by Beth Wiseman
“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 she’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 eithe
r 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.”
“Can’t someone step in? Social services or—”
Simon held up his hand, palm out. “I can’t share all of the specifics. I can tell you that the family has been thoroughly investigated, and nothing against the law is going on in the home.”
“So the other children will stay.”
“Ya, for now they will.” Simon stood. “Should I go down the hall and see Mary Ann?”
“She’s resting. Hopefully she’s asleep.”
“Then tell her I will be praying for her healing, and I’d be happy to stop back in a few days to check on her.”
“Danki.”
Emma walked him to his buggy. Glancing toward the barn, she saw Joseph with one of Ben’s horses. He was brushing the gelding with solid, gentle strokes. The horse looked completely satisfied, if a horse could wear such an expression.
“There is one more thing.” Simon had already climbed up into his buggy. His eyes had become even more serious than before. “Nancy Schlabach . . .”
Emma might have cringed at her name. Surely nothing had happened to the young woman or her boys.
“We’re going to have to move her out of their home until Owen can be treated for his condition. He won’t go to any of the facilities we’ve suggested. Or at least he won’t at this point, but it’s no longer safe for her or the boys to be there. Another incident and the police will be involved.”
“What can I do to help?” The words popped out of her mouth before she’d fully considered them. She already had a crippled mother and a runaway boy under her care.
“I’ve been looking for a place for them to stay—a safe place within our community.” He motioned out the front of his buggy, toward their garden and Danny’s pond. “This would be a gut place, if you’re willing to have them.”
Emma swallowed the excuses that threatened to rise to her lips. “Of course.”
It would be selfish to talk of any difficulties she might have when that poor woman and her children were in danger.
“The Lord bless you, Emma. You know it is possible that Gotte is going to use you, use this place, to care for others.”
Emma didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent.
“I’ll be in touch.” And with that, he murmured to his horse.
Emma watched as they made their way down the lane.
Had she just agreed to house a woman and two small children? Had she agreed to care for more if the need arose? Their community didn’t have any more problems than other Amish groups, but in her mind’s eye, she pictured a long line of folks making their way down the lane and to their front porch.
A feeling of panic bubbled in her stomach, but she pushed it down.
As the Good Book says, “Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Certainly that had been true for the past twenty-four hours. No need to borrow problems from the next day when she had quite enough already! But the same Scripture said something about God’s provision. Emma walked into the kitchen, picked up Mary Ann’s Bible, and paged over to the Gospel of Matthew.
“Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?” She sank into the chair and continued reading. “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”
For the first time since she’d spied Mary Ann lying on the ground, peace flooded her heart. She didn’t know how long it would take Mary Ann to heal. She didn’t know what Joseph’s problems were. And she couldn’t begin to understand what help Nancy and her boys needed.
But God knew.
God knew, and His grace would pull them through.
CHAPTER TEN
Danny waited as long
as he could to check on Mary Ann the next day. He’d been tempted to stop by in the morning, when he’d taken Shadow on his early morning walk, but he’d resisted. Then as he worked trimming the bushes and flowers bordering his house, he thought about going over. Perhaps they were both resting though, and he didn’t want to disturb that. Finally in the afternoon, after he’d rewritten the same page three times, he called it a day and gave in to the desires of his heart.
He didn’t want to be a pest, but he needed to assure himself that Mary Ann was healing and that Emma was coping with the latest emergency. She’d appeared quite shaken the day before. Thinking Shadow might be able to bring a smile to her face, Danny called out to him, and the dog obediently fell in step behind him.
The dog’s training was coming along well, better than Danny had expected. As they walked toward Emma’s, Shadow emitted an occasional whine—no doubt wanting to chase the birds rimming the small pond or take off after the rabbit that hopped across their path. Shadow fairly quivered in anticipation of a good romp, but he stayed at Danny’s heel. Perhaps on the way back he’d allow him a good run.
He found Emma and Mary Ann in the garden. No big surprise there. Mary Ann was wearing the big black boot, which stuck out from under her dark-blue dress. She looked good, her color back and her customary smile adorning the wrinkles on her face. She reminded Danny of his own mother, and he understood firsthand how important she was to Emma.
Emma, on the other hand, looked as if she had spent the day chasing after one of her grandchildren.
“I was successful keeping Mamm indoors and resting for the morning, but by afternoon she was a force to be reckoned with.”
“She does love her garden.”
“I can hear you both,” Mary Ann called from her bench, where she sat with a shawl around her shoulders. “Surely I can’t run into trouble by sitting in the garden. The flowers are beginning to bloom, and I want to enjoy their color and breathe in their scent.”
Emma was feeding the roses with the old coffee grounds she kept for just that purpose. Danny knelt beside her, and they worked the old grounds into the dirt with a hand trowel.
