Where Healing Blooms

by Vannetta Chapman

  “What if I don’t . . . don’t do them well enough?”

  Joseph was talking to the table, his eyes glued to the spot where his plate had been before Emma set it in the sink.

  “Will you do them to the best of your ability?”

  “Ya.” He raised his eyes to hers, then flicked his gaze toward the back door. “’Course I will.”

  “Then it will be done well enough.”

  Joseph shrugged, but Emma thought she detected a small light of hope in his eyes.

  “I will not tolerate alcohol or smoking in my barn. Drink too much and you could knock over a lantern. Leave a cigarette smoldering, and we could lose the entire thing. I understand that you’re on your Rumspringa—”

  He flinched at the word.

  “A phone, something like that, is your decision to make.”

  “How would I pay for a phone?” He looked as if Emma had suggested he purchase an Englisch car.

  She waved away his question. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand the difficulties of your age, but I won’t allow the drinking or the smoking. Any sign of that, and you’ll have to move on.”

  Joseph hunched his shoulders and jerked his head up and down at the same time. He resembled a box turtle, which would have been funny if the expression in his eyes hadn’t tugged at the heart so fiercely.

  “There’s only one other thing, and I expect you won’t be happy about it. Can’t be helped though.”

  “Why won’t I like it?”

  “Because it involves our bishop. I gather you’d rather others not know you’re here, but I have a responsibility, Joseph.”

  “What will the bishop do?”

  “Simon is a fair man. I expect he’ll want to meet with you, and then he’ll probably insist on contacting your parents.”

  “My parents?” Joseph jumped up, and the sound of his chair scraping against the floor echoed across the kitchen. “My parents don’t care. They don’t want me, they don’t miss me, and there’s no chance they’d insist I come home.”

  She doubted that was true, but telling Joseph that would make matters worse. “We’ll have to trust that Simon does the right thing, the best thing for everyone involved.”

  “What if he makes me go back?”

  A sigh escaped from deep within her. “No one can make you do anything, Joseph. Unless you’ve broken the law—”

  “I haven’t!”

  “Then there’s no need to worry. You’re welcome to stay here, but my responsibility is to notify our bishop and then trust his decision on whether to contact your parents.”

  Joseph rammed his hands into his pockets. “What chores did you want me to do?”

  “Are you gut with horses?”

  “Ya.”

  “Then let them into the field and clean out their stalls. Once you’re done with that, give them a gut brushing and check their hooves. All the supplies, including a hoof pick and conditioner/sealant, are in the barn.”

  He nodded once, brown hair flopping into his eyes, then turned toward the back door.

  “God’s mercies are new every morning, child.” Mary Ann’s voice was as soft as the May breeze coming through the kitchen window.

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Perhaps you will learn.” Mary Ann reached for his hand, patted it once, and beamed at him.

  “We’ll have sandwiches for lunch. I’ll ring the outside bell when they’re ready.”

  Joseph had no response for either of them. As he clomped through the mudroom and down the back porch steps, Emma watched him from the window.

  “What happened to him, Mamm? What could cause such bitterness in a fellow his age?”

  “Many things are capable of wounding a young man. Maybe the cause isn’t as important as the cure.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “What you’re doing—a place for him to rest, a full stomach, prayers that he find his way.”

  Emma hoped her mother-in-law was right. It had been years since she’d had a teenage boy under her roof. If she remembered correctly, it wasn’t all pansies and roses.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The rest of the morning passed quickly.

  Esther, her youngest, came by with items from the co-op.

  Mary Ann had pulled three baskets full of produce from their garden—cabbage, chives, onions, and spinach. Esther had her boys carry into the kitchen what they received in return: milk, eggs, and mangoes. Mangoes!

  “Can’t say we’ve received much fruit, other than apples in the fall.”

  “Paul Byler, you remember him . . .” Esther tucked her blonde curls into her kapp as she spoke. Ever since she was a small girl, those curls had fought being corralled. Now Esther was the same height as Emma.

  “Sure. He has that furniture shop out in back of his house.”

  “Right. An Englischer stopped by to pick up his order of four rocking chairs yesterday. He was so pleased with the work, he paid in cash and left four crates of mangoes. No idea how he came by the crates of fruit. He did tell Paul that he enjoyed trading, and he was a trucker by profession, so maybe he’d been down south.”

  “We’re happy to have them. They’ll work nicely in the sandwich spread I’m making.” Emma reached down and caught Daniel and David in a hug. The twins had recently turned eight, and they stood for the affections from their mammi, but just barely.

  “So where’s the boy?”

  “Boy?” Emma smiled as she played ignorant.

  “You know who I mean, Mamm. Do you really think it’s wise to let him stay?”

  “My, but news travels fast.”

  “Danny called the bishop, and Verna was in visiting when the call came through.”

  Emma nodded as if that made sense. “Danny likes the idea of Joseph staying, and so does your mammi. Joseph seems harmless enough. Right now, he’s cleaning out stalls if you’d like to go meet him.”

  “Nein.” Esther patted her stomach. She was six months along with the next boppli. “Stall smells make me feel a little sick.”

  When they left, Emma spent the next hour giving the bathrooms a good scouring. They were fortunate to have two—one upstairs and one down. She had to remind herself to be grateful as she scrubbed the floors, tubs, and toilets. Her mother had grown up with outhouses. Danny had once mentioned some Amish communities still used them. Was it Wisconsin or Kentucky? It seemed Danny had been to visit districts in over a dozen states. Sometimes the places merged together in her mind, but she loved hearing his stories.

  Satisfied with the smell of bleach and the shine of her bathroom faucets, she stored her cleaning supplies beneath the sink and headed to the kitchen. She was halfway through making the sandwich spread—mangoes, onions, green tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots—when she realized Mamm wasn’t in her corner rocking chair. She wasn’t in the sitting room either. Drying her hands on a dish towel, she looked out the window, and that was when she saw her.

  Her heart stopped beating.

  Mary Ann was lying between the row of okra and the calico aster plants. Motionless.

  Emma must have screamed as she ran down the back porch steps because Joseph appeared at the corner of the barn. One glance and he began to dash toward them. He made it to Mary Ann’s side at nearly the same moment Emma did.

  “Mamm. What happened? Are you—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine! Let me help you stand.”

  With Joseph on one side and Emma on the other, they lifted her from the ground. When had she become so thin? Emma probably could have carried her by herself, except her hands were trembling so badly she would surely have dropped her.

  A small groan escaped Mary Ann’s lips when she tried to put weight on her right ankle.

  “Put your arm around my shoulder, Mamm.”

  “Danki.”

  Joseph’s brow was furrowed when he looked at Emma.

  The bump on her forehead was beginning to swell, and it was obvious sh
e’d sprained or broken her ankle.

  “Help me take her inside.”

  Mary Ann felt well enough to make a joke about being more trouble than a newborn donkey. Had they ever had a newborn donkey? Emma couldn’t remember, but if her mamm was joking, perhaps the injuries weren’t too severe.

  Emma prayed as they helped her into her rocker. Don’t take her now. That was her prayer, and she would have readily admitted it to anyone who asked. Yes, she realized how selfish her petition was, but she’d had too much grief in her life in the last year. The thought of losing one more person, one more piece of her world, caused tears to splash down her cheeks.

  “I’m fine, Emma. I fell is all. Then I couldn’t get back up.”

  “How long were you there?”

  Mary Ann had begun to shake, so Emma hurried to the mudroom and pulled her shawl off a hook. “Joseph, fetch her a glass of water, then please bring me the quilt on the back of the couch.”

  Mary Ann pulled the shawl around her shoulders and patted Emma’s hand. “Less than an hour—”

  “An hour?” Her heart triple-skipped. What if it had happened in the rain or the cold or the dead of night? The last was a ridiculous worry. Mary Ann didn’t putter about after dark.

  “Lying on the ground gave me time to study the soil and see how the garden is blossoming. It’s coming in gut, Emma. Our garden, it’s a real blessing.”

  Emma’s tears started falling again. Not because of what had happened or fear for Mary Ann’s injury, but simply because she’d glimpsed the future—Mamm putting aside this life to follow Dat and Ben. Given a choice, Emma knew she would want to pass from this life to the next in the place she loved most, their garden.

  “Should I go for Danny? Or your doctor?” Joseph shuffled from one foot to the other.

  She’d almost forgotten Joseph was there, waiting, holding the log cabin quilt and wanting to help.

  Emma swiped at the tears on her cheeks.

  “Ya.” Emma accepted the quilt and placed it gently across Mary Ann’s lap. “Go next door and ask Danny to call a driver.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Let’s allow Doc to decide what you need, Mamm.” It could have been the tremor in her voice, or possibly the fear that flooded her eyes, but Mary Ann agreed without any further argument.

  Joseph was back by the time Emma had brewed Mary Ann a cup of lemon tea.

  “Danny said he’d have someone here soon.”

  “Danki.” Emma reached for his hand as he moved back toward the mudroom. “You were a big help, Joseph. Gotte sent you here at exactly the right time.”

  He said nothing, but his cheeks flushed a deep red. As he walked back outside, she thought he stood a little straighter.

  “He’s a gut boy.” Mamm had opened her Bible and was thumbing through the Old Testament until her hand rested on the book of Isaiah.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Fine. My foot, it’s old, Emma. Like the rest of me.” She cupped her hand around Emma’s cheek. “Don’t worry, dear. Today isn’t the day the Lord will call me home.”

  Emma pulled out a chair and sank into it.

  “My heart stopped when I saw you, saw only your foot sticking out from the garden row. I was terrified that, that—”

  “Don’t fear death, dear.” Mamm’s eyes filled with something Emma didn’t understand—memories or kindness or maybe hope. “It will be a glorious day when I see Ben and Dat and my own parents again. So many of my friends have passed already. It will be a wunderbaar day when I see our Lord.”

  Emma’s tears started in earnest then. She knew that what Mary Ann was saying was right, but she couldn’t imagine enduring it.

  “Gotte will give you strength, and He won’t leave you alone. You have that promise.” Mary Ann tapped the worn pages of her Bible. “You have it right here.”

  The sound of car tires crunching over gravel drifted through the open kitchen window. How had Danny managed to find someone so quickly? He must have run all the way to the phone shack.

  They helped Mary Ann into the car, moving her carefully since her ankle had swollen to twice its normal size. Emma slid in beside her, reminded Joseph he could find lunch fixings in the refrigerator, and thanked Danny. She could tell he wanted to say something. Maybe he wanted to comfort her. But the driver, a sweet neighbor named Marcie, was already pulling away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Three hours later they drove back down their lane in the breezy May afternoon. Emma saw Bishop Simon’s buggy before they’d even reached the house. Had he come to see Mary Ann? Or Joseph?

  Marcie insisted on helping them into the house. Emma paid her for the ride, though she seemed embarrassed by that.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to load her into a buggy, and you stayed while we found the supplies the doctor had ordered. You’ve been a real blessing.” Emma pushed the money into her hand and reminded her they’d need a ride again the next week, so the doc could check on how Mamm was healing.

  She could tell Mary Ann was about to fall asleep standing, so she helped her to the downstairs bedroom and lowered the shade to block out the afternoon sunlight.

  “I’d rather be upstairs,” Mary Ann mumbled as she removed the pins from her kapp.

  “Ya, but the stairs are a bad idea. Doc said so.”

  Mary Ann’s eyes twinkled. “All of this special care. I’m going to be spoiled.”

  “Rest, please. After dinner I’ll bring down whatever you need from your room.”

  Mary Ann shooed Emma away as she folded back the Lone Star quilt and lay down on the bed.

  Emma was washing potatoes in the sink when she looked out the window and saw Bishop Simon walking toward his buggy. She’d forgotten he was visiting! Stepping out onto the back porch, she called out to him. He turned, waved, and then made his way back across the yard.

  “I heard about Mary Ann. I didn’t want to disturb either of you if you were resting. How is she?”

  “Gut. Come in. I can make tea or—”

  “A glass of water would be fine, and maybe one of your chocolate chip cookies if you have any made.”

  “I do!” Emma brought the entire cookie jar to the table along with two glasses of water. She thought about resisting, but the day had been too nerve-racking. One cookie could go a long way toward improving her outlook.

  “What did Doc Burnham say?”

  “He cautioned me to keep an eye on the bump on her head.”

  “Does she have a concussion?”

  “He doesn’t think so.” Emma pulled the instruction sheet from the stack of supplies they’d purchased while in town. “I’m to watch for balance problems, vomiting, dizziness, or severe mood swings.”

  “And what of her ankle? The boy told me it was painful for her to stand on.”

  “Doc x-rayed it. There’s no break.”

  “Praise the Lord.”

  “He does want her to wear a boot to keep it from twisting again. The sprain could take several weeks to heal, especially for someone her age. And she’s to use the cane he gave her several months ago.”

  Simon reached for another cookie. “Mary Ann has a reputation for being stubborn.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Do you think she will follow Burnham’s instructions?”

  “She likes Doc, and she promised to behave herself.”

  Silence settled over the table as they enjoyed the sugar, chocolate, and touch of cinnamon in the cookies.

  When Simon pushed away the jar of cookies, Emma knew he was ready to discuss Joseph. Simon was rather young to be a bishop, having only turned forty a few years before. He was slight of build, with a few strands of gray appearing in his dark beard. His eyes were a deep brown, warm and kind. He was a good leader, and he guided their community with compassion and grace.

  “Danny called and told me about the boy. He explained what you learned from him last night.”

  “And you came to speak with Joseph?”

  “I did.�
�� Simon hesitated, stroked his beard, and then continued. “I also spoke with the bishop from his district in Goshen. I thought it might be best if I had a little background on the family before I came out to see him.”

  “You found his family already?”

  “Bishop Atlee knew exactly who I was speaking of, even before I’d finished describing the boy.”

  “So the family did report he was missing?”

  “Nein.” Simon sat back and studied the kitchen.

  It looked the same as any other Amish kitchen, so Emma knew he was trying to separate what he should share and what should remain private. One of the reasons Simon was a good bishop was he kept as much private as possible. No one liked to have their troubles aired in public. Though when a confession was required, it could hardly be avoided.

  “The parents didn’t report anything, but there’s been some trouble with the family before. In fact, in the last year—as the economy has become tighter—it’s worsened.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  Instead of answering, Simon leaned forward. “You’re doing a gut thing allowing the boy to stay here, Emma. He might not be ready to go home anytime soon.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “He didn’t tell me much of anything, but I could see that he’s comfortable with you. He needs a place to stay, a place where he can work, worship, and find Gotte’s plan for his life.”

  “And he couldn’t do that at home?”

  “From what Atlee told me, no.”

  “They didn’t . . . they didn’t hurt him. Did they? They didn’t hit him or—”

  “There are many ways of hurting a child that don’t involve physical violence. But no. It’s not what you’re fearing. Joseph’s father is apparently a very hard, very strict man.”

  “He hinted as much.”

  “Atlee has tried to counsel him, remind him that our ways are more compassionate. But Joseph’s father was raised by very harsh parents, and he thinks it is the only way. Apparently the community knew it would only be a matter of time before the boy left . . . and probably his siblings as well.”