Although an Amish minister hardly ever announced what his topic was, Rebecca picked up on a thread of a topic along the lines of forgiveness. Isaac said that Jesus was calling us all to forgive those who trespass against us, no matter how great that trespass was. As he spoke, she watched his gentle eyes. She realized that, yes, this was Isaac’s nature. It almost seemed as if tears weren’t far from his cheeks and his voice was disrupted by a slight catch.
Isaac said that the evil in the world was bound to affect all our lives. He said we are all called as children of God to forgive the person who did the evil, knowing that he needed God as much as we ourselves do. He said this was what it meant to forgive—to grant others the same mercy we had received ourselves.
Rebecca wondered if John would have those same tender eyes when he grew older. Would they have that special softness? She found herself remembering John’s eyes, right there in the middle of the sermon. They did have a little of his father’s gentleness, but they also had a hardness, a lurking storm, like the one that erupted in front of her house on Friday evening.
Was she supposed to forgive and forget all of that? Isaac wasn’t saying anything about forgetting evil, but she wondered if that wasn’t part of it. Could she just forget what had happened on Friday night? It seemed a strange and terrible thing to be asking of herself.
She turned her attention back to Isaac’s sermon. He was telling the story of the Pharisee and the publican who went up to pray together in the temple. The Pharisee, who thought of himself as a good man, removed himself to his own corner lest he be contaminated by his corrupt fellow men. There he began to name his virtues to God. The publican, on the other hand, just stood with all the rest of the people, beating his chest and begging God for mercy.
“Now we all know the story,” Isaac said, “but we must also live the story. It’s not the Pharisee who went home that night right with God, but the publican. Oh, how heavy it lays on us to learn the lesson. How easy it is for us to become proud in our own virtues. How easy it is for us to tell God how good we are. Yet what we need to do is beat our chest.” Here Isaac thumped his chest lightly for emphasis. “We need to ask God for the same mercy everyone needs.”
Rebecca listened, but she was really looking at his eyes again. She wanted to know if the hard eyes of the son had come from the father. Half expecting to find anger, she felt a tear slip down her face at the sight before her.
What she had seen in the hospital doorway was magnified. Isaac was looking toward the ceiling, seeming to see straight through it to the glory of heaven. His eyes shone with pure softness, the zeal from his soul reaching upward, and saw things she could only imagine.
“We must be the children of God,” he was saying softly, never taking his eyes off the ceiling. “It is what we are called to be—a holy people.”
She felt like brushing the tear on her cheek, but she couldn’t move, the knowledge of her own heart gripping her. This was the standard she must live by. To forgive John, to forget it all, to accept whatever condition he was in down there in West Union on that hospital bed. She would, she decided.
Isaac now had his eyes off the ceiling. Rebecca couldn’t see them anymore, but the memory stayed vivid in her mind. If this was what God was like, then He would have mercy on her for not forgiving John right away.
Mercy, she thought. Mercy even for my lack of proper feelings. Mercy for my inability to always do what is right. Yes, she was certain of it. She had seen hope in Isaac’s eyes. Hope that mercy was real, available. As to offering it to others—especially John—well, she would try. That much she now knew.
Rebecca shifted on the hard bench as Isaac wrapped up his sermon. After asking three of the older men to give testimony on what was said, he took his seat on the bench. To the drone of their voices, saying that all they had heard was within the will of God, Rebecca gave testimony—silently of course—and thanks for what she had heard. It was the living out which would be hard. But one step at a time.
With the testimonies from the three men concluded, Bishop Martin dismissed the service. Rebecca filed out with the line of girls. Forty minutes later she helped tend two rounds of dinner tables and still had not received any information on John’s condition.
Several of the girls her age had made inquires of her. She responded with what little she knew. That John had been hit from behind by an English driver while driving through Unity. That John was still in the same unconscious state as when she last saw him yesterday. That the doctor didn’t know much beyond that yet.
The general consensus among the girls, as they carried bowls of peanut butter and cheese to the tables, seemed to be that the roads were getting ever more dangerous for anyone driving a buggy. Wilma, who with her brother Will often picked up and drove Rebecca on youth nights, said they had just had a close call last Sunday night.
“Someone nearly ran us off the road near the bridge in Harshville,” Wilma said. “Driving fast too. Thankfully Will saw it coming and could pull over.”
“They still don’t know for sure who hit John,” Rebecca said, unaware of Isaac’s encounter with Beatrice’s husband. “I guess John’s the only one who knows for sure.”
“How long’s he going to be unconscious?” asked Wilma.
“The doctor didn’t know that either,” Rebecca said. “It could be awhile till the pressure on his brain goes down.”
“He must have been hit really hard,” one of the other girls commented.
“I suppose so.” Rebecca nodded, thinking about it. “From what I picked up, he was thrown quite a distance.”
“It must be awful…” Anna Yoder let the sentence drag out meaningfully. “You’ve been going with him for a while.”
Rebecca searched for the right words. “Yes, but we have to accept the Lord’s will.”
At least she could say the right thing, she thought, as the buzz of conversation continued.
“It could happen to any of us,” Wilma said in Anna’s direction. “Even after we’re married.”
“I suppose,” Anna allowed. “It’s still hard.”
“Yes, it is,” Rebecca said, wanting the conversation to move on. Talking about John and remembering how he looked in his unconscious state at the hospital were difficult.
“I heard that with injuries like that, he could be paralyzed…maybe for life,” Anna half-whispered, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“You don’t know that,” Wilma broke in quickly. “You shouldn’t be saying things like that. It’s hard enough for Rebecca already.”
Rebecca felt the words cut.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to be harsh,” Anna said softly. “I was just saying what I heard.”
“Well, you shouldn’t say it. You don’t know,” Wilma said in Anna’s direction.
Apparently feeling regretful, Anna said quickly, “I’m sorry. I should be more careful.”
The other girls started moving away, and Anna soon followed them.
“Come on. You need something to eat. The third table has room,” Wilma nudged Rebecca gently in the direction of the long table where a few stragglers and table waiters were finding their places.
Numbly spreading the peanut butter on her bread, Rebecca chewed without tasting much. Wilma spread her own sandwich silently, saying nothing and staying with Rebecca until her mother came over at the end of their meal.
Mattie whispered to Rebecca, “John’s still the same. Miriam said they’re going down this afternoon—between three and five. We should go too.”
Rebecca nodded, the tears slipping down her face again. Wilma squeezed her arm before getting up to leave. “Will’s hitching up,” she said, leaving for the kitchen and her bonnet and shawl.
“We’re going soon,” Mattie told Rebecca, before leaving to walk back toward the living room. Catching sight of her father coming out of the barn with the horse, she went to the kitchen for her own wraps and waited for Mattie to join her. Together they walked out to the end of the sidewalk.
/> CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
After arriving home, Lester unhitched the horse from the buggy while Matthew got the younger driving horse harnessed for Rebecca.
“He’s ready to go,” Matthew told Rebecca, as he brought the horse out from the barn. “Raring,” he added. “You’d better drive.”
“Mom can drive,” Rebecca said, as Mattie came out of the house, having dashed in to pick up a small satchel.
“You’re driving,” Mattie said, taking one look at the pawing young horse. “It’s feeling its oats.”
“That’s what I said,” Matthew said, happy to have his conclusion supported.
Rebecca climbed in, took the reins from Matthew, and kept a tight control on the horse as they dashed out of the driveway.
“What’s gotten into him anyway?” Mattie muttered, hanging on. “We should have taken the other horse.”
“Dad would have let us, if church hadn’t been way over on the west side. The horse is tired.”
“He still could have made it.” Mattie was obviously questioning the wisdom of this, as the young horse pulled them speedily around a corner out on the open road.
“He’ll calm down by the time we’re halfway there,” Rebecca said. She then let the horse have its head, as they clattered across the open bridge at the first bend.
“If we’re not in the ditch by then,” Mattie said, hanging on tighter as they approached the Harshville covered bridge.
In the din of the crossing, both women fell silent and remained so until they approached the edge of West Union.
“How long do you want to stay?” Mattie asked.
“Not too long, I suppose.”
“Hospital’s aren’t the most comfortable place.”
“It’s not just that. It’s like you can’t do anything—you know—about it. And with him unconscious, I can’t really talk to him.”
“Maybe he’ll come out of it soon.”
“I still don’t like hospitals.”
“We bear the burdens given to us,” Mattie said. “You’re doing pretty well.”
Rebecca wasn’t sure if she was or wasn’t, but she did know she was trying, and her mother would, no doubt, count that for something.
“I hope he’s awake,” Rebecca said because she suddenly wanted to talk to John. This pressure of not knowing, of being left hanging without going forward or backward was stressful. “I’d like to talk to him.”
“I suppose you would,” her mother agreed. “You never did talk again after he left the house on Friday night?”
“No, but I was thinking about more than that. Things like hearing his voice again.”
“I guess the argument just makes it all the harder now.”
“It wasn’t all John’s fault,” Rebecca said quickly. “I guess I’d like to tell him that too.”
“I didn’t say it was,” Mattie said. “We all share blame sometimes. It’s just a lesson in not letting the sun go down on your wrath. One never knows what could happen in the nighttime.”
Rebecca pulled up to a lightpost in the hospital parking lot, the Miller’s buggy already tied nearby.
“I see Isaac and Miriam are here already,” she said, letting her mother’s comments go unanswered.
“That’s better than going in by ourselves,” Mattie replied, stepping down out of the buggy and taking the tie rope with her. “I don’t like hospitals either, especially going in by myself.”
Walking inside, the two found Miriam and Isaac in the waiting room.
“We’ve just been with John,” Miriam said. “Why don’t you two go on in by yourselves and have a few minutes with him.”
Mattie nodded, moving toward the door.
Rebecca followed her mother, but not before noticing that Isaac’s eyes were weary. The tenderness from the morning was still there, a softness lingering, but now he looked as if the vision he had seen was fading.
Rebecca followed Mattie down the hallway and into John’s room. Mattie stepped in first, stopping in front of John’s bed. Rebecca joined her, feeling a great sadness filling her.
John lay there as he had been before, the IV line still running into his arm, his breathing shallow, his face the color of the hospital walls.
Rebecca said nothing.
“I’ll leave you with him,” Mattie whispered.
“You can stay,” she said quickly.
“No,” Mattie said firmly, “you need to be alone with him.”
Rebecca steeled herself as her mother quietly left, closing the door softly behind her. The stillness of the room descended on her, broken only by the occasional beep of the monitor beside John’s bed. She wished she wasn’t so nervous.
She moved a bit closer, and summoning up her courage, she forced herself to whisper, “John…”
“John,” she repeated, forcing herself again. She reached out to lay her fingers on his hands. They were cold and unmoving. She remembered how they had felt before, the life flowing in them, the feeling they transmitted, the love they left lingering on her own fingers. She remembered, and she let the tears come. With the flow came release, and warmth gathered around her heart.
“John,” she said again, wanting what they used to have to come back, to reappear from this awful nothingness into which it had gone.
She reached out again. This time her fingers brushed gently across his cheek, feeling the growth of his beard.
Someone had tried to shave his cheeks but missed some spots. She felt a desire to kiss his cheek, wondering if that would bring him back. Gathering her courage, she kissed him, letting her lips linger. She wondered if John knew how much she cared and that she had forgiven him.
Will John come back soon? The question burned in her. How long she stood there, she wasn’t certain, but she finally wiped her eyes and turned to leave.
Those in the waiting room noticed her red eyes, their obvious satisfaction in her reaction embarrassing her, but it also felt good.
“I’m ready to go,” she told her mother.
“You’ll let us know then,” Mattie said in Miriam’s direction.
“Yes, we’ll send word if anything changes.”
With that the two left, mother and daughter walking out to the buggy together. The young driving horse was again raring to go, this time in the direction of home. Rebecca was ready too, only she was not certain whether home would be any greater shelter from her thoughts than here.
“He’ll come around soon,” Mattie told her.
“Yes,” Rebecca agreed, hoping it was true.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Nothing had changed by Tuesday.
After an early supper, Isaac and Miriam drove to the medical center, arriving sometime before six, the winter daylight almost gone by then.
“Aden and Esther might be coming too,” Miriam said, as they approached the outskirts of town.
“That’s nice,” Isaac said, his mind obviously elsewhere.
“It might be a little later though. Esther said Aden had some things to do at the store. They really miss John because of the holiday season approaching and all. Aden said he isn’t hiring anyone else on. Do you think he’s just being kind by not replacing John?”
“Maybe he likes the work John was doing. John’s a good worker.”
“It’s got to be more than that,” Miriam thought aloud. “Maybe he thinks John will get better soon.”
“Don’t we all,” Isaac said, leaving it at that.
“But John’s still not even out of his coma,” she protested. “How can he assume that John’s going to be able to work again soon?”
“Aden doesn’t. He’s doing what we all have to do. Wait and see. If we guess, it’ll just be wrong. I’m sure Aden is wise enough to know that.”
“Why is life like that?” She shivered under the buggy blanket, pulling it up tighter around her waist.
“Not all of it is,” Isaac said. “Just enough to keep us from feeling too at home on this earth. Da Hah knows what He’s doing.”
Miriam said nothing as Isaac pulled to a stop at an intersection. The light was red. The vehicles crossed in front of them, rushing by each other in a hurry to go somewhere.
She wished she were in a hurry to go where she was going, but she wasn’t. The evening ahead seemed like a load too heavy to carry. The days that had gone by had done their damage, like clouds that dropped their rain but still hung leaden in the sky.
“There they come now,” Miriam said, turning around to look down the street behind them, having heard the faint sound of horse’s hooves on pavement.
“It is a buggy,” Isaac agreed, after a moment’s silence in which the distinct sound became louder. “I’m not sure it’s Aden’s though. There are others who come into town.”
“This time of the night? It must be them.”
“Aden must have gotten done early then.”
“It is them,” she repeated, as the buggy pulled to a stop two cars behind them, her eyes catching a glimpse inside.
When the light turned green, Isaac let his horse go with a jerk. Both horses trotted across the intersection, the buggies following tight behind each other as the two cars turned right.
“You know what time we’re going back?” Isaac asked, pulling to a stop again before turning into the hospital parking lot.
“Not too late. Visiting hours aren’t that late,” she said, as he brought the buggy to a halt at the lightpost.
“You think anyone else will come down to visit?” he asked.
“I doubt it. Weekends—maybe they would. Most people will wait till John is home.”
“That shouldn’t be long,” he commented, having tied up the horse. They stood together, waiting for Aden and Esther to join them from farther down the parking lot.
“Oh, I hope so,” she said.
“It’s just the way things are,” Isaac said. “It has to happen sometime. When the swelling goes down, then he can start getting better and come home. Then things will be much easier. Home is where things like this should happen.”
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