by Beth Wiseman
But now it was dark in the room, and neither of them said a word. His father was on the couch, half sitting and half lying down, propped up with pillows and covered with a yellow-and-brown afghan. And even in the low light, he could tell his mother’s face was pale and that her shoulders drooped forward.
His father slowly looked up at Samuel with a dazed expression. “What’s wrong?” Samuel asked again as he looked back and forth between them.
His mother straightened in her wheelchair and took a deep breath. “Your father had an episode today.” She paused as she raised her chin, but her bottom lip trembled. “We didn’t know what was happening, so we called nine-one-one. We haven’t charged the mobile phone lately, and it went dead before I could tell the operator much. But I managed to tell her I thought your daed might be having another heart attack. An ambulance arrived not long after I made the call, and they took him to the hospital. They helped me into the ambulance and stowed mei wheelchair.”
Samuel pushed back the brim of his hat, his heart still beating wildly. “Why didn’t you call me at work?”
His father closed his eyes, appearing to drift off to sleep. His mother cleared her throat. “We didn’t want to worry you until we knew what was happening.”
“And?” Samuel wished his heart would stop beating so fast. “Did he have another heart attack?”
“Nee,” his father said, opening his eyes. “Something called atrial fibrillation.”
“What’s that?” Samuel didn’t take his shoes off before he made his way to the recliner in the corner. He sank into the chair, lowered his hat in his lap, and held his breath.
“It happens after heart surgery sometimes.” His mother’s hands shook in her lap. “Sometimes it goes away on its own, which it did today.” She clasped her hands together when she saw Samuel’s eyes homing in on her lap. “But he’s fine.”
He wanted to tell her his father didn’t look fine. He hadn’t looked this frail since he’d had heart surgery two years ago. He hung his head for a few moments before he looked back at his mother. “I think you need someone to come and stay, a caregiver. Or someone who can help you.”
Samuel had suggested this in the past and received a strong no from both his parents. Their home had been made wheelchair-friendly when his mother was injured, but now he feared neither of them had the energy to take care of themselves properly. Even though he made sure there was always food in the house, he often wondered how much they ate. And it broke his heart when he could tell they hadn’t bathed recently.
“We take care of each other just fine.” His father spoke with the authority Samuel remembered from his childhood. Usually Samuel would back away from an argument when his father spoke so sternly, but today he had to speak up.
“I disagree. I really believe you need help.” Samuel tried to match the authority of his father’s voice, but his delivery failed when his voice cracked at the end of his statement.
“Mei sohn . . .” His mother smiled at him as if he were a small child again. “I promise to let you know if we need help, but we really are okay right now.”
Samuel didn’t think it was a promise his mother would keep. They had always worried about the financial strain their health issues caused. Even though they were able to draw from a community health-care fund, they were reluctant to do so for fear of draining the account. Instead, they’d gone through almost all of the money they’d saved over the years. Samuel gave them all the money he could spare. He’d been doing that since he was old enough to earn money, but now he had a family, and formula and diapers weren’t cheap. He also knew a full-time caregiver would be expensive.
“This is only a temporary setback,” his father said, struggling to sit up all the way. His disheveled gray hair jetted to one side, and when he reached up to comb it down with his hand, Samuel saw the hospital bracelet still on his wrist.
“I’m going to stay for supper.” He stood. “I’ll cook.”
His father chuckled. “Please don’t.”
Samuel smiled. He was glad his father could still find humor in life. “Ach, Daed, I know Mamm is a gut cook, but I’m craving some meat loaf, and it’s the one thing I know how to make—as long as you haven’t used the fresh meat I brought you last night.” And because you both look exhausted.
“Sammy, that isn’t necessary.” His mother still called him Sammy sometimes, the way she did when he was a boy. He found the nickname just as endearing as he had years ago.
“It’s not necessary, but I want to.” Samuel stood, forced a smile, and then stepped into the kitchen to make their meal. He also needed some time alone to think, and he reviewed the situation as he gathered the ingredients he needed.
His and Lydia’s rental house wasn’t big enough to move his parents in with them, nor would it accommodate a wheelchair. Besides, Samuel hoped to own a home someday. If his family moved in here to care for them, Mattie wouldn’t have her own bedroom, and Lydia would probably be overworked. And if he and his wife had little privacy, how would they ever grow closer? Last, bringing someone in to help would require more money than he had to spare, and he knew his parents wouldn’t accept that type of help from members of the community for free.
He didn’t know what to do. But tonight, he could prepare them a meal, make sure they had their medicines in stock, and snoop just enough to see if they were going without anything they needed.
* * *
Lydia stepped back and eyed the table she’d just set. She’d brought out the bone china again, deciding it didn’t need to be reserved for company, and tonight she’d serve her husband a delicious meal. She’d baked two Cornish game hens, mashed sweet potatoes and lathered them with butter and brown sugar, and made a cucumber salad. For dessert, she’d baked a key lime pie.
The salve Beverly had given her worked wonders, and Mattie was already fed, bathed, and tucked into bed. Maybe this supper, this time alone, would help her and Samuel find their way into a romantic relationship, even if it was only a baby step in that direction. She wanted to connect with him on a more romantic level, but she’d rejected her husband so much that she wasn’t sure if romance was even important to him. She recalled the kiss on the cheek, a small offering of intimacy she’d turned away from. And the night she’d clearly seen desire in his eyes but had pulled away. Later, she’d tried to tell him she wanted them to be closer, but he’d pretended to be asleep.
She had to let him know how she really felt.
She placed two sterling silver candleholders in the middle of the table, ready to be lit when she heard Samuel pulling in, usually within the next thirty minutes. She’d already bathed and even spritzed herself with a light vanilla body spray. Her hair was washed and still drying as it stretched down her back and past her waist. She was self-conscious about the baby weight she still carried, but she wouldn’t think about that this evening. She had to fight past her nervousness.
An hour later, she placed the food in the oven to stay warm and stowed the cucumber salad in the refrigerator. After another hour went by, she lit the lanterns throughout the living room and kitchen, then slumped into a kitchen chair holding a box of matches. She stared at the unlit candles as anger built, the emotion quickly replaced by hurt. Samuel could have called to say he would be late. And where is he?
The hurt lingered for a while, but by the time Samuel walked into the house, two and a half hours later than normal, Lydia was seething with anger. She stood, leaned against the kitchen counter, and clenched her fists at her sides.
* * *
Samuel left his shoes by the door and hung his hat on the rack. He wanted to bypass a shower and crawl into bed, but he breathed in the aroma of food coming from the kitchen. Even though he wasn’t hungry, he would force a few bites so he wouldn’t hurt Lydia’s feelings. She’d probably been wondering where he was. He couldn’t call her because his cell phone was dead, and so was his parents’. Twice, his father asked if Lydia would be worried or angry, and both times Samuel assured him she
wouldn’t be. She’d probably left food on the stove for him, like when he had to work late doing inventory.
But when he walked into the kitchen, he had no doubt she was mad. Samuel could feel the daggers she threw at him with her eyes, and her face was so red that she looked like she might combust. He eyed the fancy table she’d set, and a sinking anguish settled in the pit of his stomach. He held up both palms.
“I’m sorry I’m so late.” He lowered his hands and walked toward his wife. She gritted her teeth, resembling some sort of wildcat, as her expression grew even tighter with strain. It was almost comical, but he didn’t dare smile. He didn’t think he’d seen her like this since they’d found out she was pregnant, when they’d both acted out of character in a situation that warranted it. They’d both matured since Mattie was born, yet it wasn’t hard to see that Lydia was about to lose her composure now. This wasn’t the routine haze they walked through each day.
He rubbed his forehead and braced for the lashing that was sure to come. They’d had words before, but nothing that wasn’t quickly brushed off or forgotten. Maybe that’s what they needed, to fight a little. It might be better than pretending they lived a normal life, complacent and quiet, tiptoeing around each other. Avoiding each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said again as he inched closer to her. He knew better than to touch her. She’d just distance herself.
Her bottom lip trembled as she stared at him, long and hard, her eyes blazing. Then she sidestepped around him and marched out of the kitchen without looking back. A moment later, he heard her slam what he was sure was their bedroom door. They’d always slept in their bed together despite their emotional distance, but now he assumed he’d be sleeping on the couch.
Mattie began to wail. Samuel waited for Lydia to emerge from the bedroom, but when she didn’t, he shuffled through the living room and went to his daughter. As he picked her up and held her against him, tears burned his own eyes. He swayed from side to side with Mattie, and to his surprise, she stopped crying. Samuel held on to her, though, needing to feel her close.
He wouldn’t have been home so late if his father hadn’t thrown up at the kitchen table. Hurled was more like it. Then he began to choke, and Samuel and his mother were frantic. His father recovered, but he was filled with embarrassment, and there was a big mess. His mother had fought tears, and Samuel told them repeatedly it was okay. After he helped his father get cleaned up, he’d helped him into bed. Then his mother had broken down and sobbed, saying she didn’t know what she’d do if anything happened to his father.
His people believed everything that happened was God’s will, but when it came to the possibility of losing his father, Samuel didn’t want to rely on God’s will. He wanted God to heal him, and that’s what he silently prayed for.
Mattie started to cry again, and this time Samuel cried along with her. What he wouldn’t do to be held right now.
He didn’t know Lydia had come into the room until she whispered his name. Mattie twisted to face her mother, but Samuel couldn’t look at his wife. He was a grown man with tears running down his cheeks, his shoulders lifting up and down as he tried to bounce Mattie on his hip.
Lydia wound around him. “Give her to me,” she said softly as she held out her hands.
Samuel eased Mattie into his wife’s arms, but there was no hiding his tears. He dropped one arm to his side and covered his face with his other hand.
A few minutes later, he realized Lydia must have applied some of that salve to Mattie’s gums, because when he uncovered his face, their daughter was back in her crib, asleep. Samuel wanted to disappear as humiliation wrapped around him and his pulse pounded in his temples, but instead he met Lydia’s eyes.
* * *
Lydia gazed into her husband’s watery eyes. She’d never seen him cry, and whatever anger and hurt she’d felt earlier was gone. Something far more serious than her disappointment was going on with Samuel, but as she waited for him to explain, he hung his head. After a few seconds, he found her inquiring eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again in a whisper, his voice shaky as he quickly looked away from her.
“It’s okay.” She reached out and touched his arm, and he flinched, the way Lydia had so many times.
He squared his shoulders, ran a hand the length of his short beard, then inched around her. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he said on his way out.
Lydia stood in their daughter’s room, her feet rooted to the floor, unsure what to do or say. They’d lived like roommates for so long, time void of much emotion, that Samuel’s display upset Lydia on several levels. She longed to go to him, to hold him, to tell him everything would be all right. Maybe that desire was based on a maternal instinct she’d developed since Mattie was born. But it could have always been there, hidden beneath other feelings that had stolen space in her heart.
Either way, she loved her husband, and she thought again about how she’d feel if she lost him. His announcement that he would sleep on the couch seemed to say a lot, but she didn’t know how to decipher what it meant. Was he just feeling overwhelmed? Or did he want to put more distance between them?
Finally, her feet moved toward the crib. She kissed her finger and planted the kiss on Mattie’s forehead.
Maybe Samuel was so unhappy with her that he just couldn’t take it anymore. Or had something happened at work? Or with his parents? She wanted to ask him and decided she would, but when she tiptoed into the living room, he was curled up on the couch, still in his clothes with his eyes shut.
Lydia suspected he wasn’t asleep. She watched him for a long while, but he never opened his eyes. He’d either mastered the art of faking sleep, or he really was in a deep slumber, exhausted by whatever had upset him.
She prayed for her husband, asking God to take care of whatever had caused him to break down like this. Then she squatted beside him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, halfway expecting him to startle. When he didn’t, she whispered, “I love you.” Then she went to bed.
Chapter 5
The next day, Lydia was scheduled to meet her mother and sister. They tried to get together for the noon meal a couple of times a month. Her parents lived near Lydia, so her mother dropped by fairly often, but she didn’t get to see her sister as often because she lived in Shoals.
Since Mary was always the one who journeyed to Montgomery, they usually let her select where they would meet. Today she’d asked if they could eat at Fat Boys Pizza. After tethering her horse, Lydia unhooked the car seat in her buggy. Lots of Amish mothers held their babies in their laps when traveling by buggy, but Lydia wasn’t comfortable doing so when she traveled alone with Mattie. Samuel had purchased a used car seat and made some adjustments to the buggy so it would accommodate Mattie comfortably.
Samuel. He’d been on her mind until late into the night, and when she got up to make breakfast, he was already gone. Maybe their picnic with Beverly and Joseph tomorrow would lift his spirits. Joseph was a funny man, and she hoped his humor would be enough to distract Samuel from whatever had upset him.
She lifted Mattie onto her hip and reached for the diaper bag. She’d dropped her wallet into the tote, but her mother always paid for their meal.
As she opened the door to the restaurant, she took a deep breath and prepared to put on a happy face, the way she always did. It was exhausting sometimes. When she was with her family, she didn’t let on that her life wasn’t as perfect as she pretended it was. Everyone knew Lydia and Samuel had a rocky start to their marriage, but these days, they all believed they lived in marital bliss. It was what everyone expected, and over time, she stopped saying anything to anyone about her marriage, leaving the assumption that she’d slid into her role as mother and wife. Her mother had even told her how proud she was of her and Samuel for turning their lives around and living the way God wanted them to.
Besides, her mother would only lecture her even though several times she’d mentioned how much more mature Lydia had become. That part was pro
bably true since becoming a mother made a seventeen-year-old grow up rather quickly. And because Mary tended to take on other people’s problems, empathetic almost to a fault, Lydia didn’t want to burden her at a time in her life when she seemed so happy married to Levi.
She found them at a table toward the back of the pizzeria, and they already had a high chair pulled up to the table. Mary stood and hugged her and Mattie. Then their mother reached for Mattie and began baby talking to her before she said, “I’m sure she’s grown since I last saw her.” After sufficiently smothering her granddaughter in kisses, she got her settled in the high chair.
“Mattie shouldn’t cry from teething as much as she did at our last restaurant.” Lydia slid into a chair and put the diaper bag on the seat next to her. “A friend gave me a homemade salve for her gums, and it really seems to be helping.” She paused to hand Mattie a couple of small toys from the diaper bag. “You might know the woman, Mary. I thought I saw her at your wedding. Her name is Beverly Schrock.”
“Hmm . . . I don’t recall the name.” Mary unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. “I didn’t know a lot of the people there, ones from Levi’s district.”
“I’d run into her a couple of times before we spent any time together,” Lydia said. “Samuel forgot his dinner one day, and since I had errands to run in town, I dropped it off. Just as I was going into the furniture store, Beverly came up beside me and we chatted. Then she went inside with me, asking to use the restroom. But first I introduced her to Samuel and Joseph, a man Samuel works with. I almost didn’t remember her last name. Joseph took a liking to Beverly, and they both came to our haus for supper last Friday night. Tomorrow Samuel and I—and Mattie—are going on a picnic with them.”
“That’s gut you and Samuel are doing things with another couple.” Her mother smiled as she picked up her menu.