Blessings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She fell silent, only the creaking of the swing’s chains intruding. He waited, nearly holding his breath. He knew they couldn’t be published without her parents’ permission, but he wanted to know what she thought—if she were as agreeable to the idea as he hoped she would be. When the silence lengthened, he released his breath in a noisy rush.

  “Would you be opposed to that?” He feared her reply. Maybe he had misread their relationship.

  But she shook her head firmly. “No, I’m not opposed. I—I like you a lot.” She looked straight ahead, her cheeks flooding with pink. The color gave her an innocent appearance that sent Graham’s heart thudding in the top of his head. “But. . .”

  Graham leaned closer. “Then what?” His whisper stirred the ribbon hanging from the left side of her cap.

  Still facing ahead, she whispered in reply. “I’m not sure I’m ready for it. . .now.”

  He frowned, sitting upright. “Not ready? But you’re nineteen— that’s old enough. You know how to keep a house. You’ve been baptized, so the bishop would have no reason to decline our request to be published. So what’s wrong, Trina?”

  Slowly she shifted her head to meet his gaze. “After I’m married, I won’t work anymore.”

  He laughed lightly. “Of course not. You’ll be taking care of a house, raising children.” Warmth filled his face at his statement. He cleared his throat and rushed on. “There won’t be any reason for you to work. I’ll take care of you.”

  Trina lowered her gaze, toying with a loose thread in the waistband of her purple dress. “But I want to work. . .with Dr. Groening.”

  Graham planted his feet, stopping the swing’s gentle motion. He waited for Trina to look up at him again. He deliberately kept a frown from forming. “Trina, you realize that your job will be caring for the home once you’re a wife.”

  “But why can’t I work, too?” Her tone turned pleading. “Mama runs a café, and she’s married.”

  “Yes, but she waited until you and your brother finished school before she bought the café. If she had tried working when you and Tony were younger, your dad would have said no.”

  Trina scowled. “Beth McCauley works at the art studio every day, and her husband doesn’t mind.”

  Graham harrumphed. “Beth McCauley is worldly. She isn’t Mennonite. She doesn’t understand our ways.” He stared at her, appalled. “You surely don’t want to be like her!”

  Trina turned her gaze sharply away, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

  Graham clamped his jaw and brought his racing thoughts under control. The last thing he wanted to do was push Trina away. She was young, easily influenced. He knew Trina had befriended the young woman whose mother had abandoned the Mennonite faith when still a teenager. Beth’s mother—Marie—was now an accepted member of the fellowship, having returned to her faith as an adult, but Beth remained separate.

  He gentled his voice and touched her arm. “Trina.”

  She looked at him, her expression wary.

  “I admire your tender heart, wanting to be friends with everyone. But Beth—she can lead you astray. When the Bible speaks of not being unequally yoked, it mostly means marriage, but we need to be cautious in all of our relationships.”

  “This isn’t about Beth.” Tears winked in her dark eyes. “This is about me and what I feel. . .called to do.”

  Graham frowned. What calling would a woman have beyond being a wife and mother? Fear fluttered through his chest. “Exactly what do you want to do, Trina?”

  At that moment, a pickup pulled up to the curb. Graham slid back to the corner of the swing as Trina’s younger brother, Tony, bounded up the porch steps two at a time. He started for the front door, but when he spotted them in the corner of the porch, he turned toward his sister.

  “Trina, Mom and Dad want you to come home now.” Tony shrugged, his face pulled into an apologetic grimace. “Mom says you’ve been here long enough.”

  When Trina pushed from the swing, Graham felt certain she looked relieved to be leaving their topic behind. He rose, as well, a feeling of dread settling in his middle.

  Trina followed Tony to the edge of the porch; then she turned and looked at Graham. “Please tell your parents thank you for the invitation to lunch. Everything was very good.” Such a prim, impersonal statement.

  Graham forced a smile. “Sure. I’ll see you Wednesday for the singing, right? It’s at Walt’s this time.”

  Trina nodded, her ribbons bouncing. “Yes. I want to go.”

  Graham nearly wilted with relief. He hadn’t scared her away if she was still willing to go to the singing with him. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

  She flashed a quick smile then grabbed Tony’s arm, hurrying him off the porch. “Did Mama and Dad say anything about. . .” Her voice drifted away as she slammed herself into the pickup.

  Graham watched Tony drive down the street. Even though he knew it was selfish, he hoped her parents wouldn’t allow her to work at Dr. Groening’s. He feared too many changes would take place if they did.

  “So if your mother can find two dependable young people to work in the café and your brother agrees to drive you to Lehigh, then we will allow you to work for Dr. Groening.”

  Trina grabbed the couch cushion with both hands to keep herself in the seat. She smiled at her father and nodded. “Okay. Good. Thank you.”

  “But”—Dad scowled, pointing his finger at her—“we will expect you to conduct yourself appropriately. Limit your communication with the non-Mennonites who bring animals to the clinic, and be respectful at all times of your employer.”

  “Of course!” Trina looked back and forth between her parents, meeting their stern gazes with her most convincing look.

  “But I must replace you first, Trina,” Mama said in a firm voice. “And I’ll expect you to help the new employees learn the routine before I allow you to go to your new job.”

  Trina stifled a frustrated sigh. It might be weeks before Mama was satisfied with the new employees. But she knew better than to argue. She gave another quick nod.

  Dad released a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll drive over to Lehigh tomorrow and talk with Dr. Groening about this job, just to be certain we are clear on his expectations and the hours.”

  “May I go, too?”

  Mama shook her head. “No. Let your father do it.”

  “But the café is closed on Mondays—I won’t be working.” Trina used a reasonable rather than argumentative tone.

  “No, Trina,” Dad said, a scowl marring his forehead. “I will let you know everything Dr. Groening says.”

  Trina stood. “All right.” Although she would have preferred to go along—see the clinic, talk to Dr. Groening herself—she knew neither Dad nor Mama would budge once their minds were made up. She also realized they had made a huge concession, allowing her to work for the veterinarian. It took no effort to offer a smile of thanks. “Mom and Dad, thank you. I appreciate your permission.”

  Mama sighed. “You’re welcome, Trina. I just hope we don’t regret it.”

  Trina didn’t explore Mama’s meaning. She gave each of her parents a hug then headed to her bedroom. After closing the door, she threw herself facedown across the bed, propped her chin in her hands, and closed her eyes, imagining the glorious days to come.

  Working with Dr. Groening, caring for animals. No more cleaning floors, washing dishes, and placing plates of food in front of customers. She focused on every positive aspect of the change and carefully avoided reflecting on the worry in her mother’s eyes or recalling Graham’s statement about her “calling.”

  FIVE

  Monday morning, Trina rose early, prepared breakfast for the family, waited impatiently for everyone to finish eating, then cleaned the table and washed the dishes without a word of complaint. When the final dish was placed in the cabinet, she interrupted her mother at her sewing machine.

  “Mama? May I go to town?”

  Mama looked up from pin
ning the zipper into a pair of brown twill trousers. “Where are you going?”

  Trina battled the frustration that wiggled in her stomach. When would she be allowed to simply do what she desired without having to ask permission of her parents? She knew the answer—when she married and moved out from under their roof. But then she’d answer to her husband. The frustration grew.

  She took a breath and released it, bringing her rambling emotions under control. “I want to go by the art studio and ask Andrew about Regen’s leg.”

  Mama nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Trina spun to leave.

  “Trina, wait.”

  Stifling a sigh, Trina turned back.

  “Take some money out of my purse, stop by the grocer, and buy two pounds of link sausage. We’ll fry it for supper tonight.”

  “Okay.” She slipped away before her mother could give her any more directions. The summer sun beat down, warming her head and shoulders. She walked the familiar streets toward town, just as she had every day for the past six years on her way to the café and her parentchosen job. Her heart skipped a beat, a smile growing on her face without effort. But soon her routine would change. She’d be climbing into Tony’s pickup, riding down the highway the few miles to Lehigh and Dr. Groening’s clinic to the Trina-chosen job.

  Oh, please hurry and hire those workers, Mama! her heart begged. She could hardly wait to start a new routine—a routine she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl. She hurried her steps, eager to move into the future.

  Even though it was still morning—not even nine o’clock yet—by the time she reached the studio on the west end of Main Street, her hair felt sweaty, and perspiration dampened her skin. Stepping into the air-conditioned interior of the studio was a welcome relief. The smells of the studio were so different from the café’s—burnt metal and something that left an acidic taste on the back of her tongue as opposed to grease and baking bread. She wondered briefly what the animal clinic would smell like.

  The moment she closed the door, Andrew looked up from the worktable in the middle of the floor and broke into a smile. “Good morning, Trina.”

  Beth Quinn McCauley, Andrew’s employer, turned from the large platform on the floor where she and her cousin Catherine Koeppler arranged cut pieces of colored glass into a rose pattern. “Well, good morning, Miss Katrinka.”

  Trina grinned at the silly nickname her grandfather had chosen. No one used it except Grandpa Muller and Beth.

  Beth asked, “What brings you here? Checking up on Winky?”

  At the cat’s name, he sprang from beneath the worktable and attacked the laces on Trina’s tennis shoes.

  Andrew muttered, “The cat’s the same as always—ornery.”

  With a giggle, Trina leaned over and scooped the furry critter into her arms. She always enjoyed playing with Winky. She had nursed his injured eye when he was a lanky kitten. The cat still bore a small scar below his left eye, but he was beautiful with thick gray fur and white markings. He set up a loud purr as she scratched his chin, and she laughed again.

  “As much as I enjoy seeing Winky, I actually came to see Andrew.” Still holding the cat, she turned toward her cousin. “How is Regen?”

  “Still in the sling,” Andrew reported, scraping a small stone over the edge of a piece of blue glass. “Dr. Groening said we need to keep him from putting his full weight on the leg for at least another five days. Then we’ll let him stand in the stall. But the leg’s looking good. Livvy keeps a close eye on it.”

  “Good.” She filed Andrew’s comments away for future reference, in case she ever needed to treat another horse with a torn ligament. She skipped forward, lowering her voice to avoid disturbing Beth and Catherine. “Guess what? Mama and Dad said I can go to work for Dr. Groening.”

  Andrew’s eyebrows shot upward, and a smile broke across his face. “Wonderful!”

  Trina nodded happily then grimaced. “Of course, Mama has to find some workers to replace me in the café, and I have to work out transportation with Tony, but when that’s all done, I get to be an assistant in a veterinary clinic!”

  Andrew put down his stone and glass long enough to throw his arm around her shoulder for a quick hug. “Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  “I know I will, too.” Winky wriggled in Trina’s arms, so she set the cat down and leaned her elbows on the worktable. She frowned slightly. “I wish I knew more about veterinary science. I read every book I can find on animal care, but most of the books I buy are used, so they don’t have the most recent information.”

  “Hmm.” Andrew pursed his lips. “You’ll learn a lot from watching Dr. Groening, won’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’d still like to know things in advance. I can be more help that way.” Her hunger for knowledge ate at her, creating a hollow ache in her chest.

  “Trina?” At Beth’s voice, Trina turned and faced the young woman. “You’re welcome to use the computer in here to search the Internet for articles on veterinary science.”

  Trina’s mouth went dry. Would Mama approve? She licked her lips. “The Internet?”

  “Sure.” Beth slid a slice of pink glass next to one of deeper rose. “The Internet is a great source of information. You can do a Google search for veterinary science or animal care. All kinds of Web sites and articles will come up.”

  “Google?” Trina laughed. “That’s a silly name.”

  Beth grinned. “I suppose, but it’s a very useful search engine.”

  Trina shook her head, awareness of her limited education smacking hard.

  Beth continued in a thoughtful tone. “You know, there is very little that can’t be accomplished online these days. I conduct three-fourths of my stained-glass business over the Internet—and Sean and I can communicate with each other through e-mail no matter where he’s traveling.”

  For a moment, Beth’s brow pinched, and Trina’s heart turned over. She knew Beth missed her husband when he was away on his travels, meeting with church committees about building projects. They had been married less than a year, and Beth often bemoaned how much of that year had been spent apart. Trina wondered if Beth would ever hand the operation of the studio over to Andrew and travel with Sean instead of staying behind.

  “Not only that,” Beth continued, “but I took an online course through an art institute in Maryland to learn how to color my own glass.” She raised one brow and sent Trina a speculative look. “The Internet is a handy tool.” Then she shrugged. “Like I said, you’re welcome to do some searching for articles on animal care, if you want to.”

  “I want to.” Trina clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Could I do it right now?”

  “Sure.” Beth got up and crossed the floor, linking her hand through Trina’s elbow and guiding her to the desk in the corner where a computer waited. “I’ll get you online and show you how to use Google; then you can search as long as you want to.”

  Trina caught on much more quickly than she had expected, which gave her a rush of self-satisfaction. She chose to explore “veterinary science,” and she released a surprised “Whew!” when she spotted the number of hits on the topic. “Three million four hundred and thirty thousand sites!” She stared at Beth. “I’ll never get through all of those!”

  Beth laughed. “You don’t have to. Look at the descriptions. A lot of those are Web sites for different veterinary clinics. You can avoid those and just find the sites that offer information about veterinary science itself. Choose ones that seem the most interesting.” She patted Trina’s shoulder. “Have fun, Katrinka.”

  While Andrew, Beth, and Catherine worked on the stained-glass projects, Trina scanned articles on everything from animal reproduction to the latest techniques in animal surgery. The vocabulary used frustrated her from time to time, but she plowed through, absorbing as much as she could. She wished she’d brought paper and pencil to make notes.

  She was amazed at the number of educational institutions that specialized in training people
for the field of veterinary medicine. At first, she avoided those sites, focusing instead on information concerning the care of animals, but eventually, curiosity drove her to click on a site titled “TO BE A VET.”

  The Web site was geared toward children, she realized, but a quick glance showed a variety of interesting topics. She leaned forward, propped her chin in her hand, and began to read. “Getting into veterinary school is harder than getting into medical school.. . . High school subjects you must have mastered include English, biology, chemistry, physics, and several math classes. You need to pass the ACT in those subjects, as well.”

  Trina’s chest constricted. She hadn’t even attended high school beyond grade nine! She didn’t know what physics was or what ACT stood for. Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision, and forced herself to continue.

  “To earn your Bachelor of Veterinary Science degree takes five years of full-time study in an approved university.”

  Five years! Full-time? Trina jerked upright in the chair. Although she had harbored a glimmer of hope that perhaps one day her parents would relent and allow her to seek a degree, that hope now plummeted. College cost money, and she couldn’t possibly have enough saved for five years. That was if she could get into a college. Tears stung again. She rubbed her eyes, erasing the tears, and leaned closer to the screen to reread the information. Maybe she’d missed something— some other way to become a veterinarian.

  The telephone blared, and Trina jumped.

  “Trina,” Beth called from the platform, “would you mind answering that?”

  Reluctantly, Trina moved away from the computer and picked up the telephone. “Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio. May I help you?”

  “Trina?” Mama’s voice.

  Trina glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly noon! Her hands began to tremble. “Yes, Mama?”

  “What are you still doing there? I’ve been waiting for you to come home.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I—” But she didn’t want to tell her mother what she’d been doing. “I’ll get that sausage and come straight home.”