenti Suz probably doesn’t have a concussion, but Mamm should be extra attentive, nevertheless.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Aenti Suz said. “Give Jessica a big hug and tell her I’m sorry. And you try to get some rest.”

  When we reached the exit, Gordon told me he’d come back after the milking to check on Jessica and me.

  I thanked him, hugged Aenti Suz, and then thanked Gordon again. “What would we do without you?” I asked.

  “You’d get by just fine,” he answered.

  I knew we wouldn’t. But we’d have to figure out how to if he took the job with the shelter.

  I stopped by the cafeteria and ordered a bowl of soup, a half sandwich, and a large coffee. I ate the food and then took the coffee with me. When
I reached Jessica’s room and stepped inside, she had her eyes closed but then opened them slowly. “Hallo.” Her voice was as soft as it had been on the phone, and her face was as white as the sheet pulled up to her chin.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Better.”

  I shivered. If she was better now, Aenti Suz was right about how ill she’d been. She had a bag of fluid hanging on a pole with a tube going into her arm. And there was also a bag of what looked like blood. Again, I felt weak-kneed. I sat down beside her and sipped on my coffee as we talked. “Have you talked to Leisel?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Silas did. I don’t want her to come. The roads are bad, but I think she may try anyway on Saturday. Hopefully I’ll be home by then.” She shifted a little in the bed. “Silas is sick with this flu that’s been going around.”

  “That’s what Gordon said.”

  She nodded. “He feels horrible to not be here, but of course he can’t.”

  I agreed and then thought of how reluctant I was to celebrate their marriage the day of their wedding. And why? Because I’d been critical of Jessica for the last four years, even after she returned to the Amish. Because I felt as if I deserved what she had—more than she did.

  And now she’d nearly died.

  My face grew warm in shame.

  Jessica didn’t notice. “I think it’s harder on Silas than on me right now.”

  I didn’t know about that, but I wondered if perhaps she’d rather not have my company and would like to rest instead. I asked her what she needed most. “Stay and talk,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I’m tired.”

  She asked me more about the wreck and Aenti Suz and then about Florida. In a lighter voice, she asked, “How is Elijah?”

  “Gut,” I answered.

  “Did you see him much?”

  “Jah,” I answered. “Nearly every day.”

  “When is he coming home?”

  “In the spring, probably May.”

  I told her about the beaches we went to, the volleyball and basketball games, and the community of people in Pinecraft. Then I told her about the singing.

  “Sounds amazing,” she said. “I know how much you love music.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it.

  “I think you and Silas would really like Pinecraft.”

  She smiled a little. “Maybe when we’re retired. I don’t see how we could go before then.” She came back to the topic of Elijah. “So he’s going to farm, right?”

  I paused a moment. “Jah . . .”

  “What’s with the hesitation?”

  I shrugged. “He said he’s not thrilled about it, but he’ll do it anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” Jessica grimaced. “It’s a lot of work no matter what, but even more so for someone who doesn’t enjoy it.”

  When I didn’t respond, she sat up a little in bed. “Gordon told us some about his week there. He was happy to see you.”

  “It was good to see him too.”

  “I’m sorry you had to come home early. And now, with all of this that happened with Aenti Suz, you shouldn’t have. I feel horrible.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re so sad about you losing the baby and so glad Gordon called us.” Again, I felt embarrassed by my initial reaction. Sitting beside her, I was relieved Gordon had called. How could I have been so selfish when I first heard the news?

  She told me that Arden’s family had the flu too. “Gordon did the milking by himself yesterday.”

  That must have taken him hours. Hopefully there was a neighbor boy who could help today.

  Soon, her eyes drifted closed. There was a recliner in the room, and I curled up in it and slept too. When I awoke around supper time, Gordon was back in the room, and a doctor was talking with him and Jessica. I pushed the recliner down and stood.

  “You can go home tomorrow as long as you stay away from anyone who is running a fever. You’re susceptible to illness and infection, not to mention pneumonia.”

  “You can come to Mamm’s,” I said. “Or, better yet, Aenti Suz’s. I can care for you there until Silas is well.”

  “Poor Silas,” Jessica said. “He doesn’t have anyone to take care of him.”

  I asked, “Can’t his Mamm?” But as I spoke, I realized how hard it would be for Edith to travel back and forth to the farm where Jessica and Silas lived. She had a few calves to take care of at her place.

  “I’ll check on him tonight,” Gordon said. “And then I’ll be back in the morning. If all goes well, I can give you both a ride home, hopefully before noon.”

  The doctor nodded. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  As the doctor left, a nurse came in with supper. Jessica raised the bed and said, “I’m going to try to eat as much as I can. You two should go down to the cafeteria and do the same.”

  I covered my mouth as I yawned. “Don’t you want some company?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Just come back when you’re done.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to go eat with Gordon, and he appeared uncomfortable too. But I didn’t want to make a big deal about it in front of Jessica.

  Once we reached the main floor, Gordon pointed toward the exit. “There’s a little café around the corner. Want to go there?”

  “All right,” I answered, although I still felt groggy and uncomfortable. But I figured the fresh air might do me good.

  Gordon ordered a hamburger, and I ordered a bowl of minestrone soup. Being awake for so long and the trauma of the day was catching up with me, and I thought the soup was all I’d be able to get down. I felt shaky again, and it must have shown.

  “Are you all right?” Gordon asked. “Do you want me to take you home?”

  I shook my head. “No. I mean, I’m not feeling horrible. Just out of sorts. And, no, I don’t want to go home.”

  He looked at me appraisingly for a moment, and then must have decided to try to take my mind off of the day, because he switched from being so serious to being chatty. After the waitress delivered our food, we shifted to talking about Florida. I told him how powerful the singing had been for me.

  “In what way?” Gordon asked and then took a bite of his burger.

  “There are a couple of ways. I shouldn’t admit this, but I really enjoyed singing with the instruments. I also felt as if I were worshipping the Lord in a way I’d never experienced before. I felt a new freedom, a harmony different from what I’ve felt before.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Gordon said.

  I nodded, taking a bite of my soup, and then saying, “It felt transformative. I just hope it will last.”

  He smiled gently. “I know the feeling.”

  I asked if he’d heard from Josh since coming home.

  He nodded. “From what he told me, the singing at the Pinecraft Park was the highlight of the week for a lot of us. But that’s not all he said. The director of the shelter has a contact who may give Josh a job, and another who might be able to help him find housing.”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  Then he shared his thoughts for the next year in Pinecraft when his team would return for another week of ministry. My heart contracted. I wouldn’t be there. Most likely, Elijah and I would be married by then.

  As he finished his burger, I asked if he’d decided about the job at the shelter, and he shook his head, his face reddening.

  “I haven’t said anything to anyone,” I assured him. “And I promise I won’t.” I hoped he knew that I would be a good friend to him.

  Changing the subject, I hesitantly said, “I have a question about playing the guitar. Was it hard to learn?”

  He shook his head. “I started when I was eight.”

  “How about the harmonica? Is that hard to learn?”

  He shook his head again and then said, “For you, any instrument would be easy to learn.” Then his face reddened again and he said, “I’m sorry, I keep sticking my foot in my mouth.”

  I laugh
ed. “I’m the one asking the questions.”

  He leaned across the table. “But why? It’s not as if you can play any of them.”

  “My Dat played the harmonica,” I said.

  Now he leaned back in his chair. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I remember it from when I was a child. I’d sing along. Sometimes he’d let me try.”

  “I’m so surprised,” he said. “I really wish I could have met your Dat.”

  I nodded. He had died right before Gordon started working for us. “Dat was very gifted—and sneaky. He made up this silly ‘Cat, Dog, Elephant’ song when I was little, and Paula said that in doing so, he taught me notes.”

  Gordon raised his eyebrows.

  “Jah. The other ‘notes’ were frog, goat, ant, and bull.”

  Gordon laughed. “Paula was right. He did teach you the notes.” He leaned forward. “She told me that you have perfect pitch.”

  My face warmed, and then I shrugged. He was right, but it wasn’t as if any of this would make a difference in my life. “Do you know a song called ‘Turn, Turn, Turn’?”

  He smiled. “My mom used to sing that when I was little.”

  “My Dat played it on the harmonica,” I said. “Sometimes he’d sing it too.”

  Gordon began humming the tune, and I joined in. Then we both smiled. “To everything there is a season,” Gordon said.

  I added, “And a time to every purpose under the heaven.” My eyes filled with tears as I spoke.

  “It’s from a passage in Ecclesiastes.”

  I nodded. “Chapter 3.”

  “Maybe that’s why your father sang it,” Gordon said.

  I swiped at my eyes, thinking about Dat choosing that particular song. Another tear escaped.

  Gordon placed his hand on the table, as if reaching out to me. “You okay?”

  I nodded, swallowed hard, and pushed my half-eaten bowl of soup forward. “We should get going.” Why did it hurt to share a sweet moment with Gordon?