by Beth Wiseman
Sarah’s lips curved upward a tiny bit and she sniffled.
“See, there’s my beautiful girl.” Abram tossed the eggs into the trash can, then took the carton from her lap. “Four unbroken. And that’s all we need for a fine breakfast.” He set the eggs on the counter, wet a kitchen towel, and handed it to her. She wiped the egg from her dark green dress. Abram wet another towel and cleaned the floor, then stood up. “Gut as new, mei lieb.”
Sarah wheeled herself to the stove where a pan was already waiting with a dab of butter, and she cracked the four eggs into the skillet while Abram poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. He’d considered offering to finish cooking breakfast, but he sensed Sarah wanted to master the task since she’d gotten up early.
A few minutes later, his wife set a plate with two fried eggs and four slices of bacon in front of him, then made a plate for herself. After they said the blessing, Abram allowed himself a moment to soak in the beauty of the woman he’d married.
“Dark green is your best color, and you look beautiful this morning.” He’d told her that same thing a hundred times, but she’d never looked prettier than at this moment. “That color makes your eyes look even greener than normal.” He shoveled a bite of egg into his mouth, and he was happy to see her eating as well, a hint of a smile on her face for a second time this morning, despite her earlier upset.
A cool breeze swirled through the house, and as the sun came up, Abram felt a sense of peace. God would provide, and he was anxious for worship service so he could give thanks and praise that Sarah was home. He forced away the recollection of the accident, promising himself to focus on the blessings to be thankful for. In time, he would find a way to forgive himself for not being more alert that day, for not keeping his wife safe the way he should have.
Abram stood up and offered to help Sarah clean the kitchen, something he’d done the first week of their married life, but she shook her head. “Nee, I’ll do it.” She put their plates in her lap and wheeled herself to the sink.
“I don’t mind.” He picked up the butter and stowed it in the refrigerator, noticing Sarah didn’t have her socks and shoes on yet. “I can finish cleaning up while you get ready for worship service.”
Sarah filled the sink with soapy water with her back to him. Abram was still getting used to everything being lower, but his wife was scrubbing the dishes with ease, so he felt good about the job he and Johnny had done. Now, he’d just have to find a way to pay for it.
“I’m not going to worship service,” she said without looking at him.
Abram stroked the fuzz on his chin, barely enough to call a beard yet. “Are you sick?”
“Nee, I’m not sick.” Sarah scrubbed egg from one of the plates, then rinsed it and put it in the drying rack. Abram could only recall one time that Sarah had missed worship service. She’d had the flu. “But you should go,” she said as she washed the other plate.
“Is—is something else wrong?”
She shook her head.
Abram thought for a few moments and shrugged. “I don’t think the Lord would fault me for staying home to play hooky with mei fraa, just this once.” He chuckled, but stopped quickly when she spun that wheelchair around in a way he didn’t know she was capable of, her eyes blazing.
“I want you to go, Abram. Go to worship service.”
He swallowed back his anger at her tone of voice, but mostly he was hurt. He’d known from day one that they’d face a lot of challenges in their lives, but maybe he’d underestimated the time it would take for them to settle into their new married lives in a way they hadn’t planned for.
Abram fought the urge to tell her she didn’t have to be so snappy, but instead he pointed out the window. “We’ve had so much rain, the chicken coops are filled with mud, and so is the yard. I’ve got time to collect eggs before I go.”
“I thought that’s why you made a ramp, so I could go up and down.” Her green eyes were stone-cold as she spoke. “And you have wooden slats in the yard for me to cross over to the chicken coops. I’ll get the eggs.” She straightened her back and raised her chin. “Please tell everyone I’m just not up to going today.”
Sarah hadn’t been alone since all of this had happened. Maybe she just needs some time to herself.
“Ya, okay,” he said softly after she’d turned back around and plunged her hands back into the dishwater.
Abram walked up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek. There was no mistaking the way she tensed up and held her breath, her hands becoming perfectly still in the dishwater until he eased away. He stared at her back for a few seconds before he left the room. No matter what she’d said . . .
She blames me too.
CHAPTER FOUR
SARAH STARED OUT THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW FROM HER wheelchair, watching the rain pound against the earth as it clanked against the metal roof of the house. Small puddles were beginning to connect, and she feared the yard would be a lake by the time Abram returned from church service. She knew better than to collect eggs in this weather. She’d missed the opportunity to master that task earlier, but by now, even the plywood ramps would not keep her wheelchair from getting stuck near the chicken coops.
She regretted the way she’d spoken to Abram. There wasn’t a better man in the world, and her husband had moved mountains to try and make everything perfect for her. A burst of light lit the living room, followed by a loud rumble that shook the floors. The rain poured in thick sheets across the fields. Someone should have canceled worship service today. The landscape would surely fill with colorful blooms after all the rain, but such weather made driving the buggies hazardous. She stared out the window for a few more minutes and said a quick prayer that Abram and the others would have safe travels on the way home later. But now she was going to set out to do what she’d wanted to do since being released from the hospital.
She moved to the middle of the living room, leaned forward, and moved the platform out from under her bare feet. When she did, her feet flopped around like fish out of water for a couple of seconds until they landed on the floor the way normal feet were supposed to. Lifting her dress to her thighs, she eyed the scars that ran up each leg; unsightly, red lines still visible from the stiches she’d had. She put her dress back down and knew she was going to fall, but no one had even allowed her to try to stand up on her own. How would she ever know for sure if she didn’t try? She could feel her clammy feet against the cool floor.
Please, God. I’m begging You. I’m asking for the miracle the doctors said wasn’t possible. But You can do anything. Please, Lord . . .
She’d played volleyball since she was old enough to walk, and she’d always been fairly athletic. But as she pushed herself up from the chair using only her arms, they trembled from the weight of her body. She waited for her legs to do something, instinctively, partially, to lend any sort of support. I need hope. But they were as lifeless as she felt most days. When she tried to put any weight on her feet, they turned inward. She’d surely break her ankles if she gave all of her weight to her powerless lower limbs. She fell back into the chair, deciding she would let herself cry and get it out of her system before Abram got home. He deserves so much better than me.
Her tears and anger mixed with pity, and the trio of emotions melded into something she didn’t know how to identify. Retched came to mind. But somehow, she was going to have to feel better. Be better. Abram deserved that. She just didn’t know how to get to that place. Maybe she wouldn’t. But she was going to need to start doing her best to fake it. She got her feet resituated on the platforms, spun the chair around, and went to the kitchen. Pineapple upside-down cake was her husband’s favorite dessert, and she was going to have one waiting for him when he got home. Then she remembered she didn’t have any eggs, and it was only a few moments later when that annoyance was enough to make the tears come after all. But she sucked them back when she heard an unfamiliar sound coming from outside.
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Abram got his horse in the stall and ran across a river of water flooding his front yard. He’d worried all through worship service about Sarah. He burst through the front door, dripping water on the living room floor, and relief consumed him when she rolled across the room carrying a bath towel. “I was getting worried,” she said when she handed it to him.
He wiped his face and dabbed at his wet clothes. “We won’t be going out in the buggy for a while. Your daed said this rain is supposed to keep up for another couple of days. I don’t remember the last time I saw rain like this in Lancaster County. Lots of places are already flooded.”
“What did—did people say about me not being at church?” Sarah looked away as she lowered her chin.
“No one asked why you weren’t there, they just wanted to know how you were doing.” He took his hat off and ran the towel across his head and over his face again. “Ach, except your mamm and your bruder. They wanted to know why you didn’t go. I told them you needed some time to yourself and weren’t up to getting out.” He nodded toward the window. “Probably just as well. It’s miserable out there. Lots of folks didn’t even stay for the meal afterward, worried about not being able to get home. And your daed wasn’t at worship again.”
“I wish Daed would get right with the bishop.” Sarah smiled for a brief second. “Danki for understanding that I just needed some time alone.”
Abram felt like the waters had parted, and he dashed to her side and squatted down. “I want to do whatever you want me to do, Sarah. Just tell me. I’ll do anything. I want you to be happy.”
His heart hammered against his chest as he waited for any sign of hope. Just tell me we’re going to be okay. Tell me that you don’t hate me or blame me.
She grimaced, and Abram thought his pounding heart might shatter his chest wall.
“I heard an odd noise while you were gone.”
It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but at least they were talking, having a normal conversation. “What kind of odd noise?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“A person? An animal?” He wrapped the towel around his shoulders, still soaked and shivering, but not about to walk away to dress in dry clothes. “Something with the weather, like a branch snapping?”
She sighed. “Nee, it was like a wailing sound. At first, it scared me because it almost sounded like a child. But then I heard it again, and I don’t think that’s what it was.” She glanced toward the window. “I would have gone to check, but . . . all that water.”
“Nee, nee. I was worried you might try to go feed the chickens and get stuck out there.”
Silence.
He’d lost her again. That’s how it had been since the accident. She’d act like his Sarah, then seemed to remember her situation and retreat to whatever dark place she’d created in her mind. But he waited. She stared into space over his shoulder.
“I’m going to get out of these wet clothes.” He stood up, kissed her on the forehead, and felt her tense up at his touch.
By the time he’d put on dry clothes and returned to the living room, she’d started reading a book, but she was still in the wheelchair. He thought she’d be more comfortable on the couch, but he decided to stay quiet. It was safer that way.
For the first time that he could recall, he was actually looking forward to going to work tomorrow, to a place where eggshells didn’t line the floors.
Monday morning, Sarah sat in the middle of her living room, her mother standing by her side, both of them staring at the contraption her mother had brought her.
“It’s an electronic gadget that will clean your floors,” Mamm said. “I charged it at Myrna Chapman’s house, the Englisch woman you’ve heard me talk about before.” She and her mother both bent to have a closer look.
“It looks like a flying saucer.” Sarah frowned. “And it uses electricity. The bishop wouldn’t approve.”
Mamm tapped a finger to her chin. “Ya, well, the bishop doesn’t approve of a lot of things, and without an electric wheelchair, it would be difficult to sweep your floors the usual way. I can come and do them once a week, but—”
“Nee, I don’t want you doing that.” Sarah sighed as she studied the round disk on the floor, not much bigger than a kitchen plate. “You just push the button and it sweeps the floors?” That seems too good to be true.
“Ya.” Her mother clapped her hands, grinning. “Try it. It says on the box that it will run for hours. So, when it runs out of energy, I will take it to recharge. At least you can sweep the floors easily once a week or so.”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know about this, Mamm.”
“This is a small and efficient tool. Or so I’ve heard.” Mamm was still smiling, like a child with a new toy.
“Your father wants you to have an electric wheelchair, but it—”
“Nee, Mamm, nee. That requires electricity, too, and it’s much too expensive.” Sarah sighed. “I want Daed to get right with the bishop and start going to worship service again.”
Mamm folded her hands in front of her and locked eyes with Sarah. “Speaking of . . . why weren’t you at church yesterday?”
“I just needed some time to myself. At the hospital, everyone hovered, and Abram hovers, and I just wanted to be alone.” Mostly true. Her father might not be going to church because he wasn’t right with the bishop. Sarah didn’t feel right with God.
“Ya, I can understand that,” her mother said softly, then her face lit up again. “Push the button.”
Sarah grinned, leaned down, and hit Start. Her mother jumped when the gadget played a little tune, spun in a circle, then took off across the living room. “Isn’t that something?” Her mother shook her head, smiling.
After a few minutes of watching the mechanical robot bounce into the walls and furniture in an effort to get around, Sarah’s mother put a casserole in the refrigerator and said she was leaving. “More rain coming today. Some of the fields still look like lakes, so I better get home.” She stood staring at Sarah for a few moments, then put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Everything is going to be all right. It’s a new way of life, a challenge. But God is with you every step of the way.”
“I won’t be taking any steps, Mamm.”
Her mother bit her bottom lip. “You know what I mean. Stay strong in your faith, Sarah. The Lord tests those He believes in the most, those who can endure and prevail. You might not understand why this happened, but stay close to Him.”
Sarah nodded, but she didn’t have much to say to God at the moment as she watched her mechanical cleaning machine banging into everything she owned. Awhile later, when the thing found her knitting basket and latched on to a thread hanging over the side, she had to chase it down in her wheelchair while she watched the pair of pink booties she’d been knitting unfurl. She slowed down and then came to a stop. Did it really matter if the booties were destroyed? She’d started making them before she knew she wouldn’t be having children.
As she let that soak in, she heard a noise outside, the same wailing she’d heard the day before, only louder. And it sounded like it was coming from the porch.
CHAPTER FIVE
SARAH ROLLED HERSELF OUT THE DOOR AND ONTO THE porch, a spray of rain misting her as she studied the two rocking chairs to her left. But as her eyes drifted to what was underneath one of the chairs, she brought a hand to her chest. A duck?
She edged herself closer as the source of the wailing began again, but slowed her movement when the bird fluttered its wings and tried to run, falling twice, shaking, and making a horrible noise. He—or she—had blood matted to its white feathers and was covered in mud. As she examined the animal, she saw that one of its webbed feet was missing, only a nub remained. Lying on one side, the duck had exhausted its efforts, its eyes barely open.
“Wie bischt, big fellow.” Sarah brought a hand to her forehead, trying to block the spray of water blowing beneath the porch rafters. When the bird’s eyes closed, Sarah w
ondered if it would be for the last time. She’d been around chickens her entire life, but she didn’t know anything about ducks. But one thing she did know was that this was no baby duck.
After a while, she went inside and peeled an apple, then cut it into small pieces. By the time she rolled back onto the porch, the duck was gone, and in the distance, she could see it limping away. She cringed when the poor fellow fell again, then disappeared into the thick, rainy fog. She tossed the chunks of apple on the ramp leading to the porch and went back inside.
Abram cashed his paycheck at the bank and walked the short distance to the loan center, glad it wasn’t raining and hoping he’d still have time to eat his dinner—or lunch, as the Englisch called it—before his break was over. Personal Loans, Bad Credit Okay was printed in red on the glass door. Below that was a red suitcase filled with money etched into the glass. He pulled the door open and walked inside. It was a small place with two desks, each with a man sitting behind it. He recognized the Englisch man who had helped him before, so he took off his hat and walked that way, slowing his steps when the fellow reached into a bag and pulled out a French fry.
“I’m sorry to bother you during dinner time, but I wanted to make a payment on my loan.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, offering it to the heavyset, older man. Abram remembered his name was Bill.
“You owe two hundred,” the man said as he reached for another fry and stuffed it into his mouth. Bill had a round face with patches of dark whiskers scattered about, like he was trying to grow a beard and couldn’t. Abram could sympathize.
“Ya, I know. But this is all I can pay right now. My wife was in an accident, and—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You told me.” Bill pulled a hamburger from the bag and started unwrapping it. “And I’m really sorry about your wife. That’s a horrible thing to have happen. You’d think that people around here would be more careful with all the buggies on the roads.”
