Easter Sunday brought sunshine that warmed the earth and thawed the chill in James’s heart. This morning, as he had wheeled through the orchard, memories of Doddy’s Easter traditions had sparked a smile. His grandfather had loved hiding eggs in the orchard. When Mammi had worried that it might be a waste of good eggs, he had said it was a good exercise for the children to hunt down Easter eggs. Practice for sorting out rotten apples.
Now, looking over at the pear trees, he imagined a blue egg in a crook of the branches, and a green one nestled by the roots of a tree. The thick grass would be dotted with purple and orange and pink.
“And all these years,” Doddy used to tell the Amish women, “my children and grandchildren never missed an egg yet. I hide two dozen, they find twenty-four. Children can be good finders when you make it a game.”
How James missed his grandfather! Elmo Lapp would have known how to handle the doctors and balance the Englisher visits with the ways of living Plain. Doddy wouldn’t have given up on the hope of James walking again. That twinkle in Doddy’s eyes had always been full of hope, brimming over with Gott’s love.
But Doddy was gone, and there would be no eggs to find this morning. The younger ones had dyed eggs, but with Hannah, the baby of the family, ten now, the egg hunt tradition was dwindling. Doddy wouldn’t have liked that. James decided to ask Peter and Luke to hide some eggs when they got home from church in the afternoon.
With a sigh, James turned his chair back toward the house. There was no time to roll out to the sugar shack today. When he’d left the house, Mamm had warned him not to go far. After a quick breakfast of cold cereal or toast, they’d be loading up the buggies and heading over to the Beilers’.
In the lane beside the barn, James came upon his brothers Peter and Luke, who were already harnessing horses for the family’s ride to church. The sight of the old apple cart, ready to be hitched to a horse, hit him like a blow to the chest.
“What’s that doing out?” James asked, pointing to the cart.
Peter and Luke both glanced up from either side of Patches.
“That’s for you to ride in,” Luke said. “Dat told us to harness a horse to the cart for you. He says it’s easier to push you up the ramp in your chair than lifting you into the buggy.”
James felt his nostrils flare as he drew in a breath. It was another example of Dat’s downright stubbornness. Many times James had told him how he hated riding in the back of the cart.
“I don’t want to be any bother,” James said, fighting to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “but there’s something about riding in the back of that cart that makes me feel like a hog on its way to auction.”
Peter straightened and tipped his hat back. “You don’t like it, and that’s no surprise. With your wheelchair lashed down in the cart, you’re on display like a pyramid of apples in the market.”
“We can leave the cart, and you can ride in the buggy with us,” Luke said as he leaned into Patches to rub the horse’s neck. “Between Peter and me, we can lift you to the buggy, easy as pie. We’ll tie your wheelchair to the back of the buggy with a bungee cord.”
“That’s a better way to go,” James said, relieved that his brothers didn’t mind moving him in and out of the buggy. Peter and Luke had been a big help since the accident. Everyone in the family had pitched in to take on James’s workload and care for him.
But through it all, Dat had stopped listening to James. This idea of making him ride in the cart was just one more example of the way that Dat had started pushing James to his father’s way of doing things. It was as if Jimmy believed his son had lost the ability to think, as well as walk.
During church, Dave Zook preached about the risen Jesus:
“Early in the morning, the women brought some spices and things to the tomb. But when they got there, the stone had been rolled away and they did not see the body of the Lord Jesus. No one was quite sure what had happened until later, when Jesus himself stood among them.” Dave pressed his black glasses up on his nose as he looked over the congregation. “Imagine their shock to see him. They thought they were looking at a ghost!”
James smiled. He knew this story well. Every spring, Amish children were reminded of the true meaning of Easter: The celebration of how the Heavenly Father made His son rise up, body and soul, to the heavens. Gott’s promise of a heavenly kingdom for those who loved Him.
There was no limit on the miracles Gott could do. Was it wrong of James to pray for Gott to bless him with a miracle in the next medical procedure? Was it wrong to hope that he would walk again? Dat wanted James to give up this hope, but who could know the Almighty’s plan for tomorrow and the day after that?
At the thought of the future, James’s gaze latched on to Rachel, who was sitting with the young women and girls who had not been baptized. Regret was sour on his tongue when he thought of how he had pushed her away last night. Throughout the past year, her sparkling eyes, clear as a blue summer sky, had held steadfast love for him. Even when his lameness disgusted James himself, Rachel seemed blind to his injury. She still saw the man he used to be. James turned away quickly, not wanting to catch her gaze now. His love for her burned strong, but he hated the way his burden was heaped on her shoulders.
And on his family.
He was grateful to the twins, lugging him around when he needed a hand. When he’d first left the hospital, it had been easier to maneuver, with Dylan driving him where he needed to go. In the beginning, Dylan had come by and driven James to church every other week. Dylan’s van had a lift on it so that getting in and out took less than a minute. Not that James minded the time—he was in no rush to get anywhere—as long as he wasn’t sitting on display in the back of a cart. He hated having so much attention lathered on him, like an expensive horse. He was still bristling at Dat’s insistence on cutting the Englishers off, but there was no getting around it. A father’s rule was law.
When the last song had been sung and the Ausbunds had been closed, James watched as the ministers left the barn, followed by the elders. Old Jacob Fisher nodded as he rolled past, his wheelchair pushed by his son Kevin. Jacob had also been injured in the van crash. A few of his ribs had been cracked, causing a punctured lung. Gott had blessed him with good health once again, though he was now eighty-eight.
When it was their turn, Dat pushed James out of the barn.
“It was a right good service,” Dat said. “Easter always brings renewal and new life. Look at Eve Beiler’s flowers there.” A garden thick with yellow daffodils and red and purple tulips bordered the front of the Beilers’ house. “Those daffodils, reaching toward the sun, show us how we must reach for the light of the Savior.”
“Ya, spring is a time of hope,” James agreed. “Makes a man think he can do anything with Gott’s blessing.” Of course, he was hoping Gott would help him rise from his wheelchair, but he knew his father didn’t see that as a possibility anymore.
As the rest of the folks filed out of the barn, Peter emerged and headed toward them. “There you are. I got James now, Dat.”
As if James were a little one to be corralled, his family took extra care so that there was always someone by his side to wheel him around at church and social events. James hated it. And this was the time after church that was most awkward, as most of James’s friends, like Jonah King, Ruben Zook, or Rachel’s brother Abe, were off helping to reset the church benches for seating for the church meal.
“Good, because I just spotted Abe Zook, and I haven’t seen him for two weeks at least,” Dat said. “Let me ask him when he’s planning to step up the hours at Zook’s barn for the spring season.”
“There’s something we forgot today,” James said as Peter pushed him over toward a group of young men gathering by a fence. “When we get home, you and Luke need to hide those colored eggs out in the orchard. Just at the edge of the yard.”
“The Easter egg hunt. I can’t believe Mamm and Dat forgot.”
“They’ve had their hands fu
ll this year,” James said. “But I think Hannah, Lovina, and Mark will enjoy searching for eggs. Maybe even Verena. Thirteen isn’t too old to have a little fun.”
“You’re never too old to have fun,” Peter said.
Looking ahead at Peter’s friends, Amish youth still in their rumspringa, James knew his brother truly hoped to enjoy everlasting fun. Peter was still feeling his oats, enjoying the singings and youth events, driving different girls home on different nights. He had fitted his buggy with a boom box, and he’d even taken a job busing tables at a diner in Halfway to make more money for Englisher things, like movies and a cell phone.
By contrast, Peter’s twin, Luke, said he was aiming to be baptized in the fall. Luke had been keeping company with Deb Fisher since he’d started rumspringa, and though he enjoyed taking his buggy out, his heart was at home, caring for the team of horses, the chickens, and the milk cows.
By the time Peter and James were halfway down the lane, Peter’s group was hopping the fence, heading down to the pond, probably to skip rocks and maybe even dip their feet into the cold water before it was their turn to sit and eat church supper.
“Looks like your friends are off to the pond for a swim,” James teased.
“They’ll freeze if they do. We were just ice-skating on that pond last month.”
“Hold on there.” James stopped the wheelchair, knowing there was no way he’d be venturing down to the pond right now. He glanced over to the greenhouse, where Rachel stood talking with a few other young women.
“Go on and follow your friends and you’ll be off the hook for babysitting me.”
“I don’t mind,” Peter said earnestly as he came around the chair. He pointed to the far fence. “I can wheel you through the gate. Trust me, I’ll get you down to the water.”
“Nay. Go on. I’ll go talk to Rachel, and I can get there on my own steam. These arms know how to turn a wheel.”
Tipping his hat back, Peter smiled. “If you say so.”
The young women were chatting and giggling together, but when James approached, they went silent. Hannah Stoltzfus had to press her lips together to hold in the little peeps of laughter, and Becky Yoder stared down at the ground. That was normal—the self-conscious feeling that came over a group of girls or fellas around the opposite gender.
But as soon as Emma Lapp asked how he was feeling, the doleful looks and words of sympathy gushed out. The girls’ sad faces were enough to send James wheeling in the opposite direction. He didn’t need their pity; he was crippled, not dead. Besides that, he was determined not to stay this way.
The Amish community had given him financial and moral support. James was thankful for everything, but he had no use for their pity.
“Rachel,” James said, cutting right to the point, “will you walk with me up to the house?”
“Sure.”
She pushed his wheelchair over to the simple white farmhouse with black trim. James put the brakes on his chair, and Rachel sat on the edge of the wooden porch, a height that was better for conversation.
“I barely slept a wink last night, thinking about things,” Rachel admitted. “What I told you about living away from a farm or orchard … it’s true, James. I can think of nothing more wonderful good than painting all through the morning, afternoon, and night. But I didn’t mean that I’m happy you’re in that chair right now. You know I pray every day for Gott to heal you.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “When I lose patience, it’s with myself, not you.”
“I wish there was some way I could help you,” she said, her voice hoarse with tears. “But you keep closing the door on me, James. You’ve got to stop doing that. Please, let me in.”
Looking over at the flush of heat on her cheeks and the sparkle of tears in her sky-blue eyes, James felt his throat grow tight. He hated to see her cry over him. He had wanted to be with Rachel since the summer of long ago when she had been one of the Amish youths hired on to help harvest the fruit at the Lapp orchard. He remembered the way she had climbed the ladders, the graceful sweep of her slender arm as she reached for a ripe peach. The way sunshine bathed her golden hair and white kapp, her rose-colored dress and sun-bronzed skin.
She had stolen his heart back then. And now that he knew her well, he couldn’t picture his life without her. He would never love any other woman the way he loved Rachel King.
And it was because he loved her that he needed to do this.
For the first time, he could see what he would have to do. And the terrible truth took the breath from his body, like a stab in the chest.
He had to stop pressing his burden upon her shoulders. He would not saddle Rachel with the chores of tending to him. He would not be the leper who made her friends look uncomfortable when he came over. If Rachel got stuck with him, she might as well be crippled, too, and he would not—he could not—do that to her.
“Since the accident, I’ve had a lot of time to think.” Days and nights, endless hours. “I’ve been praying, too. And I think Gott is showing me what must be done.”
“That’s good,” she said encouragingly.
He turned away. He couldn’t bear to see the openness in her smile, the spark of interest in her eyes.
“Here’s the truth. You and me, we don’t belong together.”
“What?” Her head snapped toward him so fast, one of her kapp strings went flying. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re free to go court other fellas.”
“Are you verhuddelt?” She squinted at him. “Why would I do that, when I want to be with you? See, this is what I mean. Every time I get close to you, you slam a door in my face.”
He hadn’t expected her to argue. He closed his eyes and took a breath as he remembered the many things they had in common. Their enjoyment of ice-skating and Wiffle ball, Jenga and ice cream. How they had worked side by side in the orchard, talking and humming as the baskets filled with peaches and pears. The way they could finish each other’s sentences and make each other laugh.
“You can’t say we don’t belong together, because you know it’s not true,” she finished.
“We’ve had some good times,” he admitted, keeping his voice low so that all of the congregation wouldn’t hear them. “But the past is long gone. Things have changed, and you need to accept that. I’ve changed. I’m not the man I used to be.” The words stuck in his mouth like peanut butter, but he had to say it. “I can’t be your beau, Rachel. You deserve a man who can stand on his own two feet, a man who can make a life with you. That’s not me. Not anymore.”
She swiped tears from her cheeks, then leaned forward from the edge of the porch. “I can accept a lot of things, but I’m not going to let you push me away. I’m just going to make like you never said those things.”
“Rachel, I’m doing this for your own good.”
“Who are you to say what’s good for me?” She lifted her chin toward the spring sky. “For that, I count on Gott in heaven.” She rose, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. “I’m going back to my friends. And I’m going to give you a chance to think about everything you said. You’ve got one strike, like in baseball.” She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, her brows knit together in a stern expression. “But no more strikes. You don’t want to get an out.”
Dazed, James watched her walk away. Who would have thought Rachel had that spunk? He had expected the tears, but not the struggle of a defiant horse. Confusion roiled inside him as he maneuvered his chair away from the house, away from Rachel and her friends, away from the prying eyes of Amish folk who had gathered to chat before the meal.
Suddenly, the chair listed to the side and sank down.
James braced himself as the wheelchair fell back and settled into a furrow. Ach! Just what he didn’t need! He pushed with all his might, but the wheel on the right side was clearly caught in a rut.
“James, are you stuck?” Dat emerged from a group of men, along with his friend Alvin Yoder. Toget
her, the two men lifted that side of the chair and pushed until it had traction on the packed dirt again. James kept quiet the whole time, but it didn’t matter, as Dat and Alvin kept up their conversation about the high price of land in Lancaster County.
Without giving James a choice, they wheeled him over to sit beside Jacob Fisher’s wheelchair.
“Those are some fat tires you got on that chair,” Jacob said, squinting as he stared down at the wheels.
“It’s an all-terrain chair,” James explained. “It’s supposed to go anywhere. But it doesn’t. I still get stuck.”
“Ya. There’s always some sticky patches in life that pull us in from time to time,” Jacob said. “Wheelchair or not.”
In the past, James had steered clear of old Jacob, who was stern and brisk, nothing like Elmo Lapp, who prided himself on making folks smile. Yet despite Jacob’s prickly mood, many men came over to visit with him. Listening to the others talk, James felt abandoned, like a man lost in the woods.
As the men conversed and chuckled, he dreamed of escape. If he had his legs, he would jump in his buggy and leave. He snorted. Ya, but if he had his legs, he wouldn’t be wanting to leave. He would be helping the men move benches, or tossing stones into the pond, or teasing Rachel about the gmay cookies she’d made for the children to have during church.
Instead, he was stuck here, waiting on others to wait on him. He sank into himself and prayed that Gott would not leave him to be half a man forever.
Emotion was a knot in Rachel’s throat from the time James had words with her, through the noon lunch at the Beilers’ place, a nice social affair with homemade bread, ham, two kinds of cheese, peanut butter spread, pickles, red beets, hot peppers, and large gmay and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. All that time, Rachel put on a good, social face, smiling at the little ones and helping to clear away plates. When friends talked about the singing that night, she smiled along, though she knew she wouldn’t be going. She had no desire to be there without James, and he had no desire to be with her.
A Simple Hope Page 9
