by Leslie Gould
Tears stung my eyes again. “I’m so glad,” I said. “Thank you for telling me.”
As he walked me out of the shed, a slight woman, a scarf tied under her chin, stepped out onto the porch. “John,” she called out.
My heart swelled.
“Coming,” he called back.
“Could I meet Mildred?” I asked.
“Jah,” John answered. “But she tires easily.”
“Of course,” I answered. “I’d just like to say hello.”
I followed John up the steps and shook Mildred’s bony hand after he introduced me. She smiled sweetly. When John told her I was Gus Bachmann’s daughter, she squeezed my hand again and told me how sorry she was to hear about his passing. “Tell your mother hello,” she said. “She’s such a sweet woman. I know God will use this trial to draw her closer to Him.” Instead of looking at me as she spoke, she glanced at her husband.
He pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.
Mildred patted my hand, let go of it, and then pulled her shawl tighter. “It’s so cold today.”
“You should get inside,” I said, “and I need to get going.”
“Please come in,” she said. “I’ll make some tea.”
“I’d love to,” I said, “but I need to be on my way.” I quickly explained about Arden’s heart attack. “I’m going to stop by the hospital.”
“Oh goodness,” she said. “So many trials.”
I nodded. “But God is with us.”
“Jah,” she answered. “He will see you through.”
I thanked John for his time and said I’d see him next week.
He nodded and then followed Mildred into the house.
As I drove away, I thought of our property, of our well. And I thought of my Mamm. What if Arden went ahead with the fracking and she got breast cancer? Or Vi? Or Marie or Leisel? I shuddered.
At least Arden would get a fair price. There was nothing timid about him. He’d find out what others were paid and expect as much or more. I headed west toward the hospital instead of north toward our farm. I hadn’t planned to go see Arden until the words came out of my mouth. But it was a good idea. He’d be out of surgery and hopefully out of recovery and back in the ICU. If he couldn’t speak with me, I could at least talk with Leisel.
As I knocked on the door to Arden’s room in the ICU, my palms grew sweaty. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. Perhaps he wouldn’t be happy to see me. Perhaps he’d ask me to leave.
Leisel’s sweet voice called out, “Come in.”
I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Arden was in the bed with his eyes closed. Leisel stood at the window. I greeted her and then in a whisper asked how the surgery went.
“Gut,” Leisel said. “The surgeon said it was successful.”
Someone had trimmed Arden’s beard—most likely to keep it out of the way during surgery. “Did Vi come with you?” he asked, without opening his eyes or saying hello. His voice was weak.
“No,” I answered.
He opened his eyes and then asked, “Why are you dressed that way?”
“I drove up to Harrisburg to retrieve a work file—and then made a visit.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What kind of visit?”
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“I doubt that,” he responded. “You’ve always got something going on.”
“A work-related visit.” Already, I regretted coming. “It’s not a big deal.”
He raised the bed a little. “Whom did you see?”
“Arden,” I said. “You just had open-heart surgery. You should be telling me how long your incision is, not grilling me.”
“Jessica, answer me. Whom did you see?”
“John and Mildred Stoltz.”
“Off Highway 30?”
I nodded.
“About the fracking on their land?”
I nodded again.
“You’re meddling,” he said.
“No,” I answered. “It’s a work assignment.”
He grunted, as if in disgust. “Don’t believe what he said. There’s no evidence.”
“How do you know what he said?”
“It’s all over the county. That he blames his wife’s cancer on the fracking.”
I shook my head. “No, he blames it on the contaminated well water caused by the fracking.”
Arden rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t have any proof.”
“The water was tested. It shows 2-Butoxyethanol and chloride, among other chemicals—”
“—and natural gasses and hydrocarbons too,” he interrupted. “His well was probably poorly built, and he’s too prideful to admit it.”
My jaw dropped. Once I recovered and was able to speak again, my voice was at a higher pitch. “It seems his well was fine for years. Most likely, the chemicals were introduced into the well water by the fracking.”
Arden shook his head. “I’ve done a lot of research into this. It doesn’t matter whether they were or not—there’s no proof the chemicals caused the cancer. Most likely, it’s genetic.”
I crossed my arms.
“You don’t see us blaming Dat’s cancer on anything. Or my heart attack. The Lord allows trials and disease. We weren’t made to live forever.”
I pursed my lips together. “Cases seem to indicate there could be a correlation between fracking, contaminated wells, and cancer. Clean water is the basis of sustainable life. Why take any chances?”
Arden steepled his fingers on the pillow across his chest. “If it was the well water, wouldn’t John have come down with some sort of cancer too? Why just his wife?”
“Because cancer isn’t equitable,” I answered. “All sorts of factors can come into play. Perhaps the contaminants are more likely to cause breast cancer than other cancers.”
“There’s no proof,” he said again.
“I can show you case studies. And it’s not just breast cancer. There are cases of enlarged ovaries. And spleen damage, in both women and men.”
His face turned red. “I’m not interested in pseudo-science.” He was the most contentious man I knew.
Leisel stepped to his side. “Don’t get worked up about this.”
“I’m not,” he snapped.
“Jah,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I shot Leisel a concerned look. She shrugged.
A tense silence settled in the room.
Arden turned toward Leisel. “Did Vi call back?”
“Not yet,” she answered.
He frowned again. “How about Amos? Has she been spending time with him?”
“Goodness, Arden,” Leisel said. “What a thing to ask. I haven’t seen her say more than hello to him.”
My face warmed at the memory of what Amos told me, about him and Vi being sweet on each other way back when. Arden was still jealous. And worried.
“What do you know?” Arden asked me.
“The same as Leisel,” I answered, assuming he was asking what I knew of the present. “I’ve not seen Amos and Vi having any kind of conversation.” I stepped forward. “It can’t be good for you to fret.” He must have been in horrible pain.
“Jah, enough of this,” Leisel said. “No one wants you to worry. Vi’s probably on her way here now.”
She met my eyes. “Could you pick up rolled oats on your way home? Mamm mentioned last night that she wanted to make a berry crisp for supper. I told her I’d stop, but I may stay until late. Amos said he’d get me, but we’ll see. . . .”
“Sure,” I muttered but didn’t move.
“You should go now,” she said. “The sooner Mamm has all of her ingredients the better.”
“All right,” I answered, getting Leisel’s hint that I needed to leave. It had been foolish of me to stop by.
“I don’t want Amos coming to visit,” Arden said, his voice barely a whisper.
“I’ll make sure to tell him that,” I responded, unable to check the snarky tone in my voice.
“Bye,” Leisel said.
&
nbsp; “Bye,” I responded, my voice finally contrite. Ashamed, I left the room.
After I’d stopped by the store and filled up a bag with three-minute oats from the bulk bin, I headed on home. As I pulled up, I spied Amos talking with someone along the fence, to the side of the Dawdi Haus.
I parked and then walked to the house, swinging the bag of oats in my hand. But instead of going up to the front door, I walked to the side of the house and peeked around the corner. It was Vi standing with Amos. I hurried into the house. No one was around. I dropped the oats on the kitchen counter and then went upstairs to change into my dress.
When I returned downstairs, I noticed the door to Dat’s study was open. I pushed on it a little. Mamm stood at the window, spying on Vi and Amos, I guessed.
“Hello,” I said.
She turned. “Oh, you’re back.”
I nodded. “I brought oats.”
“Oats?”
“For the crisp you wanted to make. Leisel asked me to pick some up.”
Mamm shook her head. “I have plenty of oats. Besides, I didn’t plan to make a crisp.”
My face grew warm for the second time in an hour. Obviously, Leisel had thought quickly on her feet to come up with an excuse for me to leave.
A blur of blue went by the window. Vi, walking by herself. Mamm turned again.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
She nodded and held up a rag. “I was just dusting in here.”
I told her that I’d stopped by the Stoltz place and that John and Mildred had said hello.
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “How is Mildred doing?”
“She’s thin.”
Mamm nodded. “I think she’s probably your Dat’s age. Cancer is such a horrible disease.”
I nodded and stepped toward her, putting my arms around her before I realized what I was doing. For a moment I was afraid she wouldn’t hug me back. But she did. Tightly. And then she began to cry on my shoulder. I thought of Ruby and her Mamm. Mine wasn’t nearly as sweet, but for the moment she needed me—for the first time in all my life, it seemed, since the day I was born.
15
After the evening chores were completed, Vi and her children ate at their house, and Aenti Suz said she wasn’t feeling well and planned to go straight to bed, which left only Marie and Gail at the big table with Mamm during supper. Amos and I sat at our own private table, as we’d come to call it.
There was no berry crisp for dessert, and Mamm remained quiet all through the meal.
Afterward, she went straight to her room while I helped Marie and Gail clean up. We worked mostly in silence and it seemed to take forever, especially considering how few people actually ate the meal, but the leftover stew had cemented on the bottom of the Dutch oven, and the sticky bun pan from breakfast had been put back in the oven and forgotten, and then Marie insisted that we needed to sweep the living room and kitchen and wipe down the cupboards.
While I swept, Marie and Gail worked on the cupboards, chatting as they did. I half listened as I started in the living room. Their conversation soon turned to Silas. “He’s sensitive is all,” Gail said. “You know that.”
Marie responded, “Well, it wasn’t as if what we said wasn’t true.”
“But we shouldn’t have said it,” Gail said. “Silas was right.”
Marie shook her head. “There’s no reason to shy away from the truth. Silas shouldn’t have responded the way he did.”
Gail didn’t say anything more.
I began sweeping around the table.
Marie shifted to the cupboards by the refrigerator. “I know you don’t agree.”
“No, I don’t. It’s who Silas is. He’s kind and gentle. He doesn’t like to hear anyone spoken ill of.” Gail glanced toward me. I ducked my head.
She lowered her voice. “I know it wasn’t easy for him to speak up like that. It took me a while to realize it, but I’m proud of what he did.”
“Quitting? Letting all of us down? You’re proud of that?”
Gail hesitated again but then said, “Well, I think he tends to be too soft-spoken at times. Or did. It’s good to know he can stand up for what he believes in.”
Marie exhaled sharply. “But that’s exactly what he shouldn’t do. He’s putting his own pride before what’s best for our family, for our community.” Marie glanced over her shoulder.
I was now sweeping the floor on the kitchen side of the table.
“Shhh,” she said to Gail.
I smiled but with my head down. Silas had stood up for me, and Gail found it endearing. It made me soften toward Gail. Maybe she wasn’t as much of a follower of Marie as I’d first feared. And perhaps Dat was right. Silas was only nineteen when I left. Perhaps he had grown into being his own man after all.
Marie’s voice softened. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around—and all of this won’t have any effect on the two of you.”
Gail’s voice was nearly a whisper. “It already has.”
Perhaps Marie didn’t hear, or if she did, she didn’t respond. Instead, she started humming “Amazing Grace” and then after a few minutes started singing it. She had the prettiest voice out of us girls. “. . . how sweet the sound,” she sang. “That saved a wretch like me.”
Gail joined in and I did too, quietly under my breath. “. . . but now am found. Was blind but now I see.”
If only I could see again. But I was more blinded by my hurts than ever. What would it take for me to be released from them? A complete new life in Harrisburg? Marrying Tom? Our own family? Never returning to Lancaster again?
I stopped singing and mulled over “And grace my fears relieved” as I finished up the sweeping. I’d been hurt by my family, but somehow those injustices had turned into fears. Fear that I didn’t fit in. Fear that no one cared about my opinion. Fear that they’d abandoned me.
Grace was undeserved assistance from God. I hadn’t believed His divine care could right the injustice I felt, that it could heal my hurt and ultimately relieve my fears. Instead, I’d fled as fast as I could.
Marie and Gail were halfway through singing “The Old Rugged Cross” by the time I finished the sweeping. As I headed out the door to the back porch, the words “In the old rugged Cross, stain’d with blood so divine, A wondrous beauty I see . . .” followed me. I’d stopped seeing that wondrous beauty when I’d left. Maybe it was because I wasn’t working on the farm, out in nature, anymore. Maybe it was the fear I felt. Maybe it was being away from my family and community. And Silas. For whatever reason, I didn’t appreciate the miracle of redemption, the beauty of the Cross the way I had as a child and young adult.
A verse we’d memorized in school, that I’d learned faster than Silas, came to mind. “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee. . . .” I’d memorized it, but had I really learned it?
Feeling restless, I hoped Amos hadn’t left to get Leisel yet, hoping I could ride along. He had a flight out of Philadelphia the next evening, and I’d hoped to spend more time with him, but his car was gone.
I wandered back to the barn, looking for a place of comfort. One of the workhorses neighed and then a cat meowed. I headed up the ladder to the hayloft, using my phone’s flashlight app. Then I headed to the far end and scooped up a barn kitten that had somehow found her way up to the loft. She was young enough that she hadn’t grown wild yet.
I settled on a bale and stroked the kitten’s soft gray fur. She started purring. As a girl, I used to retreat to the hayloft to have time alone. I thought back to the medley of songs going through my head, and then landed on the lyrics to “Amazing Grace” again, to the line “And grace my fears relieved.” Silas used to help relieve my fears because he was the one who had shown me grace, over and over. How many times had Mamm shamed me about her believing I’d rushed through my housework or some other perceived wrong, only to have Silas comfort me and speak grace into my life?
And it wasn�
��t just through his words. It was through his example of living a grace-conscious life too. I knew he prayed when he plowed. I knew, when he pulled a calf, that he thought the birth of a newborn was the most amazing miracle in the world. And I knew, when he walked through the woods, that he always sang “How Great Thou Art.” All of those things had inspired me to pray, acknowledge the miraculous, and sing praises too.
But the truth was, I’d hardly sung at all the last three years. Jah, I’d mouthed the words in church with Tom, but I hadn’t sung. My soul hadn’t sung, not like in the song.
I hummed the tune to “How Great Thou Art,” the words floating through my mind. “Then sings my soul, My Savior, God, to Thee. How great Thou art; How great Thou art.”
I shivered at the words, and at admitting that my spiritual life had been dry as a lonely desert ever since I’d left. I’d only been going through the motions.
I shivered again. Perhaps it was just because of the cold. The shutters of the window were open, giving me a view of the house and the driveway. A light still shone in the kitchen window. I imagined Marie and Gail sitting at the table playing a game of Scrabble. I wondered if Silas would have joined them before.
A car started up the drive. I imagined it being Tom. That he just couldn’t stay away. That he was so interested in the Stoltz case he couldn’t wait until next week. Or that he’d come to do whatever he could to help me, hoping I would return to Lancaster sooner. I cringed. When did I start thinking of myself as needing to be rescued?
The car parked, and just before the lights turned off I could make out Leisel climbing out of the driver’s door. I leaned forward, not trusting what I’d just seen, but then everything went dark. Her voice and Amos’s carried, but I couldn’t make out what they said. Both car doors slammed and then, I assumed, they walked to the house, but I couldn’t actually see them.
I’d forgotten how inky black the nights were on the farm when the sky was clouded over. I’d grown used to city streetlights. As my eyes adjusted, I made out a few faint stars where the clouds had thinned. The kitten yawned and snuggled closer. I cradled her in my arms, tucking her against my chest.
