Where Healing Blooms

by Vannetta Chapman

  Before she’d walked inside, Emma had turned and studied the garden. In the moonlight, it looked less like something that had grown out of control and more like something Mary Ann had planned over the years. A place she’d cared for patiently and tenderly and that was now coming into its real purpose.

  But what was that?

  And why did Nancy Schlabach and her two boys suddenly come to mind?

  Shaking away the many questions, she’d wound her way back through the garden and to the barn. No sign of anyone, so she checked a final time on the horses and left the sleeping bag in the back stall.

  Closing the barn door firmly, she’d made her way up the back porch steps and into the kitchen. She needed to go to bed early since she was going to set the alarm for midnight.

  Now, watching the tiny hands of the battery-operated clock move, she knew that she wouldn’t sleep until this thing was settled. So she waited, and she prayed, and she saw the moment the time switched from 11:58 to 11:59. She reached for the clock and turned off the alarm before it could sound.

  It had seemed smarter to lie on top of her quilt in her dress. When she rose, she only had to fasten on her kapp and lace up her shoes. She was able to do both of those by the light of the moon spilling in her bedroom window.

  Unlike Danny’s home, Emma’s was two stories. The extra bedrooms had been a blessing when all the children were home. Even now they were frequently filled with grandchildren, especially during summer break and weekends.

  She crept downstairs, careful not to disturb Mary Ann, and snagged her shawl from the mudroom to ward off the night’s coolness.

  When she reached the back porch, Danny was already waiting.

  “Any plans for how to do this?”

  Emma shook her head in the darkness. “Can’t be too hard.”

  “Coming from you, I’ll believe that. You do have five kinner and twelve—”

  “Soon to be thirteen. Don’t forget that Esther is expecting again.”

  “Thirteen grandkinner.” Danny whistled softly. “You’ve had a full life, Emma.”

  “As have you, and let’s not talk as if we’re done yet.”

  They’d reached the back side of the barn. She knew when they opened the door, the hinges were going to squeak. If the child was a light sleeper, he’d be alerted by the noise.

  “Don’t let him scoot by you,” Emma whispered.

  They needn’t have worried. A minute later they stood at the back stall, peering over the half door at the snoring adolescent. Even Danny’s flashlight didn’t waken him, but when Emma rang the bell she used to call in the horses, the lad jumped as if he’d been struck.

  Seeing that his way out was blocked—they hadn’t bothered to open the stall door—he sat up and pulled his jacket tighter around him. The thing was threadbare and couldn’t have provided much warmth, though he had been tucked deep into Danny’s sleeping bag.

  Danny repositioned the beam of the flashlight so that it wouldn’t be directly in the boy’s eyes. It was clear he was a boy, though he might have been edging toward sixteen. He still had the look of Danny’s pup, as if he hadn’t quite grown into his hands and feet. Emma recognized the age. Her boys had gone through the same final growth spurt, and it seemed to take a few years before everything evened out.

  His dark-brown hair hung in his eyes, which looked hazel to Emma in the dim light. He was much too skinny, she could see that well enough. Average height. Not much to tell the bishop as far as description.

  “What’s your name?” Emma opened the door and entered the stall. Danny remained in the doorway, still blocking the boy’s escape path.

  “Why should I tell you?” His voice was soft but somewhat ragged, as if he were aiming for belligerent but unable to pull it off.

  “Because you’re staying in my barn. Apparently you have been for a few days.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “And you’ve been eating my cooking. You can at least trust me with your name.”

  “Joseph.”

  He didn’t provide a last name, but then, Emma hadn’t expected he would. She’d coax it out of him before they were done.

  “Joseph, we’d like to talk to you a minute.” Danny picked up a wooden stool once used for milking and carried it into the stall. He sat on the upended oats bucket and left the stool for Emma.

  “What about?” The panic in Joseph’s eyes nearly broke Emma’s heart. She’d been prepared to dislike him, to throw him out, to call the bishop and the police. As she studied him, she realized that Danny had been right. This way was better.

  “Why are you here? Where’s your family?”

  He stood and began stuffing his things into a backpack. “Not going back there. You can’t make me either. I’m nearly seventeen now. No use trying to make me go back.”

  “Son, we’re not trying to make you do anything.”

  Joseph flinched at Danny’s use of the word son.

  “Would you mind sitting down so we can talk?”

  Joseph didn’t look any more at ease, but he zipped the backpack and sat.

  Emma closed her eyes and prayed for wisdom and patience, then she cleared her throat. “Where are you from? I don’t think you live in Shipshe, or I’d recognize you.”

  “Goshen.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Walked on the Pumpkinvine Trail.”

  Danny glanced at Emma, his eyes questioning. She nodded. It was a fair distance, but doable.

  Since he was answering, Emma decided to dig for more information.

  “My dochder lives in Middlebury. It’s a nice town. Why didn’t you stop there?”

  “I did, but after a while I moved on. It’s best not to stay in the same place too long. I should have left here last night.” Dismay flooded his eyes, and Emma got the impression he was fighting back tears.

  When he told them his last name was Lapp, a fairly common name among Amish folk, Danny spoke up again. “Won’t your parents be worried about you?”

  “Why would they? I’m a burden to them. One more mouth to feed in a home that’s already too crowded. They’re probably glad I’m gone.” Bitterness filled his voice, which cracked, accentuating the fact that he was teetering between boyhood and manhood. “I never did anything right anyway. You can’t make me go back. You can’t, and I won’t.”

  Emma checked Danny’s reaction. He shrugged.

  She stood and straightened her dress. Her toes were nearly numb, as were her fingers. She’d learned enough so that she’d be able to sleep. Joseph wasn’t sick, and he didn’t seem to be planning to rob her blind during the night. Anything else could wait until morning.

  “That’s it? You’re just going to let me . . . let me stay?”

  “Breakfast is at six thirty. We’ll talk tomorrow about how you can earn your keep until we figure out what to do.”

  Joseph’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t argue.

  They were leaving when Danny paused and turned back. “You’re welcome to come to my house. I live next door and have an extra bedroom.”

  “Nein. I’d rather stay here.”

  “Suit yourself.” Emma put her hand in the crook of Danny’s elbow and tugged him out of the stall. “Morning will be here soon. We best get to sleep.”

  Instead of talking outside the barn, she invited Danny into the house, set the kettle on the stove, and brewed them both a cup of decaffeinated herbal peppermint tea.

  Danny was quiet as she moved around the kitchen, gathering cups, saucers, and a slice of the leftover lemon cake.

  “I believe your gift is feeding people, Emma.” The words were said in jest, but the look in Danny’s eyes was solid admiration.

  It occurred to Emma that if you served a man a piece of cake, he would believe you could solve the problems of the world. Give him cake in the middle of the night, and he’d likely burrow in and refuse to leave.

  Did she want Danny to leave?

  He looked completely at home in her kitchen.

  “I wasn�
�t much of a cook when I first married Ben. It didn’t take long for his mother to teach me, to ensure that I had the basic skills. That first year, I think Mamm was afraid that she’d be called home to heaven before the lessons were done. I suspect she was motivated by the fear that her son would be left here to starve with a well-meaning but unskilled cook for a wife.”

  “Were you that bad?”

  “I burnt my share of casseroles, and bread was completely beyond me.” She sat at the table, ignoring the cake—though she wanted some. She’d learned long ago that late-night snacking meant disaster for her waistline. Emma had heard an Englisch woman at the market commenting on how nice it would be to be Amish—to not worry about your figure or the gray in your hair. It was true that they believed vanity to be a sin, but most women she knew worried at least a little about their weight. Emma could stand to lose five or ten pounds. Hopefully that concern was for health reasons and not because of vanity.

  Why was she even worrying about such things? Emma had enough on her plate at the moment without counting her sins at forty minutes past midnight.

  “After a few years I understood that cooking was Mamm’s special talent, and she wanted to share it with me.”

  “I’m glad she did!”

  They sat together in the near darkness. She had lit one of the gas lanterns but had turned it to low. No use disturbing Mary Ann, not that she could see a lantern in the kitchen. She had a way of sensing such things though, and Emma knew she needed her rest.

  It surprised her that she was so comfortable with Danny. Around most folk, even Amish folk, she was often seized by the urge to make some sort of conversation. Danny appeared content to silently enjoy the tea and cake. Emma wanted a few moments to process what they’d learned in the barn.

  Finally he carried his plate to the sink, rinsed it, and returned to the table.

  “It’s good of you to allow the boy to stay,” Danny said as he sat back down.

  “I’m only doing the Christian thing. I hardly deserve praise for it.”

  “But you do.” He leaned forward, arms folded on the table, his eyes locked with hers. “Because you spoke to him with compassion, and you offered him kindness, which sometimes is as important as a place to sleep.”

  Danny’s words flowed over her, settling some of the questions in her heart. “What do you think happened to Joseph? To cause him to leave his home?”

  “Hard to say. I didn’t notice any bruises on the boy, but sometimes abuse takes other forms. It’s not something we see a lot in our communities. It is present though, same as any other group of folk.”

  “You saw things like this? While you were traveling?”

  “Ya, and it’s handled differently in each community it seems. Overall I’d say the bishops provide gut guidance, attempting to provide help for the families. Sometimes . . .” He stared down at the old oak table. “One place I stayed in for about a year had a case like this. The dat needed help for his moods, needed some of the Englisch medicine—truth be told. But they wouldn’t hear of it, and the community decided to sweep the entire situation under the rug.”

  “And?”

  “And it didn’t work. Something like this, ignored, will always fester until it sickens the body of believers.”

  Emma thought about that, thought of the day last summer she’d caught a splinter in the palm of her hand. She had been in a hurry that afternoon, and then tired by the time she fell into bed. She had thought she could ignore it for a day. When she woke, the spot was swollen and warm to the touch. It had festered and was much more painful to treat than if she’d dealt with it immediately.

  Ignoring things rarely worked.

  “What if he’s making it up?” Emma rubbed her forehead as she envisioned the boy sleeping soundly in the barn.

  “That’s possible. You know more about Joseph’s age group than I do—”

  “The fear in his eyes seemed real.”

  “It did indeed.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll feed him properly and set him to work, and then I’ll walk down to the phone shack and call the bishop.”

  “I can do that for you.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Shadow enjoys a morning walk.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, sending sparks zipping like fireflies through her nervous system. “I want to help however I can.”

  She walked with him through the mudroom to the back porch.

  Emma didn’t know what caused her to utter her next words. Perhaps it was the feeling she’d had back at the table—when Danny had touched her hand. “I still miss him.”

  Danny turned and looked at her. “I’m sure you do.”

  “At times I still expect to see Ben walking across the field, carrying his water jug and raising a hand to wave when I come out onto the porch.”

  “His life was complete, Emma.” Danny didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out to touch her this time, and she was grateful for that. At the moment, she felt as fragile as the specially carved glass figurines sold at the shops in town.

  “Ben would be glad you’re helping the boy.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “He’d want you to be happy. You know that, right?”

  Emma nodded, then whispered a good night.

  As she watched Danny make his way home under the May moon, she thought about the deep ache she’d endured since Ben’s death. For the first six months, it had seemed as if some foreign object was lodged under her right rib. Strange that despair would choose such a specific place to hide. She’d rub at the spot, wondering why it wasn’t on her left, near her heart.

  Now the ache was gone, though the memory lingered. It had somehow softened over the last year, and though she missed Ben every bit as much as the first morning she woke after she’d found him in the barn . . . she could now smile at their memories, their time together, and the love they’d shared.

  Like the green garden that had replaced the snow outside her window, life had moved on.

  She remained on the back porch, thinking of Ben, and Danny, and the boy in the barn. She stood for a long time, watching Danny as he made his way in the moonlight, crossing from her property to his. Long after she could see him, she stood there, until the coolness of the late hour forced her inside.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Emma was standing at the stove frying bacon and scrambling eggs when Joseph knocked on the back door. He came inside when she called out to him, but he stood in the doorway between the mudroom and the kitchen, as if he was unsure what to do next.

  Glancing his way, Emma could see he’d attempted to wash, though the water outside must have been quite cold. His hair, several inches too long, was combed down. He’d also put on a different shirt and pants, so he must have had at least two sets. He didn’t look particularly healthy—a little too thin and a little too pale. But he didn’t appear to be sick either. Mostly, he gave the impression of a lasting misery.

  Mary Ann shuffled into the room as Emma carried the plate of bacon to the table. They had spoken earlier about Joseph, when they’d each had their first cup of kaffi. She had told Mary Ann about their late-night meeting. Mary Ann approved of Joseph staying and even had some ideas of chores he could do.

  “You must be Joseph.” She patted the seat beside her. “Sit. Sit and eat. Do you drink kaffi or milk?”

  “Either is fine.” Joseph didn’t make eye contact with Emma or Mary Ann. Instead he stared at the table. His stomach growled when Emma set the bacon in front of him, causing Mamm to laugh.

  “The sound of a growing boy is a blessing indeed. Ya, Emma?”

  “It is, Mamm.” She placed kaffi and milk in front of him. He reached for the milk and then stopped himself, tucking his hands under the table.

  Emma returned with a plate of eggs and biscuits.

  They bowed their heads, and Emma silently prayed for Joseph. How long had it been since she’d been so worried about someone else? Someone outside of their family? Yet it seemed God had brought Joseph to them fo
r a reason. After all, he could have stopped at any barn. She prayed for wisdom, for guidance, and that Joseph wouldn’t decide to run when he learned what chores he’d be doing.

  Mary Ann reached for a hot biscuit, breaking it open and releasing steam and the rich, yeasty smell. “My dochder makes the best biscuits around, Joseph. And her pies are gut too.”

  Joseph watched them begin to eat, then hesitantly reached for his glass of milk and downed it in a single long drink. As Mary Ann passed him each plate, he took a minimal amount. Emma could guess easily enough that he wanted more. The child had manners.

  “It’s only the three of us, Joseph, and I cooked extra for you. Fill your plate.”

  He wasn’t speaking much, but then again, he was completely focused on his food. She let him enjoy the meal, then refilled his glass of milk and cleared her throat.

  The massive amount of calories he’d just consumed would be hitting his stomach, so she guessed he’d be less likely to put up too much resistance when he heard their plans for the day.

  She thought about offering him some of the lemon cake.

  In the end, she decided the extra sugar might push him over. The last thing they wanted was him in the bathroom chucking up his first meal in several days.

  “Let’s talk about your situation, Joseph.”

  Mary Ann had moved to her rocker in the corner of the kitchen and was leafing through her Bible. She acted as if she wasn’t listening, but Emma knew she’d hear every word they said. And she’d jump in if needed. Bolstered by her presence, Emma ignored the panic on Joseph’s face.

  “I gather from what you said last night that you’re not ready to return home.”

  “I’m never going back there.”

  “Never is often longer than we imagine,” Mary Ann said.

  “It’s not something we need to decide now. But there are a few rules you’ll need to agree to.”

  Joseph’s glance darted left, then right, but he remained in his seat.

  “First, you do the chores I ask of you. There’s not a lot of work around here, but there are some regular tasks you can help me with. Once those are done, there are a few things I’ve put off since my husband passed.”