Anna's Healing

by Vannetta Chapman

  All work on the quilts and the produce stand and the garden stopped, but those same things filled her dreams. Fabrics sporting ponies, cows, and birds. Sunlight bouncing off buckets of fresh vegetables. Her fingers dipping into the dirt around the garden plants. Her parents and brothers and sister. Erin and Samuel and Jacob and Mammi.

  Always her grandmother provided a bridge between sleeping and waking. At one point Anna thought to ask her if she ever left her room. Was she getting enough sleep? Was she eating? Perhaps it was time Mammi allowed someone else to sit beside her bed. When she managed to voice those concerns, Mammi would smile, pat her hand, and continue doing whatever piece of quilting or knitting that occupied her.

  Time passed, hours and days when her condition stayed the same, until one afternoon for no apparent reason she suddenly worsened.

  There was talk again of moving her, but there was little more that the doctors could do at the hospital. As Amish, the family did not believe in extreme measures. She was receiving excellent twenty-four-hour care from her loved ones and the nurses. Occasionally, a second bag of fluids was piggybacked on the IV because she became dehydrated. She simply couldn’t stay awake long enough to eat or drink. The visiting nurse easily managed these things, and the word hospice whispered through Anna’s mind.

  Was she dying? Would they tell her?

  When her condition continued to deteriorate, it was decided—again—that she would fight this latest battle at home.

  Each time Anna opened her eyes, it was Mammi that she saw, sitting beside her bed, knitting, reading the Bible—her voice a low steady melody that washed over Anna and cooled her brow.

  “Why am I still here?” she asked one morning as a summer sun blazed outside the window.

  “No one wants you back in the hospital.”

  “Doc Hartman—”

  “Even he says you’re receiving the same medicines here you would have there.” Mammi nodded toward the side of Anna’s bed.

  She turned her head and saw a small metal stand holding a stack of medical supplies and the tall metal pole holding the IV bag.

  “The nurses, they take gut care of you, Anna. Don’t worry about having to return to the hospital. We all agree you’ll get better faster in your home.”

  Anna blinked back tears and accepted the chips of ice Mammi spooned into her mouth.

  “My mamm?”

  “She will come next week if you haven’t improved.” Mammi returned to her chair, which she had scooted even closer to the bed. Reaching out, she claimed Anna’s hand. “You have many visitors, Anna. Erin and Samuel, Jacob, and Bishop Levi. Some of the girls from church came by yesterday, and Rebecca Byler came the day before. She brought you some magazines from the store. All of these people are praying for you. Stay strong, child. Focus on letting the medicine work.”

  Anna’s mind went back to her original question. She hadn’t meant why was she still here—at her home. She’d meant why was she still here—on this earth. What was the point? She was such a burden to others. If she could not get well, could not return to the small things she enjoyed, what was the reason to tarry in this life? But she didn’t say any of those things. Instead, she allowed herself to sink back into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

  CHAPTER 39

  The next time Anna woke, Mammi was not in the chair by her bed. Outside the window was a deep darkness. She could make out a smattering of stars and a quarter moon. The lantern beside the chair in the corner of the room was turned down low. She blinked again, wanting to clear the sleep from her eyes. Her mind felt fuzzy and full of cobwebs, but she made a valiant effort to focus on what was happening around her. That was when she recognized the sound—a soft sobbing. Glancing to her right, toward the door, she saw Erin and Mammi. Erin was swiping at her cheeks and Mammi was rubbing her back.

  Why was she crying? What had happened?

  Her heart raced as she imagined another tornado or someone hurt by the tractor. Then she heard Erin whisper her name and break into tears again. “Should we take her to the hospital?”

  “Doc says it won’t make any difference.”

  “But—”

  “She’ll either get better or she won’t.”

  “I can’t bear it. I can’t lose another child. I know Anna is not mine, but it feels as if she is. I simply cannot go through that again.”

  “Gotte never gives us too much,” Mammi reminded her. “Let’s pray together, both of us, that He will spare our Anna.”

  She woke several times the next day, when Dr. Hartman was examining her, as the nurse administered still more meds through her catheter, and when they changed her sheets. None of those things bothered her. She was overwhelmed by the desperate need to fall back asleep. Her struggle to wake fully never lasted more than a couple of minutes. Eventually, she closed her eyes and stopped fighting the weariness. She allowed it to claim her.

  That evening she dreamed again. These weren’t the nightmares that had become familiar. These were new dreams, and they frightened her with their brightness and hope.

  Her and Jacob, walking through a field and holding the hand of a small boy.

  Erin preparing a large meal.

  The bark of a dog, and Samuel working on the tractor, a smile on his face as the crops grew tall and thick around him.

  Her mother and father, bending to kiss her.

  Mammi, smiling as she touched the Bible in her lap.

  Mammi, whispering the promises of God.

  Mammi, believing.

  Anna woke suddenly. Though the small battery-powered lamp dimly lit the room, there was enough light for Anna to see her grandmother. Mammi was there, sleeping in the living room chair, which had been brought into the corner of Anna’s room. Her glasses were on the table beside her, resting on top of the Bible. Her face looked older without them, an assortment of lines and wrinkles—the map of a life rich and full and blessed by God.

  Suddenly, Anna wanted to live.

  More than she had ever wanted anything before, she longed to see another sunrise and to breathe with healthy lungs. She wanted to roll her chair out among the harvest. She wanted to marry Jacob. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she realized she’d been looking at her life all wrong. She’d been so focused on what she had lost since her accident that she hadn’t stopped to consider what she’d gained.

  She was no longer a stranger in her aenti’s home.

  Her onkel cared for her deeply.

  Jacob—always her heart returned to Jacob and his kind eyes, gentle touch, soft words.

  They lived in a caring community that looked after one another. Bishop Levi was a gut man. He would guide them through any troubles they faced. Hadn’t he sat by her bed and prayed for her, for all of them?

  The quilting allowed her to help others. She wanted to feel the pull of thread through fabric again, to piece together blankets of love for the children.

  Anna saw it all clearly as she lay in the dimly lit room in the middle of the night and wept.

  She saw her life, as it truly was, and she longed to grasp it and hold it to her breast.

  “Please, Gotte. Give me another chance. Forgive me—ya, forgive me for all my sins. For not believing. For not appreciating.” Sobs shook her body, and she squirmed down underneath the summer quilt on her bed. She didn’t want to wake Mammi. She didn’t want to alarm anyone, but suddenly the desire to cry out to God was overwhelming. She could no longer deny the need to bare her heart to Him and to share her hopes, her fears, and her dreams.

  She wept and she prayed and she cast all of her cares on her heavenly Father. Once she had done so, she fell into a deep and restful sleep.

  As she slept, her dreams were filled with light, warmth, and a peace unlike any she had ever experienced. Again she walked through a field of wildflowers that winked and nodded in the late afternoon sun. She held a folded quilt in her arms. When she glanced down she saw that rainbows danced across bright blue fabric. Hugging the quilt to her, she walked through the fie
ld of flowers and into crops which were ripe and ready for harvest. In the middle of what should have been Samuel’s field, picnic tables had been arranged like those they set up after Sunday services. Sitting around the table was everyone Anna had ever loved—her parents, brothers and sister, and the members of her new community. Chloe and Jacob sat together, smiling at her.

  “How can I see everyone… everyone in one place?” she murmured.

  The answer seemed to come from all around her. Did she hear it? Or was it merely a truth beating in her heart? “They all love you, Anna. Everyone wanted to be here for this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not important for you to.”

  Anna realized the answers were correct. These people loved her. They always would. And she didn’t need to understand what she was seeing. She only needed to experience this moment of complete peace and surrender to it. So she stepped forward, into the group, and she was surrounded by the unconditional, unlimited love of her family.

  The sun was suddenly brighter, and she had the urge to cover her eyes.

  Excitement rippled through the crowd, and fear quickened her pulse, but one look at Jacob assured her she had nothing to be afraid of. He motioned for her to look up. When she did she saw a clear blue sky, the sun setting and stars beginning to appear. Above and below, over and through the sunset and stars were rainbows—not one but hundreds of rainbows. The sight was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.

  Suddenly she remembered the bishop’s words as he sat and prayed by her side.

  And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come.”

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to bathe in the beautiful promise and healing warmth of God’s Son.

  CHAPTER 40

  Anna woke early the next morning as the dawn began to streak across the eastern sky. The blind covering her window was raised, as it had been since she’d been bedridden, allowing her to study the colors of pink and lavender against the blue of a summer sky. It was beautiful—absolutely beautiful.

  Mammi was once again in the straight-back chair beside her bed. She was quietly reading—from the Psalms—words of blessing and hope. “The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.” Anna was distracted by a distant memory, a dream of light and life-sustaining warmth. Gooseflesh pebbled her arms and her heart—her heart felt light.

  She stretched. The breeze through the window tickled her skin. It was early, based on the softness of the light outside the window, but no doubt Samuel was already in the barn. Did she smell biscuits cooking? Her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry. Ravenous, in fact.

  “You’re awake.” Mammi placed her hand on top of her open Bible.

  “Ya. Something smells gut.”

  “That would be Erin’s biscuits. We also have fresh eggs that Mary Beth brought over.”

  “Sounds wunderbaar.”

  Mammi studied her, pushing her glasses up on her nose as if she needed to see better. “You look gut.”

  “Ya?” Anna smiled, realizing she felt good.

  Mammi reached for the bottle of lotion and began rubbing it into Anna’s arms.

  “You never left me.”

  “Where would I go?”

  “Nein. I mean that you stayed here—since I’ve been sick.”

  “I couldn’t leave you, child, and don’t look as if you’re going to scold me, though you must be quite a bit better if you’re feeling well enough to do that.” Mammi’s smile was pure joy, and Anna thought of the picnic tables, and her family, and the rainbows.

  “Have you ever seen a double rainbow?” She reached out and covered Mammi’s hand with her own.

  “Ya. I have. It’s a beautiful sight indeed.” Mammi peered more closely at her. “Did you have the dreams again?”

  Anna shrugged. A memory danced beyond her reach.

  “Erin will be so happy to see you…” Mammi reached out and ran her fingertips across Anna’s forehead. “To see that you’re better. You gave us quite a scare.”

  “But you aren’t afraid any longer.”

  “Nein.”

  Anna felt an itch and rubbed her toe against the mattress to stop it.

  Mammi turned quickly and stared at the bottom of the bed, where the quilt was tented over Anna’s feet.

  “What is it?” Anna asked, yawning again and shaking the last of sleep’s cobwebs from her mind. She ran her hand through her hair, which felt as if it needed to be washed. “What are you staring at?”

  “You—”

  Anna met her grandmother’s gaze, and she realized what Mammi was speaking of. She understood what had just happened. A slow smile spread across both of their faces. A smile which said this can’t be, but maybe… maybe it was. Or was she dreaming again? But she had never dreamed this, never considered it could be possible.

  “Anna, can you…” Mammi put a finger to her lips, closed her eyes for a moment, and popped them open again. “Can you move your feet?”

  She pointed her feet to the left, to the right, and then she wiggled them back and forth.

  Mammi reached under the blanket and pinched her right calf.

  “Ouch!”

  “You can feel that?”

  “Ya, and it hurt!”

  Mammi let out a whoop of pure joy. “Erin! Come here, Erin! Hurry!”

  Erin ran into the room, a spatula in one hand, an egg in the other. “What is it? Is she—”

  “Anna’s well.”

  Erin closed her eyes, “Danki. Danki, Lord.” She rushed to Anna’s side. “Your color is better.” She too placed a hand on Anna’s forehead. “No fever. None at all.”

  “No, Erin. I’m not talking about the fever. Anna is well.” Mammi motioned toward the end of the bed and gave Anna a pointed look. “Do it again.”

  Anna was suddenly filled with fear. What if they’d imagined it? What if she’d dreamed it? But Mammi’s pinch. That was real. She started with a small wriggle, scooting her feet left and right, left and right.

  And she knew it was real.

  She knew she was healed when Erin’s eyes widened in surprise and all color left her face. She backed away from the bed and then fainted, dropping the spatula and the egg. The spatula bounced once, and the egg splattered on the wood floor. Anna stared at the brown eggshell and yellow yoke and remembered the girl with the quilt—ducks and a yellow border. She suddenly remembered, in complete detail, the dream of the night before. She remembered her family, the picnic tables, the bright sun, and the many rainbows.

  Mammi rushed to Erin’s side and knelt beside her. Anna tossed off her covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, but then she was pulled back by the tug of the IV line. She swung her feet to the other side, stood, and pulled the IV pole with her as she walked over to Erin’s side. Mammi looked up at her, her eyes widened in complete surprise, and her hand shaking as she reached for Anna’s arm.

  “What is it? What’s wrong with Aenti?”

  “Erin is fine. She only fainted. But Anna… Anna, you walked.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Jacob was working in the barn with Samuel. They’d both had their head stuck into the engine of the old tractor for the last hour.

  “Try it now,” Samuel said.

  Jacob walked around and started the engine. The clatter was still there, but it no longer threatened to die. Maybe if they changed—

  His thoughts were interrupted when he heard something that didn’t belong. Something that caused his heart to skitter and his palms to sweat. It was Mammi, hollering at the top of her lungs. He reached back toward the steering column and turned off the tractor.

  Samuel popped his head out from under the hood of the tractor. “Why did you—”

  Then he heard it too. He dropped the rag and wrench, and together they ran toward the house.


  What could have possibly happened? Why hadn’t she used the emergency bell? Why was she running toward the barn?

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Samuel grasped her by the shoulders. “Is it Anna?”

  “Ya. Ya. It is.” Mammi’s hands were out, waving wildly toward the house. “Go to the house. Run! You too, Jacob. Run and see. Anna’s well. Anna’s healed.”

  Shock followed by doubt filled his heart and played across Samuel’s face, but Jacob didn’t stay to hear the rest of their conversation. He turned and ran to the house.

  Not bothering to knock the mud off his shoes, he sprinted through the kitchen and down the hall to Anna’s room. His mind was a white blur of confusion and anxiousness and hope.

  Erin was in a sitting position but paler than the sheets on Anna’s bed. Beside her, a spatula lay in a puddle of splattered egg.

  Then he saw her.

  Anna was kneeling on the floor beside Erin. Her IV pole had hung up on a bedside rug, and the line to her arm was drawn tight.

  Why was she kneeling? How could she sit that way? And why was she consoling Erin?

  His arms began to tremble, and he wondered if his legs would support him.

  At that moment Anna looked up. Her eyes met his, and a smile crept across her face.

  She got to her feet, reached for the IV pole, and walked toward him, rolling the pole beside her. She walked straight into his arms.

  He didn’t realize he was crying until she reached up to wipe away his tears.

  “It’s gut, ya?”

  “But… how…”

  Samuel crowded into the room, followed by Mammi and the nurse who had arrived for the morning shift.

  “Anna?” Samuel’s voice trembled. “Anna—”

  She turned toward her uncle as he covered the few steps between them.

  “Is it true? Are you… are you healed?”

  Anna stared down at her legs—they all did. She was still wearing her nightgown, which reached nearly to her ankles. She wiggled her toes against the floor. “The wood is warm. It feels gut.”

  Samuel let out a holler, swept her up in his arms, and twirled left and then right—going as far as the IV would allow. He laughed and kissed the top of her head. Mammi was shouting, “Our Lord is merciful! He has blessed us! He has heard our prayers!”