A Faithful Gathering

by Leslie Gould

He’d nodded. “Yeah, I looked into that too. But I decided I’d rather go into nursing. I don’t want hundreds of thousands of dollars of student debt. Thousands will be hard enough. Plus I can always get an advanced degree in nursing as a nurse practitioner or nurse anesthetist.”

  I didn’t know what either of those was, but I asked my driver to take me by the public library on the way home so I could look them up. A nurse practitioner could do almost everything a doctor could, including prescribing. A nurse anesthetist performed the same tasks as an anesthesiologist.

  My admiration for the nursing profession grew.

  It was soon evident that Nick and I were doing the best of all the students. He began sitting by me in the classroom in the morning, and our instructor often assigned us to the same area of the nursing home for our afternoon clinicals. One time, when I was caring for an obese patient, Nick checked in with me several times to help move the man. Even though Nick was lanky, he was strong. I didn’t think it was fair of me to depend on him, but I appreciated his willingness to help.

  One day after class, the receptionist handed me a note that said my driver wasn’t going to be able to pick me up.

  “Everything okay?” Nick had asked.

  When I told him I needed to call for a ride, he said, “I can take you.”

  I shook my head but then changed my mind. I’d have him drop me off on the highway and I’d walk up the lane. No one would even know.

  He drove a Chevy pickup that was old but clean both inside and out. He opened the passenger door and then I reached over and opened his door for him. That made him smile.

  He didn’t start the engine until I had my seat belt fastened. He drove responsibly, and we chatted away about what we’d learned that day.

  When I asked him to drop me off at the intersection of Oak Road and the highway, he said, “I can take you all the way.”

  “No, here is fine.” When I started to reach for the door, he pulled over, saying, “Oh,” as if he understood the situation.

  He waited, though, until I was halfway down the lane, until I turned and waved again. After that he drove me home after every class, always dropping me off in the same spot. One day, I jokingly asked if he’d teach me how to drive. He pulled over onto a dirt road and told me to trade places with him. With the patience of a saint, he taught me the basics of driving and let me practice several times after that. When the class ended, he gave me his phone number and asked for mine.

  I told him it would be best if I just called him. I didn’t at first—I hated talking on the phone—but after a couple of months, I did. I’d gotten my GED and wanted to know more about applying to nursing school. I took my ACTs and aced them. I applied to the same school that Nick had in Pittsburgh and included an essay about growing up Amish and that I was willing to leave to pursue that calling. On the day before he moved to Pittsburgh to start nursing school, Nick took the time to meet me at the library to help me edit the essay and finish my application.

  When I received the acceptance letter in the late fall of 2012 with a start date of spring 2013, I called him immediately and we celebrated together on the phone.

  When Dat was diagnosed with cancer two weeks later, I called Nick and he told me to contact the college and ask for my admittance to be postponed to fall 2013. It was good advice.

  When Dat decided to stop chemo, I called Nick in the middle of the night. When Dat stopped eating, I again called Nick in the middle of the night. When Dat went into a coma, I called Nick for a third time in the middle of the night.

  When Dat died, I called Nick as soon as I could. He asked if he could come to the funeral, but I told him no. I didn’t have the energy to explain to everyone who he was. The stress of Dat’s death, Jessica’s homecoming, Amos’s unexpected appearance, Marie’s self-righteousness, and Mamm’s fragility was more than enough for me to deal with.

  After seeing the way Mamm and Marie treated Jessica the week after Dat died, though, I called Nick again. I decided I might as well leave home sooner rather than later. He looked for CNA jobs and apartments for me in Pittsburgh, emailing me the links. I applied online at the library for both.

  Once I’d secured a job and a place to live, he met me in Harrisburg at the café in the same building as Jessica’s apartment and then took me to Pittsburgh and helped me transition to an Englisch life, including taking me to church with him. I didn’t find a community like the one I’d left, but I found kindness and support. A place to learn and worship.

  Nick was honestly the best friend I’d ever had. A better friend than even my sisters. My relationship with him had developed step by step, in a natural way.

  I clenched my jaw. Now, we were at the first impasse of our relationship.

  Even though I couldn’t figure out what was coming next, just thinking through my story with Nick made me feel better. I truly believed God had brought Nick into my life and led me to nursing school. And God had a plan for me, even though I’d forgotten that both during the test and afterward. I squared my shoulders as the sun broke through the clouds.

  As I drove, I finished the last of my coffee just as I passed the first sign for the upcoming Somerset exit. I hesitated. Could I take any more bad news? Regardless, I decided to stop at the diner for more coffee and ask for an update on the man. Surely someone would know the outcome. And if he’d survived, I could really use the good news.

  The lot in front of the diner was nearly full, and I parked along the side. I sat at the counter for a few minutes before a waitress, one I didn’t recognize, asked what I needed.

  “A large coffee to go,” I answered. “And hopefully some information.” I quickly explained about the man who’d experienced the cardiac incident a few weeks ago.

  “I heard about that.” She pursed her lips. “But I’m not sure what happened. Let me get Terri. I think she knows.”

  A minute later, one of the waitresses from that night walked out of the kitchen.

  “Oh, hi,” she said, obviously recognizing me.

  I introduced myself anyway. “I keep thinking about the man who collapsed the last time I was in,” I said. “And I wondered if you have an update.”

  Her face fell.

  My heartbeat quickened.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “He didn’t make it.”

  Even though I knew the odds, I still had hoped he’d beaten them. “I’m so sorry too.” I swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat.

  “You were so great with all of it,” she said. “In fact, his wife came by about a week ago. She was hoping you’d stop in again sometime, and she left her number.”

  I winced. What if she wanted to sue me too? I took the number that Terri had retrieved from near the cash register and thanked her, but then I stuffed the slip of paper in the pocket of my backpack. I didn’t have the resolve to call her, not now. I’d learned my lesson with Mr. Weber’s daughter.

  I fought back my tears until I reached my car. As I buckled my seat belt, the first sob wracked me, followed by another. Tears streamed down my face. That little boy and girl were without a father. That poor woman had lost her husband.

  I reached into the back seat for the tissue box and swiped at my tears and then blew my nose. Here I was, the girl who didn’t cry, wallowing in a parking lot in Somerset. It wasn’t like me to be so emotional.

  I was tired, yes. And for the first time I could remember, scared.

  For Marie. And Gordon. And Caden. And me. It was one thing to lose Dat, but he was sixty-seven when he died. Marie was a young woman. A young mother.

  Another sob threatened me, but I willed it away.

  I called Gordon to see if I should go to the hospital or the farm. “Go on home,” he said. “Marie’s had a rough evening. I’ll stay again tonight.”

  As I turned onto the ramp, I thought about my emotional reaction at both Sonny’s death and Marie’s illness. I was raised to believe in God’s wisdom, in His will. The rain fell on the just and the unjust. The Lord knew the n
umber of our days. Some lived a long life, some a short one. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

  Had my faith changed that much in the last four years? Was I not trusting God? He’d allowed Mr. Weber to live to be nearly ninety-three, but He’d allowed Sonny to die while he was still a young man. Perhaps God would allow Marie to die young too. I’d grown up believing that God worked in mysterious ways, with plans we couldn’t understand.

  Nick would say that death was never part of God’s plan—that it was the result of Adam and Eve’s sin. It was the consequence we lived with until heaven.

  Death was definitely part of life. I couldn’t change what God allowed. Or control when a person died.

  As I passed a semi truck, I breathed a prayer for Mr. Weber’s daughter, that she would gain clarity with her father’s death. Then I said a prayer for Marie. Please heal her. Please. Please. Please.

  My thoughts spiraled the way they had last night when I was trying to sleep. I hadn’t given Marie the advice she needed. Mr. Weber’s daughter might sue me. And I hadn’t saved Sonny. Perhaps I wasn’t meant for the medical field.

  If not, what would I do? Move back home with Mamm? Take a job as a CNA? Give up my car and join the church?

  I felt ill.

  When I’d first left for Pittsburgh, I was excited, much like my Dawdi Joe had been with his trip to Chicago. Maybe I’d gotten my confidence from him. I couldn’t help but wonder if he continued to find his time away from home a big adventure. Had he faltered at some point?

  I drove on, sipping my coffee and eating another granola bar. By the time I reached the farm, the sun slipped beyond the horizon, the rain sending it on its way. There were no beautiful streaks of light to bid it farewell. No miracles tonight.

  I parked, grabbed my backpack, and was headed toward the Dawdi Haus just as Bishop Jacobs opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

  “Leisel,” he said.

  I nodded. “Hallo.”

  He’d never said more than a few words at a time to me, and he didn’t change his pattern now. With a quick farewell, he was on his way.

  I stepped into the little house. By the lamp burning in the living room, I saw Aenti Suz rocking Caden. He appeared to be asleep.

  I nodded toward the door. “What did Bishop Jacobs want?”

  “He just had a few questions,” Aenti Suz answered.

  “About Marie staying here?”

  She nodded. “But don’t give it another thought.”

  “What did he decide?”

  “He’s going to think about it.”

  I wrinkled my nose.

  “How was your test?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  Aenti Suz smiled at me. “I don’t want to get up yet. Every time I’ve tried, this little one wakes up. Would you make me a cup of peppermint tea? And then come sit with me?”

  When I returned with tea for both of us, she said, “Tell me how your test went.”

  “I won’t know the results for a couple of days.” I placed her cup of tea on the table beside her rocking chair and held on to mine. Changing the subject, I asked how her day had gone.

  After she brought me up to speed—mainly that Caden had been unsettled all day and Jessica needed a break—she asked if I’d like to hear more of my Dawdi Joe’s story.

  “Please.” I cradled my cup in my hand. I couldn’t think of anything I’d like more.

  “Where were we?” she asked.

  “Dawdi Joe had helped Lt. Shaw with a violent patient, and then she thanked him in Pennsylvania Dutch.”

  “That’s right.” Aenti Suz’s eyes sparkled. She picked up her tea, took a sip, and then replaced it on the table. She tightened her grip on Caden as she rocked in the chair and launched back into the story.

  9

  Joe

  Time passed quickly on the days Joe worked. Most of the doctors were easy to get along with, but there was one named Karcher who criticized Joe no matter what he did. The doctor was in his late thirties and had a wife and five children back in Maryland. “I’d fight if I wasn’t a doctor,” he told Joe one day. “I can’t imagine why you’re not.”

  When Joe didn’t respond, the man grabbed him by the wrist. “Answer me,” he demanded.

  Joe pressed his arm against the doctor’s and, keeping his voice low and calm, said, “Let go of me.”

  When he didn’t, Joe yanked his wrist out of the man’s grasp. “If you have a problem with my work, please speak to Captain Russell.”

  “Oh, believe me, I will.” As Joe stepped away, Karcher hissed, “Coward.”

  Joe couldn’t help but wonder if the others viewed him as a coward too. Did Captain Russell, even though he was so amiable? Lt. Madison? Lt. Shaw?

  He realized his shoulders were slouching, and he forced himself to stand up straight. But even with the pain of wondering what others thought of him, he’d rather be working than not. Time sped by when he was on shift, but it slowed to a crawl when he had days off. He requested extra shifts whenever possible, which Captain Russell took advantage of, grateful for Joe’s work ethic. Several more times, the captain suggested that Joe join the army. Finally, Joe made it clear that he was a conscientious objector and couldn’t. “But you wouldn’t be fighting,” Captain Russell said. “You wouldn’t be doing anything different than you are now.”

  Joe simply smiled at the man. He couldn’t be part of the military.

  “Think about it,” the captain said. “When we’re sent overseas, I’d like to have you go with us.”

  “When are you going?” Joe asked.

  “Soon, most likely.”

  “Who will go?”

  “I’m not positive yet.” Captain Russell wrinkled his brow. “There’s still some discussion about that.”

  Joe walked down to the lake with Ali often. As they strode along the shore in the rain one day, Ali explained that, along with the sugar, gas, and shoe lines that Joe was familiar with back home, there were also lines for cigarettes, meat, and soap, and that women couldn’t find stockings anywhere. All of the silk was going to make parachutes.

  Joe’s sisters had never worn silk stockings—they’d worn knitted socks—but Joe had noticed the women in Chicago didn’t wear anything on their legs. He expected that would change in the winter though.

  Another day when he walked with Ali there was brilliant sunshine. The sky and lake were both so blue that Joe was sure he’d never seen anything so peaceful. But his moment of tranquility ended when two soldiers who appeared to have been drinking stopped them. “What branch are you in?” one of the men slurred.

  “The CPS,” Joe answered.

  The second man laughed. “The what?”

  “The Civilian Public Service,” Joe explained.

  The first man poked Ali in the chest. “What about you?” he sneered.

  “The same, sir,” Ali answered, his head held high.

  “Don’t get smart with me.” The man’s words were slurred again.

  “We mean you no harm.” Joe stepped between the first man and Ali. “We’re very grateful for your service.” He turned to Ali and mouthed, Go. Fast. Then he walked behind his friend, quickening his pace.

  He heard steps behind them but didn’t turn around. “Come back and face us,” the first man yelled.

  “Let it go,” the second man said to his friend.

  Joe and Ali kept walking as quickly as they could without breaking into a run. He felt like a scared calf, but he wasn’t about to fight the soldiers. That would go against his faith—and do nothing to better the situation. Escaping as quickly as possible was the best strategy.

  After a good half mile, Ali slowed and said, “Maybe we shouldn’t come down here again.”

  “We have as much right to be down here as they do.” But it was easier for Joe to state it as a fact than feel it as reality. He was happy to be in Chicago, to be meeting new people and seeing new places, but it wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. Everything was so different.

&nb
sp; His first letter from home arrived the end of the third week, from Charity. She wrote about the weather and the church service the day before. Then she wrote about Dat. I believe he’s grown weaker since you left. All of us girls are helping in the fields now, even Faith. At least you were able to get all of the planting done—I just hope Dat’s health holds, and we can get the crops harvested. I know the food is needed. She signed her name and then added that she would write more soon. He folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, praying for his Dat and sisters as he did. That was all he could do for now.

  On a Friday evening in mid-May, several of the nurses, including Lt. Madison, gathered in the lobby of the hospital to go to a dance downtown. Several of the orderlies accompanied them, along with Captain Russell.

  He asked Joe why he wasn’t dressed and ready to tag along. Joe smiled and said, “I’m going for a walk.” A dance was the last place he’d go.

  “You should come with us,” he said. “Lt. Shaw is, along with everyone else. We’re going to have a great time.”

  Joe thanked him for the invitation. He knew Ali wasn’t going. Hopefully he’d want to go for a walk too.

  As it turned out, Ali had to work, so Joe headed back up the stairs to the lobby to go for a walk by himself. Lt. Shaw sat in one of the chairs, wearing a skirt and blouse, reading a book. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. She glanced up and then waved when she saw him.

  He approached. “I thought you were going with the others.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t dance, and sitting around watching the others didn’t appeal to me. What are you doing this evening?”

  “I’m going for a walk.” He hesitated for a moment. Would he sound forward to ask her to join him?

  “Could I go with you?” she asked.

  “I’d like that,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of her. “I thought I’d head toward the lake.”

  She took her book back to her room and returned with a sweater.

  At first they walked silently as Joe struggled to come up with something to talk about. He was afraid Lt. Shaw might see through his awkwardness. He settled on asking her where she was from.