by Gayle Roper
Becky nodded. “I think so too.”
“I’m a Christian, and I know He’s with me. I know lots of English people who are believers and will tell you the Lord is with them too.”
“I had a job cleaning for an English lady back home.” Becky said. “She was a Christian too. She talked to me about Jesus, and she gave me an English Bible that was easy to read.” She reached under her pillow and pulled out a much used paper cover Bible.
“When I learned I was going to have a baby, I went to her. I told her about Samuel and how much I loved him. I thought that because she was fancy, she would say what we did was okay. She didn’t. She agreed with Mama that I was wrong, that we were wrong. But not because of Mama or the Ordnung, she said. Because of the Bible.” Becky ran her hand across the cover of her obviously cherished Book.
“Then about grace she told me. About Jesus. I heard about Him all my life, but finally I understood. Now He’s my Savior.”
I thanked God for the English woman who had such a great heart.
Becky slipped off the bed and laid Trevor in his nest in his basket on the floor. She began covering him with blankets. “I brought Samuel to my lady too. I wanted him to know Jesus like me.” She stopped and blushed as she glanced at me. “He needed to understand why I wouldn’t get into bed with him anymore.”
She stood, suddenly concerned lest I misunderstand. “Samuel is not bad,” she said. “He isn’t, even though he’s meidung. He’s practical. That’s what he always tells me. That’s why he got the truck. Because it’s practical, Becky. That’s what he says.”
“Becky, if you love him, I’m sure he’s a fine man. You wouldn’t love him otherwise.”
Her smile was so bright that my breath caught. I realized that she rarely had the luxury of talking about Samuel. That was part of shunning.
“So has Samuel trusted Jesus too?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, tears gathering in her eyes. “I haven’t seen him in so many months or been able to talk to him. He doesn’t know about Trevor, that he was born, that he’s sick. My heart breaks that he doesn’t know.”
My heart broke a bit too. “Have you never tried to call him at the phone shanty?”
“I tried when I first came, but they saw me. My grandfather said I would have to leave if I tried again. I was seven months pregnant. Where would I go?”
What would I have done, I wondered, under an ultimatum like that? Honored my dictatorial grandfather or followed my heart? It was a hard question to answer because I viewed the whole question from what I considered a normal perspective, while Becky had been immersed in another way of thinking her whole life. Certainly she was rebelling and planning to break free, but that was with Samuel by her side. Here, alone, knowing no one?
“I did try again,” she confided, glancing at the door as if afraid of being overheard. “But no one answered the first two times I tried. Then I got a message saying the phone was disconnected. Samuel had moved, I guess. I don’t know. I didn’t worry too much at first. I would only be here until the baby was born and then I would go home. Somehow I would go home.”
We looked at Trevor.
“And now you can’t leave,” I said.
“I can’t risk the travel, the cold. And I can’t leave his doctors.”
I reached out and hugged this young woman who was enduring such pain on so many levels. She clung to me like a limpet to a rock. I wondered when the last time was that she had been hugged.
“It’ll be all right, Becky,” I said. “It’ll be all right.”
Why, I wondered even as I spoke, do we say such inane things, such impossible-to-be-true things?
“It is all right,” she said softly as she loosened her death grip though she did not let go completely. “I have my baby. I have you. I will have Samuel. And I have Herr Gott.”
What a combination of deep wisdom and pure naiveté.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Becky jumped away from me. She turned her back to the door, but not before I saw the tears wetting her cheeks.
One of Annie’s female visitors stopped in the doorway, looking around the small room with a frown.
“Yes?” I said.
“The coroner is here. The other man asked could I get you.”
“Thank you,” I said in my best professional voice and moved to the door. “You keep that baby covered and warm, Becky. I’m depending on you to take good care of him, just like you’ve been doing. Drafts would be very bad for him. And you need to make another doctor’s appointment as soon as possible. I don’t like his coloring.”
Without turning, she nodded and bent over the baby’s basket. “I will,” she promised, playing my nurse–patient game with me for the benefit of the woman. “I will.”
I got back to Zooks’ at four in the morning and was halfway up the stairs to my rooms when a deep voice stopped me.
“Are you okay?”
I turned and looked at Jake as he stared up the steps at me. The darkness at the foot of the stairwell hid his face, but his voice held a palpable concern.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, surprised and pleased that he had waited up to be certain I was all right. I also wondered just what this solicitude meant in the scheme of life. One thing for certain: for someone who presented himself as a curmudgeon, Jake Zook definitely had a tender heart.
“It was Old Nate,” I said. “He’s dead.”
A burst of air indicated his surprise. Then he nodded and was gone.
I continued to my rooms, tore off my clothes, and dropped them in a heap on the floor. I tossed my glasses in the general direction of the night table and fell into bed, totally exhausted. I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow and I slept deeply, untroubled by nightmares or dreams.
Chapter 6
When I awoke, a glance at my clock showed that I could just make church if I really moved. I washed, dressed, and generally made myself presentable as quickly as I could. When I came downstairs, the family was gone, off to worship or sit the Amish version of shivah with Annie. Of Jake there was no sign.
I slid into the back pew as the singing began, a definite change of pace for me. I liked to sit in the front because the congregation’s voices washed over me and made the music so alive. When I got to heaven, one of the things I looked forward to most was being able to sing like I wanted. In fact, I’d probably sing better than I hoped because right now I was too human to imagine what heavenly singing sounded like.
This morning I found that the music made me teary and the message moved me more than usual. I slipped out during the closing prayer. I was too emotional from the past two days to make small talk.
I drove back to the farm in silence. In a few hours I’d be back in my apartment, sitting on my lumpy couch, watching TV as I did some needlepoint. I’d flick the dust cloth over surfaces that didn’t get dusty because nothing happened in the rooms to cause dust. I’d climb into bed and fall asleep until my clock radio blasted me awake. I’d eat a quick breakfast of granola and yogurt while I read a magazine or a novel.
And I’d do it all alone.
I’d moved from my mother’s house shortly after I got my BSN. She never asked me to leave or indicated in any way that she expected me to go, but I knew I had to for my own sanity. I couldn’t face another day of her unspoken reproof, though I couldn’t blame her for it either. I just knew I’d wither under another of her noble sighs or sorrowful stares into space.
Sometimes I wanted to scream, “Mom, get a life!” But how could I when I was responsible for the life she no longer had?
So I moved to Bird-in-Hand because I got my job at the Home Health Group and became affiliated with the East Lancaster Ambulance and Rescue Squad. I found my church and got involved with a singles group and made some nice friends.
But I was still alone. Perhaps I was afraid to get close to anyone because I didn’t want the pain of losing them. Perhaps I would have been a loner even without the tragedy. I had no way of knowing
.
I pulled into the Zooks’ drive and went into the house. I didn’t even have the door shut when Jake wheeled in from his rooms.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, frowning.
“Church,” I said, thinking he really had to do something about his people skills. “It’s Sunday. I always go to church on Sunday.”
“You should have slept in. You were out late last night.”
I shook my head. “If I slept in following every night I ran, I’d have been fired long ago.”
He harrumphed and cleared his throat. He must have decided he wasn’t going to get anywhere in this discussion because he said, “Mom left some food for us in the refrigerator.”
Suddenly I missed the breakfast I hadn’t had time to eat. “Great! I’m famished. Let me change, and I’ll be right back down.”
We sat at the kitchen table with a round of ring bologna, a half dozen pickled eggs, a wedge of Muenster cheese, and a loaf of Mary’s honey oat bread. There were a couple of pieces of Esther’s apple pie for dessert. We had just cut ourselves slices of meat and cheese when the front door banged open and Elam exploded into the room.
“Well, hello,” Jake said. “I didn’t expect to see you for several hours. Have some lunch.” And he indicated the food on the table.
Elam gave us a lowering glance, his gray eyes hostile and unhappy. He hung his hat by the door. I thought it a wonder he didn’t tear the brim off, given the violence with which he impaled it on the peg. He unbuttoned his plain black jacket and pulled it off roughly as he started up the stairs. In a moment we heard him clomping down the hall, his boots striking the floor like a boxer’s fists thudding into a practice bag.
Jake and I looked at each other as a door slammed overhead.
“Mary Clare Epp,” Jake said with a sardonic nod.
“Who’s she?”
“The girl Elam fancies himself in love with. I bet they read the banns for her and Young Joe Lapp this morning.”
“You mean they announced their intent to marry?” I looked at the ceiling. “Poor Elam.”
“I tried to warn him once, but he wouldn’t listen. And if I knew Mary Clare was interested in Young Joe, so did everyone else, believe me.”
“Everyone but Elam.” Thoughtfully I chewed a piece of cheese. “When I was here this summer for your mom, I got the idea that Esther and he were an item.”
Jake grunted. “They would be if Esther had her way. She’s certainly in love with him. I think the only reason she’s still here is that she and Mom hope he’ll come to his senses. Personally I think he’s crazy to prefer Mary Clare to a wonderful girl like Esther.” He savored a piece of her pie, a look of bliss on his face. “Any woman who can cook like this is worth marrying.”
When we finished eating, I rose. “Why don’t you bring the dishes over and I’ll wash?” I suggested.
Jake looked at me without moving, a strange look on his face.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “You aren’t an Amishman anymore. You’re allowed to help in the kitchen. It’s good for you. Remember I was the one out for half the night last night.”
“No, that’s not it,” he said as he collected our dishes. “I don’t mind helping you. It just struck me that you’re the first person who’s asked me to help around the house since I came home.”
I looked at him. “You can’t mean that you sit like a lump all day while people wait on you.”
He took the jar of pickled eggs, the bologna and cheese, and rolled to the propane refrigerator. “I don’t mean that at all. I do all kinds of things. I’ve got weights and an exercise machine for my legs. I take ‘walks’ up and down the road. I pick up my place and work on my van. Now I’ve got college. But no one asks me to do anything.”
I rinsed off the plates I’d washed in hot water heated on the cook stove. “They should have you doing all sorts of jobs if you ask me. It should be part of your rehabilitation, just seeing how much you can do.”
“Father and Elam have had me working some, and I helped paint the fences and porch before my sister’s wedding. But no one asks me to do anything inside.”
“And you never noticed until today?”
“I didn’t.” He was as surprised as I. “I think it’s cultural. Men don’t help around the house because they do so much outside. Women care for the house. It never occurred to me that Mom and Esther were caring too much for me.”
“Coddling you, you mean,” I said as I handed him a wet cloth. “Here. Wipe off the table.”
“Interersting, interesting.” He rolled across the kitchen.
“Interesting nothing,” I said. “You need to do all those caring things for yourself, like dishes and laundry. Get one of those compact washer/dryer units like they have in apartments.”
“Mom’ll never let me. I know her. She’s convinced my rebellion’s going to send me to hell, but she’s going to make my life here as comfortable as possible.”
I watched him as he wiped the table, missing a half dozen spots in the process. Clearly he needed practice. “How do you like college?”
He looked up in surprise. “I was sure you’d jump on my send-me-to-hell comment.”
“Another time,” I said. “Right now I want to know how you like college.”
He grinned, his black eyes sparkling. “I do. I like it very much. I like the learning. I like the questions everyone asks. I like the lectures and the library. I even like the quizzes. Is that nuts or what!”
“It’s nuts,” I agreed, but I understood. I’d always loved learning things too. “What made you decide to go? I mean, why are you going?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s something to do.”
I rinsed out the sink and dried my hands. “I guess that’s a better answer than saying ‘I have no idea,’ but not much.”
“It’s the best I can do at the moment.”
“You should have some goals, some plans.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t.”
He shrugged. “Eventually.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-six.”
I looked at him for a few minutes. “And you don’t know why you’re spending all this money to go to school?” I tried not to sound accusatory, but I wasn’t completely successful. I noticed my fisted hands were planted on my hips. I lowered them and took a deep breath. At least I didn’t have my finger shaking under his nose.
He tightened his jaw. “No, I don’t know why I’m spending all this money.” He balled the cloth he’d wiped the table with and threw it in the sink. “I’m reinventing my life here, Rose, in case you haven’t noticed, and I haven’t got it all figured out yet.” His voice was cold. “Is that okay with you?”
“Only if you truly are trying to figure it out.”
“Hey!” He was quietly and justifiably angry. “A year ago I was a junior-high dropout, a product of the Amish school system. Now I have a GED, I’ve proved myself at Millersville on a conditional acceptance, and I’m a full-time college student. I’d say that wasn’t bad for one year.”
I held up my hand, feeling somewhat embarrassed. What he did with his life wasn’t mine to argue. “You’re absolutely right. In fact it’s quite commendable for one year. I apologize.”
“I’ll get there, Rose. I will.”
“I’m sure you will.” I looked at him and prayed that was so.
“I’ve gotten a taste of using my mind, and I like it. It sure beats riveting together trailer shells.”
“Trailer shells?”
He nodded. “That’s what I used to do. My only complaint is that I had to lose my legs to learn about learning.”
I winced. There was no denying that he’d paid a very heavy price for his new direction.
He looked me right in the eye. “Not everyone’s as driven to prove things as you, Rose.”
I swallowed hard.
“And prove them today.” His voice was quiet but it echoed wildly inside my head.<
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I sat down in Mary’s rocker and stared at my knees. When Jake wheeled beside me, I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. I was ashamed of myself. I’d done it again, taking something that was precious from someone who was special. It wasn’t my mother’s husband and daughter today. It was Jake’s self-respect and a sense of accomplishment. And in the process, I had been cruel.
It was time to collect my duffel and go home.
I got up and started for the stairs. Jake caught my hand as I walked past. “Where are you going?”
“To get my things. It’s time to go home. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“No, no, Tiger.” He pointed to his mother’s chair. “Sit back down a minute. I have something to talk to you about.”
Short of making a scene by pulling my arm from his grasp, I had no choice. I sat.
“Do you like your apartment?” he asked.
I looked at him, disconcerted by the subject change. I was still wallowing in self-inflicted guilt over my inappropriate accusations.
“It’s okay, I guess. Small and dark, but sufficient.” I shrugged. “It came furnished, ugly stuff, but at least I didn’t have to buy much when I moved in. I always plan to replace all the depressing things, but I seem to get a call every time I plan to shop.”
“Would you miss the place if you left it?”
I frowned. “No. Unless it was to go back to Mom’s. I’d miss anything if it was to go back there, even a prison cell.”
Jake grinned. “Then how about renting these rooms?” He waved his hand toward the upstairs apartment.
“Move here?” An emotion I couldn’t define unfurled painfully in my chest at the suggestion. “Here?”
He nodded. “You do like the rooms, don’t you?”
I did. I felt cozy up there, comfortable, at ease in spite of my nightmare. And I felt included down here. It hurt me to acknowledge it, but I’d felt more concern from Mary and Esther—and Jake—over my Friday night tears than I’d felt from my mother in years.
And that, I told myself, was exactly the trouble. I could like it here too much. What would happen when I became a burden to them like I was to my mother? How could I stand the pain of their tolerance?
