by Dana Becker
* * *
When Ricky had first arrived at the scene, Whitey’s footprints were still crisply impressed into the dirt. It was clear that he’d been there a very short time ago. Maybe just minutes earlier. This was a good sign. It was the closest thing they had to hope.
Not in his wildest dreams could Joseph have envisioned, when he’d told April that “ghost story” about his Amish family, about the girl who was buried alive, that it would end this way, that they would be pulled into this nightmare themselves.
But it was undeniable. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. If he hadn’t started up with April, Whitey—his estranged uncle—wouldn’t have taken this horrible vengeance upon poor Rose. He would have returned her as soon as Ricky had paid up.
The whole ugly reality of the situation hit Joseph, and it hit him hard. But he also knew that he had to be strong, for April. Now was not a moment for reflection. He threw his full energy into the task of digging, and digging, and digging. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was that.
April, despite her complete focus on the work that needed to be done, and on her own anxiety and anger and pain and utter horror, still felt a powerful bond with Joseph. There was a signal, some secret invisible channel of communication that existed between them—especially when they were close together—and April could sense that Joseph was suffering.
And not only that. She knew why. She could tell that he blamed himself, and his family, and that he was horrified. Without even looking at him, April could sense what Joseph was thinking. And when she did look at him and read his face, she was certain of it.
For one moment, even as they furiously dug into the ground, April paused and squeezed Joseph’s arm, and looked him in the eye. She didn’t say a word, and neither did he. It wasn’t necessary. Everything was communicated in just that little gesture: Joseph’s guilt, April’s forgiveness. And the bigger message, too, that each completely understood the other and supported the other completely. It was no more than two seconds between frantic digging—but it was undeniable.
* * *
The ambulance arrived. But when the medics jumped out, ready to go to work, Joseph informed them that they were still digging. The medics stood by, watching in utter disbelief. Next, another van of Ricky’s men screeched to a halt beside the shed, almost ramming right into it. The doors flew open and two men jumped out with power shovels.
When April saw the men running toward them, she finally believed that Ricky was, really and truly, on her side. She hadn’t quite trusted him at any point, but now she was convinced that he was almost as eager as she was to free Rose from this nightmare. Or at least, to try.
The men dug quickly and efficiently. They didn’t exchange a word. There was no need. Everybody knew what needed to be done. And there was also a sense of awe, a kind of hushed understanding that what was happening here, the monstrous burial of a living person and the unburying of wet earth, primal mud, and retrieval into the world of the living, was a kind of sacred, almost mystical act. When people spoke, they whispered. Despite the intense emotions and the heightened adrenaline rush, nobody shouted. For a few minutes the only sound heard was the rhythmic crack and swish of five shovels digging in tandem.
And then, a hollow thud. And then another. This was it. The men picked up their pace, quickly and fervently shoveling out the last layer over the pine coffin, cleaning away the soil from around the edges. Without a second’s hesitation, the men threw aside their shovels, and dove into the pit, grabbing the coffin by its sides and hoisting it up and out of the grave, laying it on the ground. That weight, thought April, was the weight of her sister’s body.
Rose was there. No, Rose was here. Right here, right now, just a foot away. April was almost too stunned to breathe, much less move. But she didn’t need to: Joseph grabbed her and held her tight, as one of the men fell onto the coffin and quickly jimmied it open.
* * *
When they were kids, April and Rose had made a pact. As the elder sister, April had come up with the idea. In order to make absolutely certain that her sister understood what was at stake, she made it as dramatic as possible. They lived in South Philly, near the bridge that crossed the Delaware into New Jersey. There was a park near the bridge and often they went there. One time they’d stood on the bridge together, leaning into the railing. It was a low railing that seemed like something they could easily just hop over, even at ages twelve and ten.
“Would you jump off the bridge for me?” April had asked.
Rose thought about it for a moment, in that serious way of hers. “Yes,” she said finally, though with some hesitation. “But it depends.”
April had grabbed her sister’s jacket and pushed her against the railing, sending her into a panic.
“Depends on what?” April had demanded to know.
“On, on—” Rose had struggled. “Like if I jump over . . . does that mean you get saved?”
“Yes,” April had said. “That’s what I mean.”
“Then I would.”
“Okay, good,” said April, letting go of Rose. And she added, “And I would do the same for you.”
But April had never imagined anything like that would ever actually happen. And she had always believed that if someone was going to jump off that bridge, it was going to be April herself. She had never really considered the possibility of losing her sister. Even in these months, when she was certain her sister was gone . . . even then she never really believed that she was dead. And now she would do anything—she would, without any hesitation, jump off that bridge to bring Rose back to life.
Unable to move, or breathe, April just stared at the coffin. There was no movement inside and April couldn’t bear what her brain was telling her. She couldn’t bear to look any longer. Instead she looked at Joseph, trying to read his face as he looked toward the coffin. Based on his reactions, she would try to gauge what was happening inside that coffin.
At first he looked worried, then slightly panicked. It was clear from his face that whatever he was seeing in that coffin was not encouraging. Joseph went over and quickly motioned to Ricky to join him. April desperately wanted to join Joseph too, but she felt literally paralyzed. At just that moment, she felt Carmen’s arm wrap around her shoulders.
“I got you, hon,” Carmen whispered in April’s ear. “I’m right here.”
Joseph and Ricky quickly conferred and, without wasting another moment, they reached into the coffin and pulled Rose out, Ricky holding her legs and Joseph hoisting her under her arms. They laid her gently on the ground. She wasn’t moving. The medics ran in and immediately got to work.
April felt her own body lose its grip, felt her knees weaken. Carmen tightened her hold on April, keeping her up.
Joseph was on his knees, behind the medics, watching Rose, as they listened for any breath, watching her chest to see if it was moving.
“We gotta do CPR,” one of Ricky’s men shouted.
“No,” one of the medics shouted, “she’s breathing.”
“You sure?” Joseph said.
The medic hooked Rose onto a monitor, and oxygen. He then turned to Joseph and nodded. Joseph watched a bit more. And then smiled and gave a thumbs-up. And then, in a voice so weary it was almost a whisper, he said, “She’s alive. Her eyes are open.”
Chapter Thirteen
April was starting to grow almost accustomed to the long, bumpy rides in the horse and buggy. It gave her time to think—and it was itself a way of thinking. The journeys were calmingly long and unrushed. But the unpredictable jolts also kept her alert and focused. Even though the buggy was becoming her primary mode of transport, she still couldn’t quite believe that this was her life now.
She also couldn’t believe—literally could not convince herself that it was real—that, sitting across from her in the buggy, was her sister, Rose. In the past weeks, she’d found herself barely able to feel anything—neither happiness, nor joy, nor even relief. Instead, she fo
und herself simply mesmerized by the physical presence of her sister. She would touch Rose, just take her by the hand, or even lean on her, just to confirm that she was real and alive. Or she would stare at Rose for oddly long periods of time, as though, if she took her eyes off her, Rose would disappear. Wasn’t that what had happened before? April would stare like this until Rose gave her a look in return, or said, “Um, can I help you?” Sometimes they’d laugh about it. Sometimes it seemed to bother Rose, and she’d just turn away. Rose’s moods were hard to predict these days.
Now, in the buggy, April was doing it again. She was staring at Rose. Gazing at her face, almost without blinking. It helped that Rose was asleep, curled up on the corner of the bench, her head resting on her arms.
Seeing Rose asleep unnerved April. It brought her back to that horrible moment when she’d seen the muddy casket. Would she ever unsee that?
She was trying. And succeeding, by degrees. And there were new things to see. Their new home, for instance. Provided for them by Joseph’s family. When April had last seen the house, back on that winter night, she’d thought she’d seen the most magical place in her life. And now that she was about to see this same house, months later, in a completely different season, she was certain of it. This place would save her. It would save Rose. It would save her relationship with Joseph. It was amazing grace, was it not? And with the sweet sound of softly swaying willows around it, too.
* * *
When talking to Rose, April had been trying not to overpraise the house where they were headed. For one thing, this wasn’t a vacation. Rose was going there to heal. She wasn’t in any mood to get excited about . . . well, anything. At least not yet. Rose had a long road ahead of her, and April, more than anyone else, knew that. Still, as the buggy made its big turn off the small country highway, onto an unmarked, unpaved road—nothing more than a path through the woods—April suddenly grew excited and could no longer contain it.
“Oh, Rosie,” she said, taking her sister’s hand in hers, amazed, once again, that she existed, and that her hand was so warm. “You’re gonna love this place. It’s the cutest house ever. It’s like Little House on the Prairie.”
Rose smiled, quietly. But April couldn’t tell exactly what the smile meant, or the quietness, and so she just smiled, too. She didn’t say anything more for the moment. It was so odd to be uncertain about her sister’s thoughts—the sister whom she knew as well as she knew herself. Usually she could read her mind, finish her thoughts. But things had changed. Rose had been in another world for months. The burial had been an unspeakable experience. A trauma. She was a different person. Quieter, harder to read. April wasn’t used to being mystified by Rose, and she had to accustom herself to it, to seeing her sister as a bit of a stranger, to having to get to know her again.
Still, April really did believe that Rose would love this house. If not at first, then definitely with time. And, the good, and great, and completely lucky news was that they actually had time. A lot of it. The house, almost new, was unoccupied. Joseph and his brothers had recently built it for their sister and her new husband, Eli, as a kind of wedding gift for the young couple. But then, just a couple of weeks before they were to move in, the plan had changed. One of Eli’s own brothers, back in Wisconsin, suddenly needed help on his dairy—and moving to Wisconsin was something that the couple very much wanted to do. Here was their chance. And their moving out to the Midwest also solved a problem for Joseph’s family: Joseph, as the youngest, had had no land, and no home, waiting for him. Now he did, a brand-new one.
But, in the meantime, Joseph gave the home to April and Rose—to give Rose a chance to heal and the sisters time to bond once again. Of course, it also gave Joseph and April a chance to bond again, too. And though Joseph stayed at his cousins’ place down the road—down the road in Amish terms was quite a bit of distance—he visited the house daily, to help maintain the place, to get some crops going, to help with the chickens, and the other animals they’d brought in. And to check in on Rose. But especially to see his beloved April.
* * *
A month passed. Then two. In watching Joseph tend to everything and everyone in the house, every person, goat, horse, and plant, April was reminded of everything she had loved about Joseph. April and Rose, city girls through and through, were learning the ways of country life. They’d wake up very early, almost at dawn. By the time April was making breakfast, the roosters would be crowing. Their morning scrambled eggs came from their own hens; the apple jam for their toast came from a nearby orchard.
Rose, in particular, had taken to preserving and canning fruit. Joseph’s sisters taught her how to do it. The repetitive nature of the work comforted her. Filling jar after jar with sweet stuff made her happy. She felt a sense of accomplishment in watching the pantry fill up with glowing jars of pink and green and dark rose-red. It made her feel safe to see a full pantry, especially with winter coming. All of those pretty jars hinted at a future. Each jar represented a week in the future that belonged to her, and sharing meals with the people she loved. Each jar took her further away from the pain of the past. Rose never said that. But April knew her sister. And when she watched her at work, canning the jam and placing a new jar in the pantry, she could see it all plainly.
The remainder of the day would be dedicated to tending the farm. Inspecting the crops. Watering and pruning. Securing fences and digging ditches. Tending to the animals. Feeding and grooming them, clearing their enclosures, harvesting eggs from the coops. And when all of the chores were done for the day, the sisters would help Joseph, who was building a granary and storage silo. Occasionally they’d make a trip to the store. And then it was time to make a fire and cook dinner. By the end of the day, April and Rose would be sitting around the fire, mending clothes, cleaning up, and entertaining each other. The cat would be dozing nearby.
“Look at us,” Rose said one evening as they sat there.
“What do you mean?” asked April.
“Look around here,” Rose said, sweeping her hand around the cabin. “How did we become Amish? Like, what?”
April giggled, and Rose continued.
“Like, how are you sewing? You don’t know how to sew!”
“Actually,” April replied, “you’re right. I really don’t.”
She held up the shirt she’d been sewing, one of Joseph’s, and displayed a ridiculously crooked and messy seamline. They burst out laughing.
“We suck at being Amish,” Rose said, with tears streaming down her face. It was the first time April had seen her sister laugh like that, or cry. Since she’d returned, she had shown very little open emotion. But now that corner had been turned. And, for a moment, a small tear came to April’s eyes, too.
* * *
April was particularly taken by the care that Joseph was showing to her sister. He always asked April about her progress and listened very carefully to her answers. He spent a lot of time teaching Rose, gently and patiently, how to tend the farm. And even better than teaching, he listened attentively to her. He watched her, with his special intuitive glances, to see what things she seemed excited to do, and he focused on those things. When he saw that she was interested in preserving and canning fruit, he came back the next day with extra bushels of apples, grapes, and berries, and jars. An entire buggy-ful of supplies.
“Do we really need that much?” April had whispered to Joseph when Rose had gone out to begin unloading everything from the buggy.
“No,” Joseph had replied. “We don’t. But Rose does.”
And later, when the jars were starting to pile up, Joseph suggested that his cousin would be happy to sell the surplus jam at the market. Rose immediately brightened up, excited that her labor would bring in some money. When Rose seemed to want a new task, Joseph would make suggestions. And when Rose seemed to want solitude, he’d let her be. April watched all of this, constantly impressed, constantly moved.
Once, sitting around the fire at night, after a long busy day during t
he last corn harvest in late fall, Rose had mentioned that she’d always wanted a big brown dog. She knew that she’d call this big brown dog Darlene. The next day, Joseph showed up with a small picnic basket.
“Look who I found,” he’d said, as he walked in and placed the basket down on the table, where April had been setting up breakfast.
Joseph took full advantage of his understated manner to set up the surprise. So much so that Rose, still half-asleep, hardly noticed that the basket was lined with roses, whose de-thorned stems were braided together into a little nest that held a tiny, tiny puppy whose eyes were so big they seemed to be half her size. A little handmade sign that read DARLENE dangled from her neck.
“Darlene!” Rose said, with a big sleepy smile.
And the moment she said it, Darlene’s tiny tail began wagging. All that day, Darlene didn’t leave Rose’s side, or maybe Rose didn’t leave Darlene’s side. But they were inseparable from then on. When Joseph said that he’d got the puppy from a “farm right down the road,” he neglected to mention, until April pulled it out of him privately later, that he’d actually traveled three hours each way, to a farm in the next county, to pick Darlene up. And this was after spending almost the entire day inquiring after puppies. April watched all of this, watched how Joseph gently helped heal her sister, and with each passing day, her love for Joseph deepened.
* * *
April and Joseph were spending more time together. More than ever before. No matter how early April woke up, Joseph was always already in the house, waiting patiently for her. Around the farm, Joseph was an endless flurry of activity. Lying in bed in the morning, before dawn, April could hear Joseph downstairs, puttering around in his stocking feet on the hardwood floor, trying hard not to make too much noise.
She found his sounds comforting. Often, she spent a few extra minutes in bed, just listening to him organizing and dusting and fixing things. Each little act of domestic upkeep was, to her, a kind of small kiss or a love letter. He never made a big deal of it. And only shrugged when she thanked him. But he was constant in his efforts to help her and Rose, to make their lives easier and safer and more comfortable.