A Faithful Gathering

by Leslie Gould

Once his eyes adjusted, he approached a woman sitting behind a desk and told her his name and that he was reporting for the Civilian Public Service.

  “Goodness, I didn’t know we were expecting a new orderly,” she said. “I think Captain Russell is away for the day. I’ll call Lieutenant Shaw and see if she can put you to work.”

  She? Joe didn’t know that women could be officers.

  “Wait over there.” The woman gestured toward the chairs.

  He did as he was told, but he waited so long that he began to grow drowsy. He was too tall to rest his head on the back of his chair. Afraid he might fall asleep and topple over, he stood and walked to a window that looked out onto the street. A horn honked and then a taxi stopped. An older woman climbed out, her face worn and weary. Joe’s heart lurched. Perhaps she had an injured son inside the hospital. The woman reminded him of his Mamm, and the ache of losing her washed over him all over again. So many people were hurting in the world. A mother for a son. A son for a mother. Joe hoped he’d be able to ease a measure of pain in his work at the hospital.

  A voice behind him called out, “Joseph Bachmann?”

  He turned. A young woman with intense blue eyes stood by the receptionist’s desk, a file in her hand. Her blond hair was tucked under a nurse’s cap, and she wore a white dress and a frown.

  “I am Joseph.” He stepped forward. “But you can call me Joe.”

  “I’m Lt. Shaw,” she said. “And you can call me ma’am.”

  5

  Leisel

  Caden’s cries interrupted us, but Marie called out, “I’ll get him.” I stayed on the porch with Aenti Suz.

  “Why have I never heard this story before?” I asked.

  “Well,” she said, “I thought your father would have told it to you.”

  I shook my head. “He talked about his father some. I remember him saying Amish scholars went to public schools back then.”

  “Your grandfather stopped going to school after the eighth grade,” Aenti Suz said. “Some Amish students continued after that, but his help was needed on the farm. Your Dat and I went to Englisch schools too, but in the 1960s we were required to go until we were sixteen. The law didn’t change until the Supreme Court decision in 1972 that exempted the Amish and other groups from compulsory education beyond the eighth grade.”

  I nodded. “Dat also talked about farming with his Dat. And about caring for him when he was ill.” In fact, that story had inspired me to be courageous as I cared for Dat.

  “Jah, he was very gentle with our father. There were some who were surprised a man could provide such loving care.”

  “I know you helped too,” I said quickly.

  “I did,” Aenti Suz said. “We cared for him in the Dawdi Haus. Our Mamm had already passed, or else she would have been a big help too.”

  I could imagine Dat and Aenti Suz nursing their father. He was a fortunate man to have two children who were so compassionate. But then again, maybe they were that way because of the way he’d raised them.

  Marie came out on the porch with Caden. He pressed his face against her chest when he saw us. I stood, offering her my chair.

  As she sat, I spotted Milton at the mailboxes. Then he started toward us.

  There was nothing as uplifting as a beautiful spring day on the farm. I turned my face toward the sun and soaked in the warmth until Milton started up the steps.

  “Aenti Suz, you have a letter.” His eyes sparkled. “From your boyfriend.”

  “What?” I belted out.

  Marie smiled. “David still writes to you?”

  Aenti Suz ignored us both. “Denki,” she said to Milton as she took the letter.

  “Who’s David?” I knew my voice sounded as betrayed as I felt. Why had no one told me that Aenti Suz had a man in her life?

  “He’s just a friend,” Aenti Suz said.

  “You remember him,” Marie said to me. “David Herschberger. Aenti Suz knew him when they were young, and then we spent time with him down in Pinecraft. He helped get us on the bus home after Jessica was hospitalized. I’m sure I told you about him.”

  I remembered her mentioning him three years ago, but that was all.

  Marie turned toward Aenti Suz. “And then he visited here.”

  “Indeed he did,” Aenti Suz said.

  I clapped my hands together, vaguely remembering that as well. “And then what happened?”

  “Nothing,” Aenti Suz said. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Why not?” Again, my voice betrayed my emotions. This time it was frustration.

  Aenti Suz met my eyes. “It’s not like you to be so nosy. You’re usually so reserved about this sort of thing.”

  My face grew warm. “I’m just thinking it would be so nice for you to have a boyfriend.”

  She shook her head. “I’m completely content with my life.” She slipped the letter into her pocket.

  “Will you write him back?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “It depends on what he’s written.”

  “David really cared for Aenti Suz,” Marie said. “He was very clear about how he felt.”

  Aenti Suz stood. “I’ll leave you two to your unsolicited fascination about my life.”

  I cringed. We’d offended her. “Wait,” I said. “What about Dawdi’s story?”

  “That will have to wait, I’m afraid.” She started toward the door.

  Was she punishing me? That wasn’t like Aenti Suz. It wasn’t like her to be offended either.

  Once she was inside, I sat down in her chair. “What was that all about?”

  Marie shook her head. “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing David has been pursuing her. You know, in an older-Amish-man-sort-of-way. And for some reason, she’s not interested.”

  “Do you know what happened, exactly?”

  She shrugged. “It seemed they had a great time together in Florida. Don’t you remember me telling you they spent every day together?”

  “Somewhat . . .” Had I really been so absorbed with school and studying and work and Nick that I hadn’t really listened? Just like I hadn’t about Marie’s stomach pains?

  “When Gordon called about Jessica,” Marie continued, “it was David who helped get us on the bus and on our way. After he came back home to Chester County he came down for dinner, but Aenti Suz seemed distant with him. Afterward, she told me she didn’t want to rush into anything.” She shrugged. “That was three years ago. I didn’t even know they were still in contact.”

  “So, she decided he wasn’t right for her. That’s not surprising, right? She would have married long ago if she wanted to.”

  Caden pulled his face away from Marie’s chest and gave me a sleepy smile. I put out my arms and he scrambled into them, totally distracting me from our conversation until Marie said, “Except they seemed absolutely perfect together. The way Jessica and Silas are for each other. The way Gordon and I are.” She gave me a teasing glance. “The way you and Nick are—at least from what I’ve seen. You really should bring him around more.”

  I ignored her comment. Nick—and his desire to join the Air Force—was the last thing I wanted to think about. “What do you think happened, as far as Aenti Suz?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was the bus accident. Or coming back home.” She shrugged again.

  “She does seem happy.” There was no reason to worry about Aenti Suz. She knew what she was doing. “Maybe she really never wanted to marry.”

  “Oh, no. She did.” Marie said. “The love of her life was killed in Vietnam. When Dat was there.”

  Dat had told me about the clinic he worked in for a year in Vietnam, but he never said anything about anyone being killed. It dawned on me that he could have been killed too.

  Just then, Caden began to cry and Marie said she was feeling nauseated and needed to take her meds. “Caden probably needs a snack.” She stood. “You should ask Aenti Suz about her boyfriend—fiancé, actually. Maybe she’d tell you about him.”

  I wasn’t s
o sure she would, but I would definitely ask. After she finished telling me Dawdi Joe’s story.

  The next day, I called Rita and asked for more time off. “A couple of weeks,” I said.

  She wasn’t happy and told me so. When I didn’t respond, she said, “Mr. Weber’s daughter wants to speak with you.”

  “About what?”

  “She read through his chart. She wants to hear about his last night.”

  I held back from reminding Rita I’d wanted to stay that morning and speak with his daughter. “Give her my cell number. She can give me a call.”

  Rita sighed. “I’ll give you her number when you get back. I’ll tell her you’ll be out of town a few more days.”

  “A couple of weeks—”

  “See you soon. Bye.” The line clicked as she hung up. I doubted Mr. Weber’s daughter was upset over his fall. At least I certainly hoped not. She probably just wanted to know what his last words were, that sort of thing. I put it out of my mind.

  I took Marie to the oncologist the next day. He recommended surgery before chemotherapy, which wasn’t what I’d read when I researched treatments. “You’re right,” he told me. “But it’s not unheard of to do the surgery first—and in this case we don’t want to wait.” He diagnosed her as having Stage 2 cancer. I kicked myself that we hadn’t found it at Stage 1.

  A couple of days later, we went to see her surgeon, Dr. Turner. He was tall and wore his blond hair short. He addressed Marie first and then me. I introduced myself as Marie’s sister.

  Then, commenting on Marie’s Kapp, he said he knew she was Mennonite because it was rounded instead of heart-shaped, like the Amish in Lancaster County wore. She told him she’d grown up Amish but had left to become Mennonite before she married.

  He turned to me, his gray eyes lively. “So you’re her sister, but you’re not Amish or Mennonite?”

  I nodded. “I’ve left altogether. I go to a nondenominational church now.”

  “Here in Lancaster?”

  “No, in Pittsburgh. I just graduated from nursing school.”

  “Fascinating. I’m looking for an office nurse, but I’m guessing you have something more exciting in mind.”

  I smiled and assured him that I did, although I had nothing against office nurses.

  “I figured.” He grinned. “You don’t seem the type to be satisfied with weighing people and taking their blood pressure.”

  “Yeah, I’m more interested in blood and guts.” Suddenly I felt embarrassed talking that way in front of Marie. “I’m sorry,” I said, turning toward her.

  She shook her head. “It’s alright.”

  Dr. Turner appeared confused. He didn’t get it.

  “Blood and guts,” I said. “She’s having stomach surgery.”

  He slapped his forehead. “You’re much more astute—and empathetic—than I am.”

  “Not really,” I responded. “I’m the one who made the faux pas in the first place.”

  He grimaced.

  Thankfully, Marie changed the topic, saying to Dr. Turner, “Tell us about yourself,” and saved us both from further embarrassment.

  I almost fell off my chair when he said he’d grown up Mennonite in Michigan. To think this doctor had Anabaptist roots too! He quickly explained that his family wasn’t Old Order. “It wasn’t a big deal for me to go to med school, not really.”

  He continued, saying that he’d graduated from Johns Hopkins University with extensive surgery experience and that he’d been working in Lancaster for the last three years. He seemed fairly young, early thirties probably, but competent and willing to answer every single question I had, including how much of Marie’s stomach would have to be removed and if any other organs would too. He was hoping for a minimal amount of removal, of course, and he was eighty percent certain from the diagnostic tests that no other organs were affected.

  He also scheduled the surgery for as soon as possible—a week away, the second week of May. He agreed with the oncologist that the surgery should be performed first before the chemotherapy. “The tumor is small enough to be removed first,” he said. “Then the chemo can do its job.”

  As Marie discussed scheduling details with the nurse, I made up my mind to still take my state boards on May 17 since Marie would be in the hospital, recovering from her surgery. I would simply slip away to Pittsburgh, take the boards, and then return to her side. I could have rescheduled the test in Lancaster, but I believed going to Pittsburgh would put me in a better place to concentrate on my test.

  But for the time being there were far more important things for me to do than worry about passing my test. Besides, I felt completely confident that I would, so I put it out of my mind.

  When we got back to the farm, while Marie went to rest, I called Rita again and gave her my notice, saying I wouldn’t be back to work.

  “Do you expect me to give you a good recommendation?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t. I can’t help it that my sister has cancer.”

  Her voice softened a little. “We’re really short-staffed. Couldn’t you come back after her surgery? Just for a month or so, until you find your next job?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t.” Thankfully I had my savings, and I wouldn’t have to start paying back my student loans for six months. “But what about Mr. Weber’s daughter? Could you give me her number or give her mine?”

  “I’ll give her yours,” Rita said. “She might not call though. The funeral was yesterday.”

  I held in a sigh. I had wanted to talk with her the morning her father died, but now I only wanted what was best for her in her grief.

  I tried not to worry about Marie as I went through my day caring for her and Caden. For someone used to having a microwave, dishwasher, washer and dryer, and grocery store nearby, it was quite the adjustment. Of course Aenti Suz helped as much as she could, although she did have commitments to helping her widowed friends in the district.

  I’d been doing a poor job of keeping Nick up-to-date on what was going on, but he texted me and asked me to call him that afternoon.

  I took Caden outside with me, plopping him down in the sandbox and piling the bucket and little shovels and rakes all around him. Then I stepped to the garden, called Nick, and began to weed between the tomato plants, positioned so I could keep an eye on Caden.

  Nick sounded groggy when he answered.

  “Oh no,” I said. “I woke you up.”

  “I ended up working last night,” he said.

  “You should have texted me not to call.”

  “No.” He sounded a little perkier. “I wanted you to. I don’t work tonight. How are things going?”

  I gave him an update about Marie’s appointments. He asked me what I thought of the doctors, and I told him I was especially impressed with Dr. Turner and then mentioned that he’d grown up Mennonite.

  “Interesting,” Nick said. “Marie and Gordon are really fortunate to have you there. How long will you be able to stay?”

  “Hopefully until she’s had a couple weeks of chemo. I quit my job, so that’s not an issue, and the lease will be up on my apartment at the end of this month.”

  “Have you applied for any nursing jobs yet?”

  “I will,” I said, “after I pass my boards.”

  “You’ll pass your boards,” he said.

  I thought so too, but it would be prideful to say that. “I hope so.”

  “There’s a neuro floor position open here,” he said.

  I would have liked to go straight to emergency or intensive care, but that wasn’t always possible. Nick had started as a floor nurse but then quickly got a job in emergency. Hopefully something like that would work for me too.

  “Apply online,” he said. “And send Sue your résumé. She asked about it. Do you have your references lined up?”

  I assured him I did. I’d already talked with two of my professors and my clinical supervisor. I had all of the necessar
y information, but I just needed Wi-Fi and time on my laptop. I’d have to sneak away to a coffee shop during Caden’s naptime.

  “I have a stretch of days off coming up soon,” Nick said. “I was thinking about coming to Lancaster.”

  I held my breath for a second. Did I want him to come? Jah, of course I did. I just didn’t want him to talk about joining the Air Force.

  “I talked with the recruiter again, and—”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “Leisel . . .” He paused and then said, “Is this a deal breaker for you?”

  I exhaled. Was it? “I can’t think about it right now,” I said. “Not when Marie is facing . . .” I couldn’t say it.

  “That’s fair,” he said. “But can we talk in person? When I come in two weeks?”

  “All right,” I managed to squeak. I was sure by then I’d be able to make Nick understand that he couldn’t join the Air Force, that it wasn’t right for our future.

  “I’m praying for Marie,” he said. “And for you.”

  “Denki,” I answered. “I mean, thank you.” In truth, I was having a hard time praying myself. When I knelt beside Aenti Suz’s couch at night, it seemed as if my prayers became lodged in my throat. I had to force them out, one word at a time.

  Nick asked, “Is it good to be home?”

  “It is and it isn’t,” I answered. “It will be good to see you when I’m in Pittsburgh.”

  “Ditto.” We talked for a few more minutes, but then Caden looked my way and started to cry. I dropped the weeds in my hand in the pile at the edge of the garden and started toward the sandbox.

  “Who’s crying?” Nick asked.

  “Caden. The sandbox trick was short lived.”

  “Aww,” Nick said. “Poor guy.”

  As I scooped up Caden, he reached for my phone. But then Arden came out of the barn and I told Nick I needed to go.

  “Just a minute—”

  “No, Arden’s coming. You know how he feels about phones on the farm. I’ll text you. Bye.” I ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket. I needed to be back on the Bachmann farm. I knew that. But it wasn’t always easy.

  The Sunday night before the surgery Jessica came over with Ruby to spend the night at Mamm’s. The plan was for Jessica to care for Caden so Aenti Suz could leave for the hospital with Gordon’s mother by the time Marie was in recovery.