by Beth Wiseman
Then she glanced up at Linda and realized that none of that mattered if she could spend time with her daughter.
After Noah left, Mary Ellen asked Linda to go start supper while she spoke with Josie. Linda pouted a bit, but left, promising to return shortly.
“How is she?” Josie propped herself up higher in the bed. “I don’t really remember anything.”
Mary Ellen walked to the window and lowered the blind a few inches to block out the sun as it began to set. Then she turned to Josie. “You were in such bad shape at the time, she said very little. I will try to talk with her more later.” She paused. “Or . . . she’ll be in here with you. Perhaps you would like to talk with her about it.”
Josie nodded. “Thank you for having me in your home, Mary Ellen. I know this must seem awkward—”
“The bathroom is down the hall to your left. You’ll find everything you need in there if you’d like to bathe later.”
“Okay.” Besides the obvious, Josie could feel the other elephant in the room. “Thank you for not saying anything about my—my lack of faith.”
Mary Ellen stared blankly at her for a few moments. “Is it something you’re ashamed of ?”
“No.” Josie didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but Mary Ellen didn’t seem affected by her tone.
“Do you not know of the Lord? Were you not educated as a child?”
“Oh, I was educated. I just don’t think I ever really got it.” Josie pushed back the light sheet that was covering her legs. “And then I married Robert, and he doesn’t believe in God. At all. And his arguments against a higher power seemed valid.” She leaned her head backward against the wall. “I guess it’s been so long now since I’ve thought about God, I just—I just figure it’s too late for me. Although, the other day . . .”
Mary Ellen sat down on the edge of the bed, waited for Josie to go on.
“I felt something.” Josie recalled the voice in her head. I am here My child. The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. “I was praying, and I heard something, and it seemed so real.”
“I thought you didn’t believe.” Mary Ellen arched her brows.
“I don’t, but . . .”
“Then why would you pray?”
She shrugged. “I’m dying, Mary Ellen. I guess I was willing to try anything.”
They sat quietly for a moment.
“My husband is a good man.” Josie reached for the cup on the nightstand, poured herself some water, and took a big gulp. “He really is. He does for everyone but himself. He is the most kindhearted, loving, generous person I’ve ever known. Robert is full of goodness.”
Mary Ellen’s expression was somber. “Why do you feel the need to defend him?”
“I know how strong your faith is, Mary Ellen. All the Amish. I just don’t want you to think he’s a bad man. Or . . . that I’m a bad person for not believing.”
“It’s not my place to judge. Only God can do that.”
It grew quiet again, and Mary Ellen stood up. “I’ll let you rest.” She turned to leave.
“Mary Ellen?”
She turned to face her. “Ya?”
“What if I’m wrong? About God?” She pulled her knees to her chest.
Mary Ellen locked eyes with her, a kindness in her expression that Josie hadn’t seen from her before. Softly, she said, “Exactly. What if you are wrong?”
Then she turned and left.P
Mary Ellen met Linda coming up the stairs.
“I put the chicken in the oven and peeled the potatoes. Can I go visit with Josie for a little while?”
“Ya. But first . . .” Mary Ellen pushed back a loose strand of hair that had fallen from beneath her daughter’s kapp. “Are you all right?”
“Ya.” She sighed. “I reckon it just doesn’t make any sense. For me to get to know her, only to have the Lord call her home. And she’s so young.”
“You know we don’t question His will.”
“I know, Mamm. I just wish things could be different, and I’m going to pray that God will heal Josie.”
Mary Ellen kissed her on the cheek. “You’re mei gut maedel.” Then she brushed past her down the stairs and crossed the den to the kitchen. Abe was sitting at the kitchen table.
Mary Ellen picked up a fork and poked the potatoes that were simmering in a pot on the stove. “It won’t be ready for at least thirty minutes.”
Abe picked up the Die Botschaft and began to flip through the pages. “Sure smells gut.”
After only a few moments, he closed the newspaper. “Mary Ellen, I reckon I gotta tell ya . . .” He peered into the den to see if anyone was there, then lowered his voice. “I’m surprised ’bout you asking her to stay here.”
Mary Ellen set the fork on the counter and took a seat across from her husband. Keeping her voice low, she said, “She doesn’t have anyone to tend to her until her husband can get home from China. Might only be for a day or two.”
Abe looped his thumbs under his suspenders. “It’s a gut thing you are doing, especially for Linda.” He paused and rubbed his tired eyes. “I suspect Linda knows by now what’s happening with Josephine?”
“Ya. She does. And Abe . . . she seems to be handling the news better than I would have expected.” She reached over and put her hand on his. “And, of course, she is praying for the Lord not to call Josephine home just yet.”
“We should all pray that the Lord’s will be done, whatever that might be. But it’s only human to pray for extra time for those we care about.”
“Like Jonas. You know I’ve been praying extra hard for that old man since he was first diagnosed with the cancer years ago. I reckon all the prayers from everyone in the community have kept him alive, do you think?”
“We must be careful what we pray for. Jonas is hurting these days, and to pray for him to stay on this earth doesn’t seem right.”
“That’s true.”
They sat quietly, and Mary Ellen considered telling her husband about Josephine’s lack of faith but decided against it. It wasn’t their way to minister to others, to teach them about God.
But Josephine had said she didn’t have any hope. Everyone should have hope.
Linda walked into her bedroom, and Josie was standing by the window looking out. She turned around when Linda entered.
“It’s beautiful here.”
“What are you doing out of bed?” Linda lifted the pitcher to see if Josie still had water, then joined her by the window. “Onkel Noah said you need to rest.”
“My headache is better, and I can’t just stay in bed.”
Linda’s stomach twisted with anxiety. First Jonas. Now her own—mother. So much loss. She worried how much her heart could take. Why would God introduce her to this woman, only to take her away?
“Josie, how long—how long do you—how much time . . .”
“A few months. Maybe six.”
Linda sat down on Josie’s bed; her knees felt like they might give beneath her. Josie sat next to her.
“But I plan to sing loudly at your birthday and watch you blow out your candles this year.”
Linda covered her face with her hands and started to cry. “This seems so unfair.”
Josie put her arm around Linda’s shoulder and squeezed as her own eyes welled with tears. “You know what they say, life isn’t fair.”
Linda wiped her eyes and turned to face Josie. “Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
They sat quietly for a few moments. Linda could see Josie’s right hand twitching. Please God, don’t let her have another seizure. Please keep the pain away and help her not to be scared.
“Maybe you will get better, no?”
Josie shook her head, then cupped Linda’s cheek and gazed into her beautiful sapphire eyes. “No, Linda. I’m not going to get better. I have an inoperable brain tumor in my brain stem. Eventually, it’s going to disrupt my motor skills much more”—she glanced down at her trembling hand—“much more than just my hand and a
rm. I’ll forget things, won’t be able to keep my mind clear, and the seizures will come more often. I’ll most likely slip into a coma at some point.” She paused when a tear rolled down Linda’s cheek. “The highlight of my life is this time I have with you.”
“Oh, Josie.” Linda threw her arms around her neck.
“My sweet baby girl.”
Then Josie cried in a way Linda had never heard a grownup cry. Deep sobs that caused her whole body to shake. Linda fought her own emotions and held Josie as tight as she’d ever held anyone.
“Don’t be scared,” Linda whispered. But Josie just cried harder.
Linda thought about what might make things easier for Josie. Then she had a thought.
Josie joined the family for breakfast the next morning, even though Mary Ellen offered to bring her breakfast in bed. Josie remembered eating the morning meal with her Amish friends on occasion when she was younger. There was always a bountiful layout of food, just like Mary Ellen’s table now. Eggs, bacon, homemade biscuits, lots of jams and jellies, and a traditional dish called scrapple, a mushy cornmeal mix made with leftover parts of a pig, something Josie didn’t like as a child and didn’t plan to eat this morning. She didn’t have much appetite, but would try to eat some eggs and maybe a biscuit just to keep her strength up.
After Mary Ellen filled the last glass with orange juice, she sat down at the head of the table across from her husband. Josie was sitting beside Linda on one of the wooden benches across from Matthew and Luke. They bowed their heads in silent prayer. Josie clamped her eyes closed.
I don’t want to die. I’m scared. Please, help me. It was wrong to ask for help from an entity she wasn’t sure was even real. But the “what if ” of the situation was gnawing at her, and again, she recalled the voice she’d thought she heard. She drew in a deep breath. Thank you for this time with my daughter.
She opened her eyes when she heard the clanking of silverware across the table. Both boys were diving into the scrapple as if afraid they wouldn’t get enough, then scooped generous amounts of scrambled eggs onto their plates. Josie helped herself to a small spoonful of eggs and reached for a biscuit after the boys were done.
“That’s rhubarb jam.” Mary Ellen pointed to a small jar in the middle of the table.
Josie smiled, then reached for the jar and spread some of the bright red mixture onto her biscuit.
Matthew grabbed two biscuits and began loading them up with jam. “We got a rooster that’s ab im kopp, Daed.” He reached across his brother and pulled back a handful of bacon. “He’s crazy as I’ve ever seen.”
“I noticed that bird didn’t seem to be acting right the other day,” Abe said as he eyed his son’s helping of bacon. “I’m sure everyone would like some bacon, Matt.” Abe arched his brows and a slight grin formed.
“Oh.” Matt put two pieces back.
“Ya, that rooster done slammed into the barn the other day,” Luke added with a chuckle. “I know it ain’t funny, but after it did that, it got up and ran all around the yard, chasing them hens.”
“Like a drunkard,” Matt said.
Linda giggled, which was music to Josie’s ears. “You’ve never even seen a drunkard, Matt.”
“Have so. At the Mud Sale in Gordonville last year. He was wobbling and ran into a wall. Just like that rooster.”
Everyone laughed in between bites, and Josie recalled family breakfasts at her house when she was growing up. They’d certainly lacked the warmth of this family’s. Her family’s meals had been about appearance and formality, and even though Josie and Robert were fortunate to have nice things, Josie had always tried to make their home seem warm and inviting. She looked around at everyone at the table—this perfect family—and smiled. Linda’s had a good life.
Josie did the best she could, picking at her food enough to not hurt Mary Ellen’s feelings, although she avoided the scrapple.
“I can’t eat another bite.” Josie waved her hand in front of her when Mary Ellen placed some apple turnovers on the table next to Josie. “It was all wonderful, Mary Ellen.”
Mary Ellen smiled, then pushed the plate toward her boys. “These are Matt’s favorite.”
Josie watched Mary Ellen serving her family, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone more cut out for mothering than Mary Ellen. Josie looked down at all the food left on her plate, then folded her arm across her stomach which was upset to the point that she fought the urge to leave the table.
When Abe and the boys finished their apple turnovers, they excused themselves, and Josie picked up a few dishes to help Mary Ellen and Linda clear the table.
“You don’t have to do that,” Mary Ellen said to Josie. “You’re our guest. And you should rest.”
“Please don’t treat me like a guest. I want to help. It’s the least I can do, Mary Ellen. Really.”
“How are you feeling?” Linda narrowed her brows at Josie, like a little mother hen.
“Pretty good.” Except for her stomach, that was the truth. Josie’s head wasn’t hurting, and she could certainly handle a tummy ache in comparison to the headaches.
Linda turned to her mother and whispered something Josie couldn’t hear. Mary Ellen nodded, turned to Josie, then back to Linda. “I think that’s a gut idea,” Mary Ellen said.
“Josie, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.” Linda stashed a jar of jam in the refrigerator. “Do you feel up to a ride in the buggy to go visit a friend of mine?”
“Sure.” Josie wasn’t sure about any sort of travel, but Linda looked so anxious and excited for them to go that Josie would just hope her stomach didn’t get any worse.
“I’m gonna go ask the boys to get the buggy ready.” Linda scurried across the kitchen and bolted out the door.
Josie picked up a kitchen towel and started drying the plates that Mary Ellen was putting in the rack to drain. “Who does she want me to meet?”
Mary Ellen handed Josie a clean plate and smiled. “A very special man. His name is Jonas.”
18
JONAS SHIFTED HIS BODY IN THE BED AND RECONCILED that there was no comfortable position anymore. Not a part of his body that wasn’t hurting these days. He had one thing left to do, and then he hoped that the Lord would call him home. Clenching as another wave of pain overtook him, Jonas tried to focus on the life he’d led. He wondered if there was a man alive who’d been as blessed as he had. He’d shared the majority of his life with a wonderful woman, his beloved Irma Rose. And when God saw fit to call her home, he’d been blessed with his Lizzie.
So many people he’d loved, and he’d been loved by so many. His daughter, Sarah Jane; his granddaughter, Lillian, and her family; and a community full of family and friends whom he’d watched grow up, marry, and have families of their own. Yes, he’d been a blessed man. But I’m ready, Lord. Just this one last thing to do.
“They’re here.” Lizzie pushed the bedroom door open.
Jonas could see his friends standing behind Lizzie, and he forced a smile, determined to hide the constant ache in his bones while he visited with Sadie and Kade.
“Come in, you two.” He wearily motioned with his hand for them to come closer. “Danki for coming.”
Lizzie smiled at her husband, then eased out of the room.
Kade moved ahead of his wife and latched onto Jonas’s hand. As Kade stood before him in traditional Amish clothing, Jonas recalled the first time he met Kade. He was a fancy, rich, Englisch man without a clue about real life. More money than any man could spend in a lifetime, but as miserable as any a person could be. Jonas recalled mentoring Kade, teaching him about the Ordnung, and helping him to grow his faith. An Amish man teaching an Englischer about the Ordnung was out of the ordinary, but Jonas had seen something in Kade worth the effort. And he was right. Kade donated his wealth wisely within the district and to those outside the community in need. He’d set up a fine school for children with special needs, like his own son, Tyler, who was autistic. And he’d married the lovely S
adie, a woman most deserving of a good man. Like Jonas, Sadie had been widowed. Her first love passed on at a young age, so Jonas was glad that she was able to start anew with Kade, and Jonas had recently heard that Sadie was pregnant again.
“I brought the letters.” Kade handed a large envelope to Jonas, and Sadie joined her husband at Jonas’s bedside. Sadie leaned down and kissed Jonas on the forehead.
“Hello, Jonas.”
“Dear Sadie. You look lovely.”
She rubbed her slightly expanded belly. “Danki, Jonas.”
Jonas reached into the envelope and pulled out the letter addressed to Linda. “Kade, reach into that drawer.” He pointed to the bedside table. “Pull out that letter addressed to Linda. I’d like to replace Linda’s letter with a new one.”
Kade pulled out the letter Jonas had written to Linda when he heard her birth mother was in town.
“Jonas, these letters are a beautiful idea,” Sadie said as her eyes filled with tears.
“No tears, my sweet Sadie. This old man has lived a blessed, full life. I’m ready.” Jonas paused and looked back and forth between his friends, knowing this could be the last time he saw them. He could feel his body shutting down. And he’d seen Irma Rose twice this week just sitting across the room smiling.
Jonas had written the letters four years ago, figuring he’d be gone way before now. The letters told each person what they’d meant in his life. He’d never been good at expressing his feelings, and he wanted all of them to know that his life was blessed and he was a better man for knowing them all. He’d updated the letters over the years—most recently Linda’s. The arrival of Linda’s birth mother was surely an upset to his young friend, and he wasn’t going to be around to see her through this.
There was a letter for Lizzie and one for his daughter, Sarah Jane. There were letters for Kade and Sadie, Carley and Noah, his beloved granddaughter, Lillian, and her husband, Samuel. Plus there were letters for all the children, young and old, whom he’d loved and watched grow, many of whom he’d never see marry and have children of their own. He was going to particularly miss seeing his great-grandson, David, marry and have kinner. The boy had survived a kidney transplant and was now a grown man of nineteen. But this is how it was supposed to be. A man can’t live forever.
