The Healing

by Linda Byler

  He found the gates, with neon, blinking lights, numbers, an information booth, service desks. He realized he knew nothing about Lena’s exact arrival time, or which train she would be on.

  “Excuse me.” It was a harried mother tugging crying children, their faces smeared with tears that ran into chocolate.

  Quickly, he stepped aside, mumbled an apology, felt as big as an ox. He was afraid to sit down for fear of missing her. He found a spot with a good view of the departure and arrival doors and hoped for the best.

  He’d never done this before, so how could he know? He heard his mother’s voice in his head, “John, John, not here. She’ll never see you here. Come this way.”

  No, she would not think this suitable, but she wasn’t here. He was on his own, and had chosen this point to watch the crowd. He’d do his best.

  He leaned against the wall, crossed one leg over the other, and lifted his coat to insert his hands in his pockets. He hoped he appeared nonchalant, at ease, a man of the world.

  All around him, humanity flowed like a colorful stream. Small, thin women wearing tight jeans and cropped sweaters, obese women in brilliant colors, elderly ladies with bewildered expressions, carrying leather purses in fearful grips. Black women with dozens of thin braids swinging below their waists.

  He watched an older black man, as black as night, gathering his wife and children into long and tender hugs, tears streaming. So much love and feeling, with no apparent shame. John could not imagine hugging his own mother and father like that.

  It wasn’t the Amish way, and John accepted that. But still he felt an emptiness, a need to be cherished, embraced.

  John swallowed and wiped his hands on the leg of his black trousers. He was sweating and he didn’t want to shake Lena’s hand with a clammy palm. How could she have come by herself? Was it safe for a young woman to travel alone? Samuel should have accompanied her.

  The soles of his feet ached. He shifted position, eyed the benches longingly. A wide, middle-aged woman caught his gaze, slid her enormous purse over to make room for him. She smiled, mouthed, “Sit.”

  John smiled back, shook his head.

  The clock on the wall was enormous, black and white. 10:30. That was the time she’d given him. His pulse raced. His mouth went dry. A clanging, a rush of movement, the building taking on a buzzing, a reverberation.

  His eyes turned to the arrival gate. He waited, standing tall now, no longer slouched against the wall. He knew Lena was not tall, reaching only to his shoulder. She would be immersed in the roiling, moving stream of people.

  But she was easy to spot in the crowd. Her pale blond hair and white covering, the small, lovely face with huge blue eyes scanning the crowd. She was carrying a fairly large piece of luggage, drawing it along by the handle. She looked at ease, certainly not frightened, searching faces around her for signs of him.

  She looked straight into his eyes, then looked away and kept walking.

  What? Bewildered, frustrated, John hurried after her.

  “Lena?”

  She moved on, seemingly without hearing him. He repeated her name. She stopped, turned. Uncertainty moved across her lovely features, then a glad light came into her blue eyes, a wide smile revealed her pearly white teeth.

  “John!” she gasped.

  Speechless, he extended his hand to shake hers. She bent to set the large wheeled suitcase on its edge, shrugged off the smaller piece of luggage, and extended both hands. John caught them in both of his, held them.

  “I didn’t know you. I looked straight at you. Where are your glasses? What happened to your hair?”

  Her face was flushed now, her eyes large and blue and bewildered.

  She tugged her hands away, so he could do nothing but let them go.

  John smiled, laughed aloud, pointed to his eyes.

  “Contacts.”

  “You’ve lost weight. You’re even taller.”

  Flushed even more, embarrassed now, she fell silent, her eyes never leaving his.

  What is it that goes on between eyes that lets you know it’s all right, expected, to take someone into your arms? John couldn’t name the quick rush of emotion, he only knew he had to hold her. And he did. He moved toward her slowly, his arms soft and so careful, until her arms crept about his waist and held him, and he crushed her to himself.

  He half noticed the appreciative glances from passersby. For a moment, he heard his mother’s voice. John, don’t. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You’re Amish. Shick dich.

  “Lena, I . . .”

  She buried her face in his black woolen coat, would not relinquish her hold. When she did, her eyes were limpid, wet pools of emotion, that rocked John’s world. Everyone disappeared from his sight, and there was only the sweet, flushed face and the blue of her eyes. A midsummer sky. A bluebird’s wing. A forget-me-not.

  “John, I apologize. I . . . wasn’t prepared. You’ll think me bold.”

  “No. Oh no, Lena. I’m just so happy that you’re . . . well, you know, glad to see me.”

  “I am.”

  “Let me carry the luggage,” he offered. “Is there anything you need to do? Pay? Leave tickets or anything?”

  She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound. “You’re obviously not a seasoned traveler, either. First train ride, shooting off into the unknown. Totally clueless.”

  They made their way to the station exit, out onto the city streets, across to the parking lot, the raw November air whipping leaves and pieces of paper, dust, and dry grasses around them. Cars moved out of the parking spaces, trunks popped open like huge mouths, swallowing luggage and boxes, plastic totes containing travel items.

  He felt no pain in his shoulder as he slung the strap across it. His strides were quick and strong, his hand clenched around the handle of the enormous, wheeled piece of luggage. The cold air was invigorating, lifting his morale, his entire outlook on life. He did not understand it, but accepted the feeling of well-being, if only for a minute.

  They found Clyde sound asleep, his seat in a reclining position, his cap pulled low over his eyes, his mouth open.

  John hesitated, not wanting to scare him out of a deep slumber. He tapped on the window, softly.

  Immediately, he jerked awake, looked around, then unlocked the door, adjusting his seat, arranging himself before putting both hands to the steering wheel. John asked him to open the trunk and was rewarded with a button being pressed, the lid of the trunk opening. They arranged the luggage, then John opened the back door for her, before sitting beside the driver in the front seat. For a moment he wished Clyde was a taxi driver in the true sense, allowing him to sit beside Lena, ignoring the driver. But that would not be polite.

  Clyde yawned, asked where to.

  John looked back at Lena.

  “I have the address here.”

  She rummaged in her purse, produced a slip of paper.

  “Gideon Lapp. 134 Stonewall Drive. Akron.”

  “Gideon Lapp.”

  Clyde put a finger to his chin. “Don’t know a Gideon Lapp.”

  “Do you have a GPS?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll give you the address again.”

  “Are you hungry, Lena?” John interrupted.

  “Actually, I’m starved. I was too tight to buy breakfast on the train. An egg sandwich for five dollars? I think not.”

  They moved out into traffic. John told Clyde to pick a good diner, then asked Lena if she was in a hurry to get to her cousin’s house. No, her cousin had no idea what time she’d arrive, so they hadn’t made arrangements about lunch.

  Clyde pulled into an old-fashioned diner, complete with a glossy silver exterior, a row of windows along the front, strips of neon lights at roof level along the entire length of the restaurant.

  “The Comet” blinked on and off on a diagonal sign that rotated on top of the roof.

  “Best hamburger and fries around,” Clyde said gruffly, as he steered the car into a space close to the door. John offer
ed him a ten-dollar bill to pay for his lunch, and pushed it on him when he declined.

  “Thanks, appreciate it,” he said, slapping John’s arm, before hurrying into his favorite barstool to take advantage of his free lunch and lighthearted banter with Edna, the buxom woman behind the counter, coiffed hair stuck into a massive hairnet, red cheeks, and a quick wit.

  John felt shy, suddenly. Samuel would know exactly what to order, when to pay, how to joke with the waitress. John would always feel ill at ease—he’d always be the bumbling, oversized boy, topped with a wild array of unruly hair, eyes peering out from behind thick lenses.

  He could hear his brothers’ taunts ringing in his ears. Lazy. All in your head. Get over it already. Lazy. Lazy. Lazy.

  And now here he was, with the most beautiful girl in the world, who belonged to his brother Samuel.

  But she made it so easy. She was excited about being in Kentucky, talkative. She glanced at the menu, then said she’d order whatever he was having.

  His confidence building again, he ordered two waters with lemon, please. Two cheeseburgers with everything, fries, and two chocolate milkshakes.

  Lena gave him the full benefit of her smile, and his spirits soared even farther. He’d done the right thing. For once in his life, he had not done anything stupid at an important moment.

  She said the child she would be teaching was an autistic child, and she would also be asked to include a five-year-old Down syndrome child after a few months. She looked forward to the challenge. She had read books on autism, spoke to parents of autistic children. Gideon Lapp was married to her cousin Barbara and they had four children, all boys, and Mark was the oldest.

  John listened, watched her face, the expressions crossing and recrossing the excitement at her new venture, the daunting possibility of failure quickly replaced with an air of bravado. It was the most endearing display of emotion John had ever witnessed, so in spite of his resolve to stay out of any gray area that involved falling in love, he felt the magnetic power of her eyes, found himself with bated breath, waiting for the next laugh, the next smile that produced a loveliness of expression beyond words.

  He floundered like a hooked fish, with Samuel at the other end of the line. She ate with enthusiasm, ketchup clinging to the side of her mouth. John wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but restrained himself. She ate French fries two at a time, smothered in more ketchup. She slurped her milkshake without a thought of being delicate about it.

  John ate half his burger and forgot most of his fries, he was so occupied listening to her.

  He had to know about Samuel, but could not think of a casual, roundabout way of asking.

  “Aren’t you feeling well, John? You aren’t finishing your lunch,” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  The silence that followed was uncomfortable, punctuated by the clink of silverware, bursts of laughter, the hum of machines, traffic moving on the highway.

  John struggled for dominance over the fear of failure, the sure knowledge that he was the Lyme-ridden younger brother who mistook any affection for a love that was completely conjured by wild imagination.

  He couldn’t begin to hope, or harbor a longing for this sweet, unspoiled young woman, superior to him in every way, even in years. The real reason for the hug at the Amtrak station was consolation, a pure empathy that sprang from her caring heart. She lumped him in with the autistic children, the boy with Down syndrome.

  When Clyde finished his lunch, he walked over to their table and said he was going to the can. He told them to take their time, but John knew it was the beginning of the end of this time together.

  He opened his mouth, closed it again. Asked if she wanted dessert.

  Coward hides behind stupid question, he thought, wincing.

  And suddenly, he had to know.

  “What happened between you and Samuel?”

  Startled, her eyes flew to his face.

  “Nothing. Yet. I mean . . . well, like I said, nothing.”

  “But you said it’s a long story.”

  Her eyes turned away from his, slid to the left, watched the traffic in the gray light, moving colorlessly on the gray road.

  She sighed. She picked up her napkin, folding it in half, ignoring the grease and ketchup stains, and folded it again.

  “Samuel asked me to marry him next year. It would be a long engagement that would have to remain a secret till spring. It’s what I’ve always wanted, for him to ask me to marry him. But when it happened, it was . . . colorless. It wasn’t what I expected. I had always imagined I would be overjoyed, but I couldn’t bring myself to give him the answer he planned on. I am hanging from a cliff, John. A yes is too much, and a no is letting go, falling into an abyss of uncertainty. I don’t know if I can do all the hard work that goes with a yes. Do I have the strength to pull myself up till I reach the top of the cliff, and will it be all right when I get there? Marriage is hard, John. Dating is often hard. It’s so . . . so different from what I imagined. Samuel is handsome, talented, the perfect boyfriend. Every girl in the Amish settlement would take him in a heartbeat. The thing is, I don’t understand myself and my lack of feeling. Am I simply unappreciative? Am I dating Samuel because every other girl wants him and I’m the winner? Human nature is competitive, and I am no exception.”

  The waitress arrived with the bill, wished them a good day, before gathering plates and cups.

  “We should go,” she said, in a small voice.

  “This time away will be good, Lena,” John said, his voice gruff with the tears that sprang too quickly. He blamed his weakened condition.

  She lifted pained blue eyes. He looked into the blue of her gaze, and felt his resolve slip away. He reached for her hand, held it, traced the veins on the back with his thumb.

  What passed between them was a replica of what they had experienced on the porch swing that memorable evening. It was the sure feeling of having been found, of finding an unnameable substance that was beyond themselves.

  “Don’t be in a hurry to give Samuel an answer, OK?”

  Lena nodded, lowered her eyes, as teardrops slid unhampered down the perfect contour of her cheek. John reached out and wiped them away, his eyes holding her startled gaze.

  “Lena, I would never ask you to do anything that doesn’t bring you happiness. If Samuel is the one for you, then I’ll accept it.” He was surprised at his own candor.

  Bewildered, she asked why he said that.

  “I know I’m only the little brother. But I care very much about your happiness. Surely you know that.”

  She shook her head as more tears coursed down her cheeks.

  He had to strain to hear.

  “I had no idea.”

  “I don’t mean to complicate things even more.”

  She swallowed, fought for control of her emotions. He watched her throat constrict as she struggled. Then she shook her head from side to side, slightly at first, then more decided.

  “You’re not.”

  “You guys need coffee? Dessert?”

  The brash voice jangled through the mist of feeling, dispersing the moment. They both glanced up, assured her they were finished, left a tip, and rose to their feet. John paid the bill, stood aside to let her go first, placed a hand on her waist, the rough fabric of the coat like spun gold.

  She did not look at him as he helped her into the back of the car.

  It turned out Gid Lapps lived approximately fourteen miles to the south, into the Kentucky hill region, the home tucked into the shadow of a long, sawtoothed ride, flanked by deep stands of white pine and hemlock. The house was built of faux logs, the roof made of expensive cedar shingles. There were large windows facing east and porches and decks built on all four sides. The yard sloped down to a tumbling creek, the driveway winding up along the south side of the slope.

  There was a shop and barn combination off to the right, the driveway turning into a Y with stacks of lumber and pallets of what appeared to be slabs of rock
set in precise rows. John could only guess at Gideon’s occupation.

  The house was impressive, but the landscaping was even more so, with huge rounded flowerbeds planted full with all kinds of shrubs and perennials.

  Ferns spilled from moss baskets suspended from porch beams, with caladium and coleus tucked into clay pots strewn all over the wide porch floors.

  “Oh my goodness,” said Lena, softly.

  “Wow!” John whistled.

  “Don’t look much like an Amish home in my opinion,” Clyde chortled. “At any rate, here you are, young lady. Looks like you’ll have a pleasant place to stay.”

  The door was flying open. Barbie was fairly flying across the porch and down the stone steps to throw her arms around the awaited cousin.

  “Lena! Oh my word! So good to see you. As beautiful as ever. Come on in. My, it’s freezing out here. My ferns and coleus are living on luck and plenty of water. Come in. Come in.”

  Noticing John, she asked who the young man was.

  “My boyfriend’s brother, John. John, Barbara.”

  John shook her hand, complimented the home, said it was nice to meet her.

  “Yes. Yes. We worked hard, but do appreciate it every day. I love it here.”

  “Good. It is lovely.”

  Lena looked at him, asked when the youth would be getting together for a supper or hymn singing.

  John blushed darkly, deeply ashamed to tell Lena he did not join the rumschpringa.

  Barbie looked from one to the other, bewildered. Clearly, Lena became agitated at the announcement, while the young man blushed to the roots of his hair. So who was whose boyfriend? Whatever.

  They parted with a few mumbled words about Alvin and Lydia’s phone number.

  Lena found the opulent home disconcerting, to say the least. She had been raised with strict rules pertaining to frugality. The home should be threadbare, she’d been taught, without a display of worldly goods. Hard work in the produce fields had always been her life, without payment of any kind, until she reached the age of sixteen, and then it was only twenty dollars a week.

  By now she was considered an adult, her own boss, allowed to keep her wages, and still she spent little and saved most of it.