by Linda Byler
Lena got down on her knees again. “You saw a deer, Naomi. The deer ran away before we could really see it. Did you see it run away?”
A flicker of recognition, an intake of breath, and almost Naomi spoke. Instead, she lifted a hand and laid her palm on the side of Lena’s face, the touch as light as air, but a gesture that lifted Lena from her sense of failure to the first rung up the ladder of accomplishment.
The small gesture made the weeks of patience worthwhile, and they returned to the house with renewed energy. It was only late at night that Lena wrestled with the decision that still loomed before her, an ever-widening gulf of doubt and mis-giving. She found only small solace in prayer.
She blamed herself for being so confused, for not being able to tell right from wrong. She should not have gone on so long, allowing a relationship to continue when her heart was no longer in it, and now she was enmeshed in the bewildering situation of how or when to extricate herself from Samuel. It was cruel, hurtful.
She came to realize it was much like removing a festering splinter. The initial pain of having it removed would free her to live the life she wanted.
Was it OK to do that? Did God approve of choosing one young man over another, after dating for so long? Was it only self-will and infatuation with John?
Would one man be a better husband than another, or was it simply a mix of each one having faults and talents, good qualities and bad ones, so that it didn’t matter which one she chose? Would John even still have her?
There were questions everywhere she turned, a ring of unanswered questions. She felt like a struggling animal caught in a sucking quagmire of quicksand, her flailing only making it worse.
Sleep came slowly, uneasily. She popped awake at the slightest creak, the anguish of her heart rushing back, before sleep could overtake her again.
Taught to be obedient and to hold the act of sacrifice in high esteem, it was uncomfortable to think about what she wanted, and when she tried to think about what was right, everything went murky.
She should say yes. Live her life with Samuel. It would be hard work, but wouldn’t the sacrifice bring its own reward? God would bless her infinitely with a lasting peace, looking on the smoke of her offering as he had looked on Abel in the Old Testament story. God would supply the love after she gave up her own will. Samuel was an example of fine, young manhood, and had invested so much time in their relationship.
Samuel would be the kind of person who would lead the singing in church, be voted on the school board, on financial committees who were appointed to help poor souls who had plunged into debt far beyond their means. She knew him so well—the confidence, the whip-smart ability to make choices.
And how he looked down on others from his self-appointed perch on his pedestal.
Dear God, I can’t do it. I can’t follow him all the days of my life, grinding my teeth in frustration, subject to that attitude.
Somehow, somewhere, she had to find the strength.
To be at home on the farm was an elixir all its own, a spring tonic that cleansed the soul, brought the tumultuous boiling thoughts to a blessed calm. Everything was simple, orderly, done predictably by the season.
The time of planting was here now. Her father had applied the lime and fertilizer, the tillage radishes plowed under, the spike-toothed harrow working the loamy soil to a perfect crumbly, moist texture.
She walked the gardens, observing the rows of peas, close beside each other, a space in the middle. They were double rows, so the pea vines could climb up the chicken wire attached to wooden stakes. Spring onion sets dropped with precision, then covered, the hoe raking the thick soil over them. Radish and red beet seeds were sprinkled in shallow rows, so tiny you couldn’t drop them like peas. If they came out of the ground too thick, her mother would thin them, carefully pulling up the tiny new growth and leave them to wither, knowing if they were planted too heavily, it would affect the size of the beets and radishes.
New lettuce plants were set out, cabbage and broccoli and cauliflower. As always, it was windy, the air carrying that early biting chill, a sweater being a necessity, a scarf tied over the head.
Lena was nervous, her movements fast, her speech tumbling from her mouth in quick succession. She had agreed to meet Samuel.
He would be arriving at the usual time on Saturday evening. Seven o’clock. That too, should have been simple, a normalcy that was both grounding and calming, an anticipation of meeting her beloved. The realization that he was not her beloved, that she was not betrothed, slowly emerged through the shroud of her indecision. To come home to her old surroundings, the homey goodness of her frugal life, the love of family, the rock of her own well-being was a blessing she could never take for granted. After she told Samuel her answer, there would be this, a time of renewal, of sameness, dwarfing the astronomical fear of the future.
The fear itself was not sent from God. A large part of it was the stinging reality of what the community around her would say. What would they think of her, breaking up with a fine young man like Samuel after everyone expected her to be grateful to find such an excellent match, and from a family held in higher regard than her own?
For her father was not one to be held in high esteem. He was a quiet man who never sang “fore,” had no way with words, drove an old horse hitched to a tired-looking carriage, his Sunday suit worn to an often-washed shade of purple. The buildings on the farm, like his Sunday suit, bordered on shabby, the peeling paint on the wooden fence a testimony to the reluctance to buy the expensive five-gallon buckets of white paint.
No one knew, though, the amount of money that drew a steady interest from the local bank in Dexter Falls.
Lena was ready at seven, dressed in navy blue. She couldn’t bring herself to dress in a light or bright color, given the somber situation.
It wasn’t a mourning, but it may as well have been.
When she walked out to help him unhitch, she was struck by his beauty, the only word that could describe a young man of his golden good looks.
His blue eyes lit up at the sight of her, a smile widened his perfect mouth, revealing the flash of white.
“Lena!”
She stepped up to him, extended a hand for a polite handshake.
Bewildered, he took her hand.
“No hug?”
She laughed. “Someone might see.”
“You’re right. It’s still early.”
“Not that we ever did much of that, remember?”
Their conversation remained light, informative, with all that had gone on in their lives the past six months. Most of the talking was done by Samuel, his work at B and S Structures always foremost on his mind. He’d been promoted to floor manager, and now, had taken on the duty of ordering materials, even some of the scheduling, setting up appointments to deliver sheds and dog kennels.
Having done without a good night’s sleep for so long, Lena found herself stifling yawns, which she suspected was partly due to nerves. She did manage to tell him about her cousin Barbie’s gorgeous home and lifestyle, the complexities of autism, which brought lowered brows from Samuel.
“If they have all that money, how come they don’t hire a professional? Did they pay you anything?”
“Oh yes, of course. I thought they were actually very generous.”
“To the tune of what?”
Irritation welled up. It was, really, no business of his. But it would be rude not to answer.
“Two hundred dollars a week.”
“Peanuts. You’re crazy.”
Lena took a deep, steadying breath.
They picked at the snack Lena had prepared and packed in a basket—chocolate chip bars, cups of coffee, popcorn with ranch dressing mix. How many times had she done this? How often had she sat at the kitchen table with him, watching him enjoy what she had prepared, then moved to the couch in the living room? She felt a wave of nostalgia.
They had had their good times.
The hour was late when Samuel
finally cleared his throat after a long silence, and was able to ask if she had an answer for him.
“I do, Samuel.”
She steadied herself again, with an indrawn breath, light as a butterfly.
“I have been away for a reason, Samuel. I have had time to think, and for that, I am grateful. My answer is no.”
The silence that followed was punctuated by the loud ticking of the clock, the dropping of a chunk of wood in the old kitchen stove.
Finally, Samuel asked why, his voice shaking, his mouth tense.
“I am in love with your brother, John.”
“But you can’t be!” he burst out. “You’re crazy.”
“That’s the second time you told me that this evening, so I suppose it must be true.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Lena.”
She chose not to answer.
“Can you give me an explanation? A valid one that starts to make sense?”
“No. Not really. All I know for sure is that I have always had something for John. Even when I was his teacher.”
“That’s just sick.”
“No, it isn’t. I was sixteen and he was fourteen.”
“It’s still sick.”
“I’m sorry if you think so.”
“Well, I think so.”
Again, there was nothing to say to this.
“Does he love you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you know. You’ve been together in Kentucky all winter.”
“No, Samuel, we haven’t. We were together once after he picked me up at the train station. He asked me to go shopping and told me he was returning to Pennsylvania, that it wasn’t right for him to harbor thoughts of me when I was your girl.”
“You’re still my girl.”
“No, Samuel. I am not.”
“You just said you won’t marry me. You didn’t say we were breaking up.”
“I mean that, though. I told you why.”
Lena would think back on this as one of the hardest moments of her life, sitting beside Samuel as he lowered his head in his hands and cried, his body shaking like a leaf in a strong gale.
“I just don’t understand. I love you so much. I’d give my life for you, do anything you asked of me.”
Lena remained quiet, but knew Samuel didn’t have any idea what it meant to give his life for her or anyone else. His entire life revolved around himself, his abilities and talents, his thoughts, and above all, his opinions so easily launched, no matter who was in the audience or whether it mattered how it affected them.
She had not been wrong about the hard work life would require of her. When she remained still, he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, blew his nose, shook his head as he pocketed it.
“How can you be so hardhearted? It’s like your heart is made of stone. I always thought kindness was one of your best qualities. Apparently, I was wrong.”
“Samuel, please.”
“How can you do this to me?”
“I don’t know.”
Then came a stream of entreaties. He promised to change whatever it was she didn’t like about him. Didn’t she know how unhealthy John was? He drew a vivid picture of his mental instability, sleeping in the living room on an air mattress. What would she do if he suffered a relapse? She couldn’t expect to be financially well off, if she chose John, the way he became weak and exhausted at unexpected times.
“I don’t expect you to think about these things,” he finished, as if he was doing her a favor by pointing out all the things she couldn’t possibly have thought of herself.
As the night wore on, everything became crystal clear. As far as she could see, the sunshine before her revealed a trail illuminated by the courage of her choice. No, no, and no, Samuel. No. I am not crazy. Neither am I incompetent. God has given me healthy thoughts, the wisdom to know right from wrong. The only thing I needed was the courage to speak up.
Where Samuel robbed her of her sense of well-being, John supplied it. Where Samuel tore her self-esteem down, John lifted it up.
The difference was almost palpable, something she could reach out and touch. She must never again allow a shred of doubt or fear to cloud her decision.
Finally, he hitched up his horse, stood beside his carriage, begging yet again. He reached out to draw her close, bent to kiss her lips, but she turned her face and he kissed her cheek like a child. She was calm, relieved, as limp as a rag doll, her strength drained away.
As she watched the lights from the buggy move slowly out the driveway, she whispered, “Goodbye, Samuel. Thank you for allowing me to see and understand what love is.”
There were no tears for her. Only a sea as calm and still as glass. Love was not even close to what Samuel had for her. She was only an acquisition, another step up the social ladder, the girl everyone else wanted. She did berate herself for that thought, but knew it was true.
She felt pity, then, a deep stab of empathy for how hard this must be for him. To face this humiliation among his peers, his brothers eventually knowing about John, the youngest, the heavy, pimply, nearsighted one with Lyme disease.
She knelt by her bed and prayed for John. He would have his own race set before him, living with Samuel.
She lay in her bed, and for the first time in her life, allowed the love in her heart to grow, to develop into a strong emotion that created a wellspring of yearning, an anticipation of the future, hand in hand with the man who possessed all the qualities she longed for—kindness, a spirit awash in humility, gentleness, meekness. She couldn’t help but imagine the fruits of the spirit like a basket containing glistening red apples, magical, God-given ethereal ones.
Samuel approached John on the patio the following week.
“So you accomplished what you set out to do, huh?”
Bewildered, John stopped, turned.
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
“I don’t.”
“Does Lena ring a bell in that cloudy, Lyme-infested head?” Samuel asked, his blue eyes darkened with pain and anger.
John could not hold Samuel’s irate gaze. His eyes fell to the tips of his shoes as a painful blush crept across his features, darkening even the throat at the base of his collar.
“I see you turn as red as a beet. You’re no better than King David in the Bible, stealing Uriah’s wife.”
With that dire portent, Samuel stalked off the porch, his golden head gleaming in the orange glow of the sun.
And so began the fiercest battle of John’s precarious hold on normal life, his immune system weakened, his emotions tattered by Lyme disease. His appetite waned to the point where Mam spoke to Dat about John being anorexic. He paced the bedroom floor at night, Mam lying in bed, each footfall above her increasing the pounding of her heart.
He developed migraines so bad he took to his bed, spoke to no one, shut out his family, refused to attend any of the youths’ functions.
His heart palpitations raced out of control, until he was taken to the emergency room at the Good Spirit Hospital in Dexter Falls. There he was given antianxiety medication, told he was experiencing panic attacks. His tests showed normal, they said. A slight vitamin D deficiency, but for a person with Lyme disease, that was fairly normal.
“You’re good to go, young man. You’ve come a long way if you were as sick as your parents say. You’ll be fine.”
John gulped back the emotion he could only describe as an all-encompassing relief. Perhaps he would not die. All the old fears had come roaring back after Samuel had hurled that accusation. He knew too well what had happened to King David in the Old Testament, the chastisement and lost blessing from God.
The worst of his anxiety was the fear of being capable of providing for Lena, if and when God would eventually bless their union. To know he had done wrong, taking Lena from his own brother, was a sin, just as Samue
l stated.
But he had not done that.
Or had he?
He prayed for forgiveness, felt the power of the Spirit, then. He humbled himself even more, telling his Lord and Savior he would stay away from Lena until Samuel found love again, and if she didn’t wait, then it was meant to be.
And he followed his promises.
He helped his father on the farm whenever he was able, which was most days now. His father encouraged him to get out of bed in the morning, even if he felt weak and sweaty. It was something to overcome, by the grace of God.
John did his best. The anxiety medicine helped control his sleeplessness, so with a week of good night’s rest, he was in the fields by eight o’clock, having done his early morning feeding and eaten breakfast.
Samuel kept his distance, ignored him. None of his brothers mentioned any of this, not Samuel’s breakup or John’s hospital visit. They merely passed him by, made small talk, and shrugged their shoulders.
By himself, John soaked up the sun, shirtless, knowing the best source of vitamin D was the heat of the summer sun. He ate beef liver and onions, Mam’s spinach salad from the garden, and slowly returned to his former self.
The brothers eyed this tall, thin, tanned version of John with new respect. Older now, his shoulders and arms filled out, and he was nothing like the fat younger brother who had peered out from behind thick lenses.
When he began lifting weights in the basement, he did it in secret, until Allen and Daniel came down to play a game of Ping-Pong and caught him soaked in perspiration. So began a friendly competition.
The basement rang with their shouts, egging each other on. From the kitchen stove, tears of gratitude welled up in Mam’s eyes.
Was he really getting better?
Was there hope, this time? What had changed?
Oh, she knew by the look on Samuel’s face that Lena had not promised to marry him, but found out via Daniel that they broke up altogether.
How the mighty has fallen, she thought. But she never put two and two together. In her eyes, John was not eligible to be dating. It was his health. He could never provide for a wife. And Elmer was so tight with his wages. His pay was only half what other people paid workers.
