“A town nearby?”
Rose nodded. “A forty-minute buggy ride.”
“Will ya write letters, then?”
“We haven’t even had our first date yet, Hen.”
“Sorry . . . guess I got ahead of myself.”
Rose laughed quietly. “Better slow down, or you’ll have me married next thing.”
“So, you really like this fella?”
“I wouldn’t be tellin’ you if I didn’t.” Rose smiled at her. “And you’ll keep it mum, jah?”
“Cross my heart.” Hen looked at her. “Now you’re blushing, Rosie.”
“I ’spect I am.”
“When will you see him again?”
“He wants to take me ridin’ next weekend.” Rose picked up another plate and dried it. “I’ve said yes, but the youth in our church district will wonder if I don’t go to Singing—on Sunday.”
Hen nodded. “Prob’ly so . . . but they’ll just have to wonder, ain’t?”
“Oh,” she groaned. “I hope I’m doin’ the right thing.”
“Well, if you’re not . . . I don’t know who is.” Hen meant it.
“I don’t want to displease the Lord . . . or Dat and Mamm.”
“As long as you’re thinking that way, you’ll be fine.” She wondered if Rose was still brooding over Nick. Oh, she hoped not!
“It’s not too soon to be courted by someone new, is it?” asked Rose.
“Well, that depends how you parted with your former beau,” Hen suggested.
“The feelings were mutual, believe me.”
“Well, then, you could pray about it.”
“I do every day.”
“And so do I—for you! But I’m talking about praying for God’s choice in a mate—such an important decision.” As if I should be talking . . .
They finished up the dishes in no time, and Rose hung the tea towel to dry. “How’s Brandon doin’ since he went to the doctor last?”
“Between you and me, I think he’s become pretty frustrated. For a while there, he was starting to see shadows and glimpses of light.”
“And now?”
“Only taunting flickers.” Hen sighed. It was so hard to talk about this, even with her sister. “I just wish he’d rest more. It really worries me.”
Rose seemed to hesitate, then asked, “What if he’s blind forever?”
“I’m sure he fears that. It must be driving him nearly crazy.”
“It would anyone.”
Hen reached to embrace Rose. “Each and every morning, I wake up hoping this is the day he’ll see again. It just breaks my heart.”
“I pray for that, too. Even though it would change everything for you and Mattie Sue, ain’t so?” Rose stepped back, still holding Hen’s arms. She glanced out the window. “Ach, someone’s here. Must be Brandon.”
Hen looked to see Bruce’s car pulling up.
“Daddy’s home!” Mattie Sue went running to the door, Wiggles right behind her, barking and wagging his little tail.
Hen clasped Rose’s hand as she watched her daughter. “She loves him so much,” she whispered.
“Ain’t hard to see that.” Rose’s eyes softened and held her gaze. “What about you, sister?”
The question took Hen off guard. She paused a moment and realized the truth: She did love her husband. She’d never stopped. “Jah, I love him, Rosie. I truly do.”
“Oh, Hen. I feel for ya . . . honestly.” Rose kissed her cheek and went to grab her shawl. “I’ll be seein’ ya,” she called, rushing to get out the door before Brandon entered.
“Come again soon.”
Rose said she would and waved good-bye.
Hen put on a cheery face as she heard two sets of footsteps and Brandon’s voice outside. “Thanks for your help,” she heard him tell Bruce.
Her husband managed to get inside without Bruce’s assistance. Mattie Sue greeted him, hanging on to his strong arm as she guided him into the kitchen. Hen had heard somewhere that when one aspect of the senses was hampered, the others were heightened, but she didn’t know if that was true for Brandon.
Mattie Sue helped him remove his coat and scarf, jabbering about visiting Mommy’s grandparents and meeting a new little cousin named Becky Mae. “She was teeny tiny, Daddy, but she could talk Amish even better than me. Can you imagine that?”
“She doesn’t know any different, right?” he replied.
Mattie Sue continued, still talking about little Becky Mae while Brandon smiled. Hen, too, was eager to go and welcome him home, but try as she might, something held her back.
Hen had risen before dawn, wanting some time alone. She’d read several psalms before praying once more for her husband’s sight to be restored, no matter the eventual consequences for her and Mattie Sue.
In the stillness of her room as Brandon slept in the spare room down the hall, she shared her frustrations with God—and her worries and fears. Leaving Brandon and coming to live here hadn’t been the wisest thing she’d done. Hen knew that. But now that she was quite thoroughly enmeshed again in the Old Ways, she was no more ready to abandon them and simply walk away.
“Please lead me on the right path, dear Lord,” Hen prayed as she did each and every day. “And create in me a pure heart before you.”
After breakfast Monday, Solomon trudged through the snow on Salem Road, bypassing his usual shortcut to Bishop Aaron’s house by way of the back meadow. Like Rose—and Emma, too—he would always think of his kindhearted neighbor and friend as Bishop. In his thinking, nothing had changed.
Breathing in the icy air, Sol was glad for the brim of his black felt hat as the snow fell in heavy flakes, sticking to his old work coat. The silence around him was uncanny. When he set out walking this stretch any other season, the air was filled with the chirping and buzzing of birds and insects. Now the only sound was his boots crunching against the snow as he watched thousands of white flecks descend the sky and cover the landscape.
Deep winter—such weather for Emma’s surgery. Sol wondered if the ice and snow would impede their travel to York. Of course, plenty could change between now and next Thursday, that was certain. He’d lived long enough to know that things were constantly changing—for both good and bad.
When he arrived at the bishop’s, Barbara was reading her Bible in the corner of the kitchen, wrapped in an afghan. Aaron, too, was reading, but Sol couldn’t quite make out what. Most likely it was the Farm Journal, with its listings of upcoming auctions and whatnot.
“Mornin’, Aaron . . . Barbara,” he said after knocking lightly on the back door and being told to “Kumme in.”
Aaron knew why he was there and proceeded with him to the kitchen table, where Sol showed him the building permit, then laid out the approved plans for Gilbert Browning’s addition.
“We can get goin’ on this first thing tomorrow.” Sol filled him in on Gilbert’s mother’s recent move there. “She and the family will get cramped mighty quick, I daresay.”
“I’ve already talked to several young men from the church,” Aaron said. “We’ll make fast work of it, ain’t?”
“That we will,” Sol agreed. He was looking forward to working alongside his friend and other menfolk. “Oh, and I’ll be with Emma on Thursday, when she has her surgery, then back and forth to York for quite a few days. We’ll just have to see how things go.”
“There’ll be plenty of prayers goin’ up for her that day and onward,” Barbara said from the corner of the kitchen.
“Denki,” Sol replied. “Means a lot.” He added, “And Emma wants yous to come over for a meal before then. I’d like that, too.”
“Why, sure . . . but only if we can bring along some food,” Barbara piped up again.
Sol knew they’d be helping out some with meals later on, as well, once Emma was released from the hospital and home from rehabilitation. “We miss your spiritual wisdom, Aaron.”
His friend said nothing to that, but Barbara said several families wanted to gather
with him for just that reason. “They’ve asked him to preach or teach privately. Nearly like a Sunday school—like some do out in Ohio and Indiana . . . in places.”
This was the first Sol had heard of it. “I can see wanting that. But be careful, lest those who silenced ya in the first place oust you altogether.”
Aaron’s meek countenance said it before he did. “Oh, there’ll be no secret Bible studies. Except maybe another one with your son-in-law.”
This surprised Sol. “You mean Brandon’s open to talking ’bout Scripture?”
“Seems to be. ’Course now, remember that even the apostle Paul had to be struck down blind before he’d bend his knee.”
At Aaron’s offhand description, Barbara let out a little disapproving gasp. Other than back when Nick and Christian were at odds, Sol hadn’t heard Aaron talk so.
“Hen’s husband is full up with questions,” Aaron added. “Has nothing to draw on spiritually.”
Sol suspected as much. “No church affiliation, then?”
Aaron pursed his mouth. “I suggest ya pray for him. He’s struggling as any of us would be, searching for meaning in all this.”
“Denki for takin’ time to help him,” Sol said. “And we do pray.”
“I sometimes wonder if the Lord is permitting this silencing for a larger purpose . . . as something He’s using to draw Brandon to experience the mercy and grace of our Lord.”
Something good will come of it, Sol thought.
They were silent for a moment as Sol refolded the blueprints. “Why don’t you come for supper tomorrow night?”
“Are ya sure?” Barbara asked.
“Rose and Sylvia will do the cookin’—no need to bring anything.”
Barbara smiled secretively, and Sol guessed she’d do as she pleased, which more than likely meant a pineapple upside-down cake was in his near future!
Mattie Sue scampered to the barn to help Hen’s brother Joshua feed the calves while Hen and Brandon remained at the table. Unlike other days, they’d lingered over a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and homemade waffles . . . the latter at Mattie’s request. Hen wasn’t accustomed to making so much to eat in the morning, but because they’d gotten a later start than usual, it seemed like a good idea. Especially because Mattie Sue was so eager for her daddy to “eat like an Amish farmer.” Both Hen and Brandon had erupted in a good laugh at this.
Presently, Hen offered Brandon another cup of coffee. He stirred it and waited for it to cool. “I plan to stay home to rest most of this week,” he told her.
This was a relief, but it surprised Hen.
“I’ve been pushing it and need to follow the doctor’s advice if I’m ever going to get better,” Brandon admitted.
She agreed, glad he was willing.
Sitting there, he began to talk about Aaron’s latest visit, mentioning that the bishop had some upcoming building on his mind. “I didn’t realize this before, but I guess the Amish really can—and do—raise a barn in a single day. That’s right up my alley.”
“It is amazing,” she replied as she reached for her own coffee. “So Aaron’s sounding chipper as ever—just as I remember. For all the years I’ve known him, I have never heard him speak a negative word.”
“I still don’t know how he does it, staying optimistic with things as they are.”
“So you must’ve talked further on this?”
Brandon sighed and she waited for him to reply.
“Like he said before, he’s thankful for the opportunity to trust God and believes he has no right to question.” Brandon rested his left hand on his right, fingering the hard cast. “He also insists my blindness is part of God’s plan. Which, of course, is nuts.”
“Aaron lives his life in accordance with the Good Book,” Hen replied softly.
Brandon blinked and squinted, as if struggling to see again. “Well, that’s pretty messed up, if you think about it.”
“Not if you accept Scripture as truth.”
He chuckled offhandedly. “Aaron actually quoted a verse from the Old Testament about that.”
“Was it this? ‘O Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.’ ”
“Yes, that’s the one.” He ran his hand over his stubbled chin. “He honestly believes that the lousy things that happen are God’s will. That God allows bad things to happen.”
“The sovereignty of God,” Hen said softly.
“Call it whatever you want. The way I see it, Aaron’s in denial about his situation—that ridiculous silencing. He’s going to crack, you’ll see. Just like I’m going to if I don’t get my sight back soon.”
Hen bit her lip to prevent a retort from escaping. Best just to let him vent.
Brandon squinted again, as if trying desperately to break through the thick veil that blanketed his sight. “My whole life has been turned inside out. I can’t get a grip on anything.” His voice broke with emotion and he fell silent.
Getting up, she quickly went to him and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned his head against hers for the longest time, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he was silently weeping. “Even though we accept the providence of God, that doesn’t mean we can’t pray,” Hen ventured. “I know that Aaron’s praying for you. All of us are.”
“Much good it’s done.”
“That’s where trust comes in.” She released him, standing near.
“We have to accept whatever happens as God’s will, right?”
She swallowed hard. “I realize this must be terribly hard for you.”
“Hen?” Brandon raised his head.
“I’m here.” She looked at him, and for just a moment his manner was so vulnerable, even tentative, she could scarcely remember his former arrogance. She rested her hand on his good arm.
“I appreciate that . . . more than you know.”
She hadn’t ever expected to hear this and didn’t know how to respond. Wiping back tears, she said nothing.
“Are you crying?” He turned to face her. “You are, aren’t you?”
She didn’t want to admit it. After all they’d been through, Hen still didn’t want to let her guard down and show him her helpless side. “I’ll be all right . . . really.”
He held out his hand. “I can’t do this alone, Hen.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I don’t want to keep putting you out like this. It’s not fair. You have your life here.”
Not without you and Mattie Sue, she thought, pulling away. “I’ll be fine, really.”
“Right.” He sighed. “Because you can see to drive and move about at will. Yes, I’m sure you’ll be fine even if my nightmare never ends.” His tone had abruptly changed.
Another silent moment passed. At last, Hen voiced the question whose answer she dreaded. “How soon will you go to New York?”
“Not before your mother’s surgery,” he said. “I won’t leave until you know the outcome.”
“Thanks, Brandon—that’s kind of you.”
“Will you go to the hospital with your mother?” he asked.
“All of us are going. Well, most of us.” She explained that her grandparents would stay behind. “Maybe they can watch Mattie Sue that day.”
“How will everyone get there?”
“Dad’s already lined up a good-sized van. Maybe we’ll need another one, if the bishop comes along . . . and he just might.”
Brandon nodded. “I suppose I’d want to have a man like Aaron around if someone was operating on my back.”
She stared at him, surprised at his remark.
“I’d like to go with you to the hospital,” he said suddenly.
“Oh, Brandon . . . honestly?” She lost it then, letting the tears flow.
“Yeah, I’d like to cheer your mom on somehow . . . I guess being there is the best I can do.”
She nodded silently, unable to speak.
“You all right?”
Hen squeezed his hand and t
ried not to sniffle.
“From what your mother’s told me, this surgery is very serious. There’s a tremendous amount of risk involved.”
“Jah,” Hen managed to say. She gathered herself and blew her nose. “I never thought I’d—”
“Shh,” he said. “You don’t have to say it.” He reached for his coffee cup.
“I wouldn’t have asked you to go along, Brandon.”
He sipped his coffee, then stopped and blinked his eyes repeatedly.
“Are you seeing something?”
“For a second, there were some streaks of light.”
“And now?”
“Gone again.”
Hen felt sure Brandon’s sight would come back if he rested consistently. “Why not lie down now and relax for a while?”
He agreed. “After that, I’d like to go over and visit your mother if she’s up.”
“I’m sure she’d enjoy that.”
He nodded. “So would I.”
Hen waited to clear the table until he’d finished his coffee. Meanwhile, she thanked the Lord for the fleeting light Brandon had just experienced. May he also cling to the light of your truth in due time, she prayed.
Rose was on her way to the house from the barn when she looked up to see her grandfather turn into the driveway with the team. He waved to her slowly and called her name. “Rosie-girl, won’t ya come help me unhitch George?” She picked up her skirt and hurried over, always glad to lend a hand.
“Mighty nice of you,” he said, getting out of the carriage with a long groan. “Ach, the ol’ bones are creakin’ more than usual. Cold sure has gotten the best of me.”
“Where’ve you been, Dawdi?”
“Heard from Gilbert that Jeb’s been under the weather lately. So I went over to have a look-see.”
“Oh?” She wondered if Mr. Browning and Jeb had become friends. The elderly man in the ravine could certainly use a good one.
“Your grandmother cooked up a hot dish of chicken and homemade noodles.”
“Bet he was glad to see you comin’!”
Dawdi Jeremiah chuckled. “Was he ever.”
They brought the driving lines forward out of the buggy, then hung them on the ring in the middle of the harness. “Sure do think the People may have misjudged him all these years,” Dawdi said, unhooking the back hold strap on his side.
The Mercy Page 8
