The Judgment

by Beverly Lewis

  In terms Mattie Sue could understand, Hen explained that a blow to the head could hurt the brain and so affect other parts of the body. “Like Daddy’s eyes. But the doctor thinks Daddy’s sight will return soon.”

  Mattie Sue turned and put her arms around Hen’s neck. “I really miss him.”

  “It’s possible Daddy might be able to go home tomorrow. We’ll just have to wait and see.” She hoped that what the doctor had indicated today was correct—that Brandon was responding well to the neurological tests so far and might indeed be discharged. “He’ll have to rest quite a lot once he does go home,” she said.

  Might be weeks before he can return to work, though.

  “Will Daddy live at his own house again?” Mattie got resituated so Hen could finish brushing her hair.

  “I’m sure he will,” she said, but suddenly she wondered how Brandon would manage.

  Mattie’s questions ceased suddenly, and she remained very quiet until Hen tucked her into bed. “Beth wrote a prayer for Daddy in her notebook,” she said.

  “How nice!”

  “She read it to me,” Mattie Sue said, reaching up to kiss Hen good night. “I’ll miss her when she leaves.”

  Hen hadn’t heard that Gilbert Browning was returning. “Did Beth say her father was coming for her?”

  “Their neighbor came to see Aendi Rosie this afternoon.”

  “Donna Becker did?”

  Mattie nodded her head and rubbed her eyes sleepily.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll still see Beth plenty, sweetie,” she assured her, then kissed her cheek and blew out the lantern.

  Downstairs, Hen sat on the settee with her Bible, reading in 1 Peter. She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, her father was calling to her from the back door. “Come in, Dad.”

  He joined her in the small front room and surprised her by saying that Mom had agreed to go to an orthopedic surgeon in York.

  “Amazing! When will you go?”

  “Next Friday morning.” He looked toward the window. “Honestly, I haven’t seen your mother like this since before the accident.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s surprisingly hopeful.” His chest rose and fell. “It’s so unlike her.”

  “Many prayers have been offered for her through the years, Dad.”

  “That’s the truth.” He then asked how Brandon was doing today.

  “Well, his surgery was successful, so things are better than yesterday. Apparently, though, he’s lost his sight due to the blow he took to the head, but the doctor said it should be only temporary.”

  Her father looked grave. “Temporary?”

  She nodded. “That’s the expectation. Either way, the doctor said it really shouldn’t be much longer and he’ll be going home—maybe even tomorrow.”

  “The Lord’s Day,” he said softly. “Will you visit him again?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave her a knowing smile. “You know, you’ve seen your husband more in the last two days than in the last two months.”

  She realized suddenly he was right. “Between you and me, I wonder what’ll happen now to Brandon’s plans for divorce.”

  “Honestly, I wondered the same thing.”

  A soft thump came overhead, and Hen guessed one of Mattie Sue’s beloved toys had fallen to the floor. “Mattie misses him so much, Dad. Should I take her with me to see him once he’s released?”

  “Well, that depends on how you think she’d handle the loss of his sight. She’ll certainly need you right there when she first sees him.”

  “Surely by tomorrow he’ll see.” Surely. Hen couldn’t let herself think otherwise.

  Later, after her father left for home, she made some warm peppermint tea and sipped it, thinking that if tomorrow weren’t the Lord’s Day, she would have invited her dad to ride with her to the hospital. His presence would provide a buffer, especially if Brandon was more alert and broached the dreaded topic of divorce.

  O Lord, please let something good come from this accident.

  Chapter 32

  Rose helped clear away the plates and utensils from the

  table on Sunday noon. Her own words came back to plague her: the bold suggestion that she and Silas not see each other for a while. Why hadn’t he spoken a word in reply? Was Silas irritated at her for being so brazen as to broach it?

  She went upstairs to her room and looked at the library books piled on her dresser. All of them were historical novels, just waiting to be read. Right now fiction was one of the best ways for her to deal with the turmoil swirling around the family. Hen’s pending divorce, and now Brandon’s accident and recovery—and this awkward thing between Silas and me.

  The book she was enjoying most took her far away from her worries, if only for a short time. Oh, the joys of living near an adventure-filled land as did Elnora Comstock—the lonely girl lived in the Indiana Limberlost and spent her leisure hours collecting and selling beautiful moths. Nearly as forlorn as I am.

  But Rose did not reach for the cherished book. Instead, she opened her dresser drawer and removed a small writing tablet and pen. Going to her chair and the side table near the window, she sat in her quiet room with the door securely shut. She stared out the window at the bishop’s house in the distance, through the windbreak of black trees.

  Rose sighed deeply and stared at the lines on the tablet. In the past, when she’d been feeling this addled, she’d always poured out her heart to Nick—he had always understood her. Maybe she would be able to think through everything more clearly if she simply wrote down her thoughts to her best friend. It was worth a try.

  Sadly, she began to write, knowing that at least the Lord would see this letter. All of a sudden, she hesitated—Rose hoped He would not frown upon her for these words. Truth be told, she was searching her heart, just as she’d told Silas to search his.

  Dear Nick,

  I might burst if I don’t write my thoughts here, though you’ll never see them. So much is bottled up inside me since I saw you unexpectedly in Philly. I wish I could talk to you like I always did when you were here. Oh, Nick, I miss those days!

  When I saw you at the homeless shelter, I wanted to tell you that your bishop-father is in dire trouble with the neighboring bishops over his ordination—especially Old Ezekiel. I know nothing can be done now, and that his fate is in the hands of God. But still, it breaks my heart—Dat’s, too.

  I told you in Philly that I found your note in the tin box. You wrote that you feel responsible for Christian’s death. And surely everyone here believes that you are. But I refuse to think, my dear friend, that no matter how angry you may have been that day, you would have taken the life of another. I simply do not believe it, Nick!

  No matter what you say, God is surely watching over you. He cares for you . . . and so do I. I really wanted to tell you this before you left home. Maybe you knew it all along.

  And even though it makes no sense at all, I realize more and more that I’m engaged to marry a man I might never love as I ought, and I love a man I can never marry.

  I miss you, Nick.

  ~ Rosie

  Rose stared at the shameless words, nearly shocked that she’d had the courage to commit them to paper. Carefully, she tore the page out of the tablet. Then, getting up, she placed the tablet and pen back in the drawer. She folded the letter in half twice and pushed it deep into her dress pocket. Finding her warm navy blue sweater, she slipped it on and buttoned it all the way down, then hurried downstairs to retrieve her heaviest wool coat and black outer bonnet from their hooks at the far end of the kitchen.

  Rose did not tell a soul where she was going, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. No one could keep her from hiding this. Truth was, she knew the very best spot for the letter. Somehow, it felt like the right thing to do.

  The best place, after all.

  Rose went out to the haymow and found her old riding britches for under her dress and long apron. Then she went t
o the stable and got her favorite horse, George, taking him far out of her way just so she could approach the desolate ravine at one of the points where the road lay lower and closer to the creek bed. The horse picked its way over the snow-covered area near the frozen creek, and she eventually found the boulder where Mamm’s tin box was still pushed deep into the crevice behind the rock, concealed beneath the decaying leaves. She removed all of the money her mother had taken along eleven years ago to make change at market. Then, wadding up the bills, she stuffed them into her pocket and removed her letter to Nick from the other. Her fingers shook despite the warm gloves she wore.

  A strange feeling came over her as she placed the letter where she’d found Nick’s unexpected note a month before. She firmly pressed down the lid and put the tin box back into its nest. Then she turned and mounted the horse to head back down the creek, amidst huge rocks and ragged trees, mere silhouettes now that their branches were barren.

  The letter would be safe there, where no one would think to look for it. No one knew that Nick had found the abandoned tin box, the sole remembrance of Mamm’s horrid accident, or that he’d taken Rose there to show it to her . . . and to speak tender words of love. How astonished Rose had been!

  Even so, Rose was fearful. She wondered suddenly what would happen if the note was unearthed years from now, perhaps long after she was Silas’s wife . . . and mother to his children. What then?

  “What if all the People come to know how I feel at this moment?” she said into the frosty air, her breath billowing up to the sky. But she’d done what she had set out to do and was not going down there to retrieve it. The box had been untouched for more than a decade. Surely there was no reason to expect anyone would discover it now.

  Once she was back up on Bridle Path Lane, Rose passed Jeb Ulrich’s little house. The poor man was said to be mentally unstable, and most of the time slept his days and nights away. There was no movement or even a single light coming from inside as the horse trotted past the tumbledown dwelling. Rose felt strangely comforted by the knowledge that not even Jeb had the slightest notion of her trek through the deep ravine that Lord’s Day afternoon.

  When Rose returned home, the kitchen was empty, a rare thing. She quietly placed the money from the old tin box in the empty cookie jar on the counter that her parents had always used for the purpose of storing pin money. The additional thirty dollars would easily mingle with the jam and jelly money and the earnings Rose had made recently on sales of her faceless dolls.

  No one will ever question it. My visit to the ravine is safe.

  Chapter 33

  Brandon gingerly sat on the edge of his hospital bed Sunday afternoon, fully dressed, his middle wrapped securely and his right arm in a cast. Hen had pulled up a chair as she attempted to encourage her husband, whose sight still had not returned. It was obvious he was depressed.

  In the midst of Hen’s inability to reassure him, the on-call doctor came into the room. He glanced at Brandon with a smile. “Someone’s rarin’ to go home.” He directed his gaze to Hen, then continued. “We’ve studied the MRI test results, and I’m happy to say they’re normal. As soon as the paperwork is finished, you’re free to go.”

  “That’s all great, but I still can’t see,” Brandon stated. “How am I supposed to function like this? I need to get back to work.”

  Again, the doctor reiterated that the blindness was temporary. “Most probably.”

  “Can’t you give me more to go on than that?” Brandon rubbed his eyes and grimaced. “I can’t even see light!”

  The doctor assured him that given enough rest, his brain and his eyesight should fully recover.

  Brandon needs my help, Hen thought, reaching to touch his shoulder. This was more than he could manage on his own. “How about I take you home?” she offered. “We’ll get through this together.”

  He turned toward her, surprise registered on his features. “You’d do that, Hen?”

  Just then, she realized he might be confused, thinking she meant their house in town. “I’ll take you home with me.”

  “Amishville?” he muttered, scowling. “I hope you’re not serious.”

  The doctor waved at Hen. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said, moving quickly to the door.

  “Thank you for everything,” she called to the doctor.

  He nodded and smiled. “Remember, rest is key.” Then he was gone.

  Brandon sat there silently.

  “I can best take care of you at the farm, Brandon,” she said more quietly. “It will also be more peaceful for you—fewer distractions while you heal.”

  He hung his head. “I’m not going there.”

  “All right, then. But don’t you need someone to help you get your bearings?” She wondered if his sister might return to stay with him. But when she asked, Brandon said Terry had used up all of her vacation time.

  “Where’s the phone? I’ll see if I can stay with Lawrence . . . just until this nightmare’s over.”

  Hen cringed inwardly but handed the receiver to Brandon to dial the number. Standing up, he shuffled about, looking so pitiful that Hen guided him back to the bed, where he sat while fingering the keypad on the phone. He talked himself through it, mumbling the whole time, as if picturing the keypad in his mind. It took more than a minute for him to locate the numbers to call his brother. Hen patiently stood by but did not assist him.

  When Lawrence answered, Brandon greeted him warmly. Hen heard him ask if he might stay there for a while, but soon it was quite evident that Lawrence could not—or would not—accommodate Brandon’s request. He was too busy.

  “What about your parents? Couldn’t they come stay with you?” Hen suggested when he’d hung up.

  Brandon shook his head. “They have all kinds of holiday social commitments.” He blew air out of his mouth. “Besides, I don’t want to put them out.”

  She waited, wondering what other options he might have.

  Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Why don’t you just take me to the house in town. I’ll figure out what to do when I get there. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to see later this afternoon.”

  “Sure, I’ll drive you there . . . if that’s what you want.”

  “I need to check on Wiggles, too.” He mentioned the neighbor who looked in on the new puppy when Brandon was at work. “I had Lawrence call her to let her know I might be in the hospital for a few days.”

  She glanced around the room. “Did your briefcase come along with you after the accident?”

  “I assume the nurse put my belongings somewhere nearby.”

  Hen spotted what looked like a narrow closet near the door. “How’d you get dressed earlier?”

  “Lawrence dropped off fresh clothes yesterday.” He shrugged. “And I had some help today.” A look of recognition crossed his determined face, and he stopped talking for a moment. He drew in a long, contemplative breath. “Okay, I see your point. I’m entirely dependent on someone.”

  “Well, not really. It’s all how you think about things. For instance, there are only so many strides from the door of the Dawdi Haus to the kitchen table. And a certain number of steps to the stairway . . . you get the idea.” She paused. “And Mattie Sue will be thrilled to help out, of course.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t want my daughter to see me like this.”

  “Okay. It’s your decision.” She opened the small closet and found his briefcase, car keys, and wallet. She placed his wallet and keys in his hand. “I’ll carry your briefcase, unless you want to.”

  “I can do it.” He stuffed his wallet and keys in his pants pocket. He held out his good arm and took the briefcase from her, then winced as he remembered his broken ribs. “On second thought, maybe you’d better keep it.”

  The nurse arrived with a wheelchair for Brandon, and when he was seated Hen placed the briefcase on his lap.

  In the elevator on the way down to the main entrance, Brandon asked about the other driver. “Any id
ea how he’s doing?”

  She hadn’t heard an update since yesterday but knew he was expected to remain in the hospital longer than Brandon due to a fractured vertebra and badly broken leg. “He may be worse off than you are . . . but I don’t know for sure.”

  “I feel bad for the poor kid.” He shuddered just then.

  His melancholy demeanor was typical after a head trauma, or so the booklet the doctor had given her had indicated. She’d also read that Brandon might experience confusion and disorientation, abrupt mood swings, and even weakness on one side of the body. He was no longer experiencing nausea, but his headache and broken bones were enough to warrant a prescription for pain medication.

  Once downstairs, she headed to the parking spot and brought the car around to the entrance. A nurse wheeled Brandon out to the curb and helped him into the front passenger’s seat.

  Hen thanked the nurse, then inched the car forward and out of the drive. Brandon mentioned something about maybe not staying at home after all.

  “Your doctor did say yesterday it’s important for family to observe head injury patients for several weeks, even months,” she reminded him.

  They rode for a ways before he relented. “Well, don’t expect me to wear that ridiculous black felt hat or those suspenders your father wears.”

  She smiled to herself. “Deal. Let’s stop first to pick up some more of your clothes from the house. And Wiggles, too?”

  Brandon turned toward her. “What day did you say it is?”

  “The Lord’s Day.”

  He ignored the religious reference. “I really need to contact Bruce Kramer, my business partner.”

  “You can use the phone at the house while I find your clothes.” She smiled again. “I doubt I’ll have time to sew up a batch of britches for you.”

  “Hen, please . . .”

  “If you rest like the doctor said, you should be able to resume your work and return to the house in town in a couple of weeks.”

  “Two weeks? Is that what he said?”