by Jan Drexler
“Mamm wanted to plant the lettuce yesterday, but—” She stopped. Davey didn’t need to know how his disappearance had turned her life into a maelstrom.
“Can I go in your house to see the fireplace?” Davey hopped, waiting for Cap’s answer.
“For sure.” Cap laughed as Davey took off at a run. “There isn’t much in there to see.”
“He’ll want to look up the chimney,” Naomi said. Cap’s laugh had swept away the last of her anxiety. “He’s curious about everything.”
“Next he’ll want to climb the ladder to look down the chimney from the top.”
Naomi’s hand grabbed his arm. Her panic returned with that one sentence. “Don’t let him. Cap, make sure he stays on the ground.”
Cap laid his hand over hers. It felt strong and sure. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him go up there alone. I’ll watch him.”
Naomi chewed her lip. “I don’t want him on the ladder at all. What if he falls?”
“I won’t let him fall.” He glanced at her face and then turned her toward him, his hands gripping her shoulders. “You can’t wrap him in a layer of fleece, trying to protect him from any danger. He’s a boy. He’s going to get into scrapes, but that’s part of growing up.”
Naomi couldn’t look in his eyes. “Davey is so young. He’ll get hurt, or . . . worse. I have to protect him. He’s all I have.”
“Look at me.”
At the demanding tone of his voice, Naomi lifted her gaze to his warm brown eyes.
“Davey is not all you have. You have a loving family, a church family, and neighbors.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You have me. I love Davey as if he was my own son.”
He ran his thumb along her jawline. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You can count on me. I’ll do my best to keep him safe.”
Annalise frowned as Christian took his place at the table for dinner. What was bothering her now? He glanced at her again. The frown was gone. Perhaps he had only imagined it.
He rubbed at the sharp pain just above his ear, right where his hat brim rested. Perhaps he could stretch the brim out a bit. Ease the pressure.
William and Peter ran into the kitchen, laughing and shaking wet hands at each other. His headache roared in response.
“How many times have I told you boys to use the towel on the wash bench?” He half stood, leaning over the table. “You’ve splashed water all over the floor. Go and dry off and come back in.”
His head throbbed. The boys’ sober looks struck him in the heart. Not sober. Scared. They were scared of their daed. He sank back into his chair.
Christian rubbed his face as Annalise took control. He leaned on his elbows, shading his eyes against the bright light of the open door. She was as capable and strong as she had ever been, but he felt so . . . old. Worn. His heart pounded in his ears.
“William, Peter, do as your daed says. Go finish drying your hands, and then come back to the table quietly. Save the noise for outside.”
As they left, Margli and Annalise lifted the twins onto their stools.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you feeling all right?”
Ne. He didn’t feel all right. But he had left the horses hitched to the plow in the upper field, tied in the shade with their noses in the feed bags. He had to eat his dinner and get back to work.
“Ja, I’m fine.” He pushed away from the table. “Not . . .” He swayed as he rose from his chair and he grabbed the corner of the table to steady his balance. “I’m not hungry.”
He gripped the table harder, but his fingers turned to jelly as the floor rushed toward him.
All was black. Small noises intruded, but as if they were filtered through a wool batting. Christian opened his eyes.
He was lying in bed. Midday sunlight shone around the edges of the window shutters.
Ja, for sure. He had fallen. But the horses . . . He had to get back to plowing the field. He tried to sit up, but his eyes still stared at the ceiling.
He hadn’t moved.
“Christian?”
Annalise’s voice was quiet. Strained. He tried to turn toward her, but his head didn’t move. She slid into his field of vision.
“You’re awake.”
She smiled and he smiled back. He willed his hand to take hers, but his arm didn’t move.
Her smile faded. “Your eyes are open. Can you hear me?”
He tried to answer, but only his chin moved. Or did it?
Annalise stroked the hair off his forehead. He could feel her warm, dry hand against his skin.
“Relax. Rest. I’ll send Jacob for the doctor.”
She was gone before he could ask. Why the doctor? He had fainted. Had probably been working too hard. But the field needed to be plowed.
He tried to sit up again, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He tried to raise his left arm, but it stayed on the bed. He tried to lift his right hand and almost wept when he saw his hand come into his field of vision. Why couldn’t he move the other one?
Someone came into the room. He tried to twist in the bed to see who it was, but nothing happened.
“Daed,” Margli said, “I’ve brought you some water.”
Her face loomed over him, thin and pale. Had Margli been ill? At dinner she had been fine, helping Rachael onto her stool.
Margli put a spoon against his lips. “Here, Daed. Swallow this.”
Water trickled into his mouth and he swallowed.
“Mamm said to keep you company until the doctor comes.” She spooned another trickle of water into his mouth.
He worked his mouth around the water. Why? But no words came out.
“Jacob finished plowing the upper field yesterday and is planting the corn today. Mamm said you would want to know.”
Corn in the upper field? It hadn’t been plowed yesterday. He had just started it this morning, before dinner. He took another mouthful of water.
“That’s enough for now. The doctor said three spoonfuls at a time.”
The doctor had been here earlier? He tried to remember, but his thoughts were slow. Molasses slow. His eyes closed.
“Daed?” Margli’s voice rose. Scared. Frightened.
He opened his eyes and tried to smile. It’s all right. I’m going to sleep now.
The next time he opened his eyes, a strange man stood near his bed. He talked to Annalise as she sat near his knees on the bed. The words didn’t make sense.
“Nonverbal . . . bed . . . sores . . . bathe . . . temporary.”
An Englisch doctor.
And then a word that he understood. “Paralyzed.”
Was the doctor talking about him? He closed his eyes again. Was he paralyzed? Of course. That was why his left hand wouldn’t obey him, and why words didn’t travel past his thoughts.
“Can you hear me, Christian?” the doctor asked.
He opened his eyes. The Englisch doctor leaned toward him. He tried to nod.
“If you understand what I’m saying, blink your eyes.”
Christian closed, then opened his eyes. The doctor smiled and turned to Annalise.
“That’s very good. You’ll be able to talk to him and he can answer yes or no. Do you understand?”
Annalise nodded. Her eyes were shining with the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Christian reached his right hand toward her and plucked at her shawl.
The doctor smiled. “He’s doing well, considering. The apoplexy he suffered has caused some damage, but the fact that he’s alive now gives me hope that he may pull through this.”
Apoplexy. The word rang through Christian’s head.
“Will he . . .” Annalise choked back a sob. “Will he be bedridden for the rest of his life?”
Christian balled the edge of her shawl in his fist. It would be better if the seizure had killed him.
“We won’t know for some time. I’ve seen patients in his condition recover so that they are able to function quite well. But there’s always the possibility that this is as muc
h progress as he ever makes.”
Annalise stood as the doctor buckled his satchel closed and put on his hat. She followed him to the door. Christian strained to hear her question, but her voice was hushed. The doctor’s response was a slow shake of his head, and then he was gone.
When Annalise came back to the side of his bed, Christian tried to smile. Could Annalise see it?
Don’t cry, he wanted to say, but Annalise cried anyway. Christian closed his eyes. Pieces of memory swirled through his mind, refusing to light on the tenuous surface. Tired. So tired. He groped with his good hand, searching for her arm. He pulled her down and pressed her head against his chest as his eyes closed. Her sobs faded as he drifted into sleep.
Cap stretched, extending his arms out from under the covers. No wind to cool his bare hands, no dew to dampen the blankets. The pulse of the glowing coals in the fireplace. He was finally home.
Sitting up, he rubbed his face to wakefulness. Maybe not home, but at least he lived in a house again. A comfortable house, made with his own hands and the help of his neighbors, on his own land. After he had finished the chimney on Saturday afternoon, he had built the first fire and cooked his supper of stew in his fireplace. He had even baked a corn cake to go with his celebration meal. A celebration of not only a house he could live in, but of Davey’s safe return.
Today . . . fully awake, he remembered. Today was the Sabbath and the Sabbath meeting at the Gingerich farm in Clinton Township. He didn’t know the way, so he had arranged to walk with the Schrocks and the other neighbors. He would need to hurry if he was to meet them in time.
As he washed, he thought about the events of the two weeks since the last Sabbath meeting. The loss of his horses paled in comparison to Davey’s misadventure. But the news about Christian Yoder overshadowed everything else. Folks talked about him as if he was gone already rather than waiting for death’s call. Naomi and Lydia had visited yesterday afternoon, and from what they said, Christian was awake but not able to get out of bed or speak.
“The doctor told Annalise that there is hope,” Naomi had said the night before. “He said every day that Christian holds on, the more hope they could have that he would recover.”
“Recover?” Cap had shaken his head. “Recover to spend the rest of his days in bed?”
“Whatever the Lord wills,” Naomi had said.
Cap paused in his shaving, feeling for missed whiskers along his upper lip. He had seen what the Lord could will, and it seemed very random. Some people were struck and died instantly. Some lingered for a few days before succumbing. Once in a great while, a person would recover, somewhat. They might recover their speech or the ability to walk. But the effects of the apoplexy were still there, like a bone that had broken and mended crooked.
He liked Christian. He liked the Yoder family. Jacob would have to shoulder the bulk of his father’s farm as well as his own, at least until Peter grew old enough to do the work. And of course, the neighbors would help.
Splashing water from his basin onto his face to wash away the soap, Cap caught himself. He was one of the Yoders’ neighbors. It was his duty to help also.
He scrubbed himself dry with the rough towel. It fell to the church members to look out for one another, and hadn’t Christian worked alongside everyone else when they built this cabin? Of course Cap would volunteer his time.
The sun had risen by the time Cap had finished his few chores. Without the horses to care for, he only had water to haul from the river and his cabin to redd up.
He missed the horses, especially when he needed to move a tree he had just felled or plow the open space between the stumps to plant his oats. Eli had said he was welcome to borrow one of his teams, but he needed a team of his own. Even with as much work as he had to do before the end of the year, he would have to make time for the trip back to Ohio. He hadn’t thought he would need the money from the sale of his farm so soon, but he had to have a team of horses to do his work.
He changed from his everyday clothes into his Sunday white shirt and black suit, carefully brushing off the dust that had accumulated during the house building over the last two weeks. He headed down the trail toward the Schrocks’, taking one last look around the clearing. Everything was tidy, just as it should be on a Sabbath morning.
The six-mile walk to the Gingeriches’ was pleasant in the company of Naomi and her family, if subdued. No one visited in the low tones normal for the Sabbath morning walk. Jacob and Mattie Yoder walked in the rear of the group. Jacob’s face was strained and tired, and Mattie’s matched his. Cap dropped back to walk beside them.
“How is Christian this morning?”
Jacob shrugged. “About the same. He eats the broth and gruel Mamm fixes for him, but I can see him wasting away, even after only a few days in bed.”
Cap walked in silence while Mattie hurried to catch up with Naomi. Christian was a good church member. A leader in the settlement. He had lived his life the right way, following the Ordnung in all he did. And yet tragedy had struck his family more than once, from what Naomi had told him. But Jacob showed no bitterness, only concern and grief.
A shudder caught Cap and he stopped walking. If God could strike a man like Christian, what hope did he have? Christian had kept his part of the bargain, but God had still struck him down. And yet, he still believed. Jacob still believed. He shook his head. It didn’t make sense. Cap knew what loss was. When God had destroyed his family, he had clung to the Ordnung. When his horses were stolen, he had followed the church teaching of nonresistance, even though the anger and worry remained. But he had been obedient to what he had been taught. If he followed the rules, then everything would be well, even in times of loss.
And then he had almost lost Davey . . .
Jacob waited for him and he jogged along the road to catch up.
Cap fell into step beside the other man. “What happened to your daed, don’t you think it was a bit unfair?”
“Unfair?” Jacob glanced at him.
“Your family . . . your daed is a good man. He follows the Ordnung and is a good husband and father. So don’t you think his illness is unfair?”
Jacob stared at the ground. “I would say it is, but I’m not God.”
“I’m not sure God even cares about any of us.”
“You question God’s goodness?” Jacob’s face held a slight smile.
Cap stopped and Jacob faced him in the middle of the road. “A man, sick and crippled, is lying in his bed, possibly dying, and you can say that is God’s goodness?”
The other man nodded. “The Good Book teaches us that God uses everything that happens for good, even if we don’t see it.”
Cap stopped the question before it left his lips. The question of whether God even existed. Instead, he said, “In my experience, not everything that happens is good.”
Jacob walked on down the road again and Cap joined him. They were far behind the group now, but not out of sight.
“Just because something happens that seems bad for us, does that mean God isn’t good?”
Cap stumbled over a tree root. Jacob wasn’t making any sense. “When my wife died . . .” He stopped. He didn’t want to talk about this. He never wanted to talk about Martha.
“When your wife died, that was a terrible thing.”
He let the words tumble out. “Not only my wife, but our son also.”
Jacob made a small noise, but let him continue.
“I knew that couldn’t be from God, if there is a God.” He shook his head, as confused as ever. “I don’t know.” He stopped again and waited for Jacob to look at him. “But I do know that if there is a God, I’m supposed to follow his law and obey his commandments. And I will do that the best I can. But when I see a man like Christian suffering, I wonder what hope there is for a man like me.” He forced a half smile at the stricken look on Jacob’s face. “I guess there isn’t any, is there?” He shrugged. “But yet, I still follow the church and its teaching. I don’t know what else to do
.”
“Cap—”
He turned his back on Jacob and continued down the road to the Sabbath meeting.
9
Shem smiled as he leaned into his bowl of bean soup after the worship service. News of Christian Yoder’s seizure had rippled through the congregation before the services even started that morning, and now, as the men visited around the dinner table, it was the topic of conversation. He couldn’t have planned things better.
“Who is plowing his fields and getting his crops in?” The question came from Elias Hertzler, a friend of Christian’s, from what Shem could glean from the conversation so far.
“I’ll be working Daed’s land,” Jacob said. The young man’s face was pale, as if he hadn’t slept well.
Shem scraped the last spoonful of soup from his bowl. “That puts quite a burden on you, doesn’t it?”
Jacob shot a look in his direction. “I don’t mind. I’ll help wherever I’m needed.”
“We all will,” Eli Schrock put in. “We’ll do Christian’s work as well as our own. That’s how we do things.”
Tall Peter Gingerich cleared his throat. “Not that I don’t want to help, but we’re not close neighbors. The Yoder place is six miles from here.”
“No one would expect the farmers in Clinton Township to help the same as Christian’s close neighbors in LaGrange County.” Shem kept his face neutral, with a slight frown to show his concern. “It would take an entire day for you to make the long journey there, put in a few hours’ work, and then come home again in time to do your own chores.” He looked around the circle of faces. “The eastern half of the community will need to be the ones to do the work.”
Elias Hertzler frowned at his soup bowl but didn’t say anything.
Tall Peter flushed, as if he was embarrassed, but Shem saw the relief on his face.
Cap’s face was red as well, but his lowered brow showed his growing anger. Shem nodded to himself. Good. The seeds had been sown.
He rose from the table as Susan Gingerich took his empty bowl to be washed. She didn’t look at him as she went on with her work, but her face was a pretty shade of pink. She knew he was watching her.
