And she knew it, too.
Many times Katie had heard people speak of death, how they could sense it in a room. She could almost taste it in the air, here in her parents’ bedroom, but it did not frighten her. On the contrary, she found herself surprised at its gentleness. A lulling of sorts took over—like a mother rocking a child to sleep. Was this how God called His children home? Did He woo them with His love, urging them to let go of their pain and suffering and ease their way into His arms? Was death, like so many other things in life, a matter of releasing hold and giving God total control?
Katie vacillated between praying for her father’s healing and giving in to what appeared to be inevitable. Her heart ached at the idea of releasing him. She hadn’t spent enough time with Datt, and now she regretted it as never before. Her days had been consumed with work, busyness. Why hadn’t she come home more? Why hadn’t she taken the time to sit and talk with her father more frequently, as she’d done so many years ago?
As the hours passed, regret gave way to exhaustion. Katie finally managed to doze in the rocking chair, though fitful dreams took hold—images from the past merged with scenes from her current life.
All too soon, the early morning sun peeked through the bedroom curtains, rousing her from her agitated slumber. She rose from the chair and approached the bedside.
“Datt?” She leaned down to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “It’s morning.”
He seemed to come awake, at least to some extent. His lips began to move, and she eased her way closer in to better hear what he had to say.
His words were strained and difficult to understand. “I. . . I’m so glad you’ve come h–home, Katydid. It. . .means the world to me.”
A lump rose in her throat as he called her by the pet name she hadn’t heard in years.
“I’m happy to be here,” she managed. “I love you, Datt, and I’m praying for you.” She gave his hand a little squeeze.
“I’ve prayed for you, as well.” He spoke in a strained whisper. “I need to know. . .that all is well with you.”
Katie gripped his hand, understanding his full meaning. “I am well, Datt, in every respect. I have a strong faith in my Savior. Stronger than ever. I want you to rest assured of that. But please get some rest. We want you to get better.”
“My focus is not on this world, Katydid. It is on the next.” His eyes drifted shut, and she could almost see him slipping away into a dreamland, where heaven opened its doors to him and bade him come inside. His breathing grew more labored, and he drifted back off to sleep.
She leaned down to kiss him on his whiskery cheek. As she did, her mother entered the room, her face pale and drawn.
“Has he wakened?” she asked, drawing near.
“For a moment.” Katie looked into her mother’s tired eyes. “Mamm, you need to sit down. You look exhausted.”
“I am fine.”
“You’ve been up all night.”
Her mother’s treks in and out of the room through the night had been many. Katie knew Mamm had spent much of the night tending not just to her husband but to the needs of the others in the house. Nothing had changed there. Her mother had always put everyone else first, even in the hardest of times.
“I slept for a couple of hours on the sofa,” her mother said.
“Aunt Emma said she would come back this morning. She will take over the household chores for you. Please rest.”
Brushing the tears aside, Katie stood and walked toward her mother. She eased into the comfort of those familiar arms and began to weep. After a moment or two, her mother joined in, and before long, a quiet chorus of grief filled the room.
❧
Karl arrived at the Walken farm around eight in the morning, praying he was not too late. A fitful night’s sleep at the Bidens’ had left him feeling exhausted, but he chose to come anyway. Hopefully, they would be happy to see him.
As he made his way up the front steps of the house and onto the porch, he reflected back on the hundreds of times he’d been here before. As a teen, he had arrived—a clean-shaven boy with butterflies in his stomach—to see Katie. To spend time with the girl he would one day marry.
Today, as he approached the front door, a different feeling washed over him. Karl knew that this visit would be far more somber. In fact, he couldn’t help but feel it would change his life forever.
No sooner had the idea settled in his spirit than a large dog leaped up to greet him, placing its muddy paws on his chest and covering his face with slobbery kisses. Karl managed to get the mongrel under control, even managed to get him to sit obediently at his feet.
He gave the front door a gentle rap, then stepped back and waited. The door swung wide and a beautiful young woman greeted him, one who looked remarkably like Katie had in her late teens. This girl wore the traditional Amish garb, though it appeared to stretch over an extended belly. It took a moment to register. Ah. This must be. . . “Sara.” He smiled and extended his hand.
She stepped out onto the porch, her face lighting into a smile. “Karl Borg! It’s been so long.” She gave his hand a squeeze and ushered him into the house. “Katie told us you were coming. We’re so glad to have you.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
“Come and see the others.”
Once inside, the other family members greeted him, and all concerns about how they would receive him were pushed aside. Karl recognized Daniel and Amos, Katie’s older brothers. And Emily, the youngest of the Walken girls. But he had never met the spouses and children, and they were many.
After making introductions, Sara slipped off to fetch Katie.
He hated to disturb her, especially if she was spending time with her father.
As soon as she entered the living room, Karl could tell Katie had barely slept. Her eyes had a hollowed-out look to them, and what he guessed had once been near-perfect makeup was now smudged and faded. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, to tell her everything would be all right. Strange how his first desire was to protect her. That hadn’t changed, in spite of everything.
“Karl.” She approached with tears in her eyes, extending her hand. “I’m. . .we’re so glad you could come.”
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can think of no place I’d rather be than here.” He glanced around the room. “With all of you.”
At once, Mrs. Walken drew near and wrapped him in a warm embrace. “I know it will mean so much to Elam that you’ve come. Would you like to see him now?”
“If I may.”
She led him into the bedroom, and he gazed in silence at the man whose head rested on the white pillowcase. Katie’s father had aged considerably in the years Karl had been away, that much could not be denied. His beard, once salt-and-pepper in color, was a soft white now. His hair, once thick and dark, had thinned and lightened.
The thing that surprised Karl most, however, wasn’t what he saw, but what he smelled. Though the room appeared to be spotless, an undeniable scent lingered all around him. He had heard of this before, of course, but never experienced it firsthand. Death had entered the room and had brought with it a compelling odor, one that almost made his head swim.
Karl reached over to take Katie’s hand as she stepped into place beside him. He knew it would not be long. And, from the look on her face, she knew it, too. Standing there, with Katie’s hand in his, staring into the face of a man who had loved him as one of his own, Karl could not hold his emotion inside. He tried to swallow the lump that grew up in his throat, but it would not be squelched. Instead, he gripped Katie’s hand a bit tighter, as if to say, “I am here for you. We will get through this.”
She squeezed back, silent tears falling down her cheeks.
Standing hand in hand, they faced the inevitable. . . together.
SIX
An undeniable holiness permeated the room at the moment her father slipped into the arms of Jesus, an overpowering sensation Katie had never before experienced. She could genuinely fee
l the presence of God in a real and remarkable way. And yet, she had to admit, she could also feel the gut- wrenching pain of loss, a pain so deep that it seared her heart, cut her to the quick.
The moment her father’s last breath was drawn, Katie wondered if she might ever be able to catch her own breath again. It didn’t seem right—or fair—that she should be allowed to breathe. To carry on. That any of them should be allowed to carry on. How could they, when the man responsible for their existence had been taken from them?
And yet he hadn’t been responsible, had he? Surely the Lord had been the one to give life to everyone in the room, and surely the Lord had seen fit to take her father home. And though she disagreed with both God’s timing and method, Katie could not change the fact that her father’s time on this earth had drawn to an end.
The mourning among those in the room took on varied forms. Katie’s older brothers swooped in around her mother, making her their primary focus. Her younger sisters had privately confided their pain and grief but never openly. . . like this. Today, as they gathered around Datt’s bed to say their good-byes, every broken heart risked exposure.
Katie’s reverie did not last long, however. She watched in awe as her mother began the necessary work related to his passing. Always working, Mamm. Always working. Even in a situation such as this, her labors never ended.
Her mother insisted on a few moments alone in the room to wash Datt’s body before the undertaker arrived. Aunt Emma ushered the children off onto the front porch, where they sat together in near silence. Every now and again, someone would interject with a story about Datt, and then the tears would start again. Other than that, the only noise came from Buddy, the golden retriever, who let out an obligatory bark anytime someone came or went from the house.
Out of the corner of her eye, Katie watched Karl. He had been so good to come. And clearly, he belonged here. He really was like family, after all. Hadn’t he always been?
Even now, in the midst of so much grief, Katie marveled at his ability to fit in so well with the other young men, to speak with them as if they were old friends. She appreciated his goodness to her family and would have to remember to tell him so later, when things were back to normal.
Normal.
She thought about the word with a sharp pain working its way through her heart. Would anything ever be normal again?
The funeral director, an older man named Mr. Byler, arrived at the house within the hour, offering his condolences. He came in the familiar horse-drawn hearse, which Katie had seen many times during her childhood. She listened closely to all he had to say, though she knew, of course, what the next few hours and days would be like.
Her father would be taken to the funeral home and pre- pared for burial in a simple, basic coffin. Someone from the family would provide the lining, as was the custom in Amish households. Datt’s body would be returned to the house in that same coffin, where it would remain until the day of the funeral. On the day before the service, friends and family members would come by to pay their last respects.
She had been down this road many times before, just never with someone in her own family. The whole thing seemed strangely surreal, as if it were happening to someone else. And yet it wasn’t happening to someone else. This was very real. . .and horribly painful.
Mamm continued on, doing what she always did—working. She made arrangements for Datt’s white pants, vest, and shirt to be sent with Mr. Byler. Though Amish tradition dictated burying the deceased in white, Katie couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her father in anything but the dark straight- cut suit he always wore. After years of seeing him working the fields in his traditional clothing, she wondered if he might be recognizable to her.
She paused for a moment to think about that. In spite of her haircut, makeup, and new clothes, Datt had recognized her the moment she walked in the room. He had sensed her presence even before his eyes had opened. Real love could clearly see beyond the external.
She spent the next few minutes pondering this, almost forgetting the goings-on inside the house. Only when several of the local men arrived to assist the undertaker did she shake herself back to reality.
A short time later, Katie stood off in the distance, watching with silent tears as Ike Byler and the minister lifted her father’s body and carried it out to the hearse. The clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves against the dirt-packed driveway provided a reminiscent sound, one she recognized from years of traveling by buggy. Never had she watched a parent being led away in such fashion. And never had she anticipated the day she might. Yet that day had come, whether she’d prepared for it or not.
After they left, she excused herself to the field behind the house, hoping for a time to release her emotions. Surely everyone would give her a bit of space without asking too many questions.
She eased her way through the crowd, noticing the questioning look in Karl’s eyes. He seemed to ask, “Can I come with you?”
She did not respond. For now, she simply wanted time by herself. Time to mourn in private. Katie walked around the side of the house alone. Well, almost alone. Buddy insisted on joining her, his tail tucked between his legs as if sensing her pain.
Together they approached the back of the house. As her gaze landed on the beautiful green pasture behind the home, she was swept back to her younger years. How many times had she taken off running through the ribbons of green grass when her heart ached?
For a moment, she tried to convince herself that no proper young woman would do such a thing. But then, as the pain settled in and the grief took over, she kicked off her shoes and began to run. She made it past the doghouse and out into the clearing. On she ran, until her lungs cried out for relief. Katie could hear Buddy’s pants as he moved alongside her. Funny how the rhythm of his steady gait kept her going.
She finally drew to a stop, breathing in great gulps of air. The tears came freely now, and the dog, perhaps in an attempt to bring comfort, lifted his front paws onto her chest. Katie gave him a rub behind the ears, and he nuzzled up against her.
She thought about Datt and all of the years she’d worked alongside him in the fields. She remembered the gleam in his eye as he’d taught her to drive a buggy. The look of sheer joy on his face as they sat across the dinner table from one another telling funny stories. Oh, how she wished she could go back, just once more. To have just five more minutes with him. Was that too much to ask?
After a period of true mourning, Katie finally dried her eyes. She looked back to see just how far she’d come and dis- covered the house was quite a distance away. This time, instead of running, she walked with slow, steady steps. Buddy, as always, kept his place beside her, a faithful companion. When she reached the back door, Katie dropped onto the porch step, exhausted.
She was greeted by Sara, who had a concerned look in her eyes. “Still running, Katie?”
“W–what?”
“I’m sorry.” Sara bowed her head, cheeks turning red. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that you were always so fast when you were a little girl, moving ahead out of the pack. Remember when we were young and you would challenge us to race from the front door to the street?”
“Oh yes. I thought you meant. . .” Katie’s thoughts shifted back, once again, to the night she ran away from home.
Are you still running, Katie?
She took a seat on the porch step and tried to steady the trembling in her hands.
“I hate to bring this up.” Sara took a seat next to her. “But we need to let people know. Mamm has asked that someone write an obituary for the paper.”
“Would Datt have wanted that?”
“He wouldn’t want us gushing over him or making him look better than others,” Sara said, “but I think it’s important to spread the word to others in the community. An obituary is not inappropriate.”
“I see.”
“Would you mind writing it, Katie? Your writing is the strongest in the family.”
> “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.
Just then, Karl appeared at the door. “Do you ladies need anything?” he asked. “A glass of lemonade? Water?” He gave them a please-let-me-help look, and Katie smiled at his kindness. She shook her head, and he added, “May I join you?” with a tentative look in his eyes.
“Sure.” Sara gestured for him to sit on the step next to them, and Karl eased his way down to a sitting position.
“We were just talking about the obituary,” Sara explained. “I think Katie should write it.”
Katie sighed, not saying anything for a moment. Then suddenly something occurred to her. “Wait a minute.” She turned to look at Karl. “You were the best writer in our class.”
“What?”
“Yes, and I’ll bet you do a lot of writing in your line of work.” She gave him an imploring look. “Would you help me, Karl? Please?”
❧
Karl looked into Katie’s tear-filled eyes, and his heart felt as if it would come out of his chest. Of course he would help her. He would do whatever she needed.
Minutes later, with half the family crowded around him at the dining room table, he began the task of putting together a carefully constructed obituary, covering the most basic things about Elam Walken’s life. He knew better than to praise the man, as this was frowned upon among the Amish.
No, plain and simple would do. Just the facts, ma’am, went through his head.
And so he listed the facts. On the surface they might appear rather ordinary—at least to those who didn’t know Elam. Husband. Father. Church member. Farmer. Neighbor. But those who truly knew and loved the man would read between the lines. Elam’s dedication to his wife and children was beyond compare. And his love for those in the community and the church could not be questioned. Best of all, his steady faith in the Lord resounded in every detail of his life. Karl did his best to insert these things in a subtler way.
Red, White and Blue Weddings: Red Like Crimson, White as Snow, Out of the Blue Page 34
