The Keeper

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Lulu jumped up on Rome’s cart and sat down, facing forward. Rome reached up to get her down, but Menno stopped him. “No, Rome. Lulu has picked you. She wants to go with you.”

  For a split second, Rome thought he might crack. He looked at Lulu’s dark brown eyes and could feel her pleading with him. Take me! Let me go with you! He inhaled sharply. “I can’t, Menno. She belongs here, at Windmill Farm.” He ordered Lulu down and she hopped off, tail between her legs, and sat down next to her puppy—the one Menno had still to find the right master for.

  Rome turned away and jumped onto the wagon without looking back. He picked up the reins and the mule started to move along, slowly and steadily, into the darkness.

  The old patterns of Rome’s life were repeating themselves. He was drifting.

  A silvery mist hugged the ground like a blanket, and the slanting rays of the sun brushed the leaves still lingering on the trees, painting them yellow, red, and brown. Fall had always been Julia’s favorite time of the year. As she walked along the apple trees, trying to decide if there was enough fruit to justify another picking before a deep frost hit, she wondered if she would forevermore associate autumn with saying goodbye. First to Paul, then to Rome. Maybe, soon, to her father. Amos was weaker with every passing day.

  Julia tried not to wonder where Rome was. Where did he go? What had he been doing? It didn’t matter, it was none of her business, he owed her nothing, they had taken no vows and made no promises.

  The odd thing was that after Fern had told her about Rome’s family, she began to understand his strange inner workings. The accident had made him fiercely, desperately independent. No wonder he couldn’t tolerate growing attached to her. She knew Rome cared for her, she saw it in his eyes and his actions. But she also knew he wasn’t capable of anything more. He wouldn’t even take Lulu with him, and that dog had meant something to him.

  As she walked among the apple trees, she prayed. She prayed about the mixed-up feelings, the uncertainty she felt about Rome. Prayer worked. She believed in prayer. The word trust kept circling through her mind. Trust. She turned the word over and over in her mind. Trust went hand in hand with faith. That’s what I need, Julia thought. To trust God’s ways.

  Maybe that was her problem with Paul. She was so busy telling God how to fix things between her and Paul that she hadn’t given God a chance to chime in. Maybe she could have saved everybody a lot of trouble had she ever asked God if Paul was the right person for her. No! God would have said. I’ve got something better in mind for you, if you’d just have a little patience. She could practically hear God’s voice. Not out loud, but in her mind. In her heart.

  So, Lord, this time, I am asking you to take over. Rome is yours, and you know his heart. You know what’s best for him. And you know what’s best for me. Please watch over him now, wherever he is. Help him find what he’s looking for. Give him joy, Lord. Give him peace.

  Overhead, a fluff of a cloud was framed with pure golden light from the sun that was hidden behind it. Awed by the sight, she studied the outline of the cloud within the frame, light splaying around its edges.

  As she gazed at the cloud, she was filled with feelings she couldn’t explain. Peace, joy, reassurance—all swirling together. It seemed as if the heavens parted and she caught a glimpse of God’s connectedness to this earthly existence. She’d never had such an awareness of the presence of God.

  The sun was starting to set now, and it was getting cold, but in her heart there was radiant light. She remained where she was until M.K. called to her to come in. She wanted to savor this new peace. She knew she would never, ever forget this moment in the apple orchards. It was meant to stay with her.

  The air was bright and pure; the leaves on the trees glistened and the Blue Lake Pond flowed softly, lapping against the shore with a gentle rhythm. Rome closed his eyes as though to contain the landscape and the deep sense of peace it evoked. He had been camping by the lake with his bees the last few days, waiting for a certified letter to arrive from Ohio, bearing a cashier’s check for his family’s farm. Waiting, waiting, waiting. What was taking it so long? He wanted to get that check to Fern for safekeeping. To leave Stoney Ridge with clean accounts. No regrets. No second thoughts.

  And yet, he did have second thoughts. He leaned his head against a tree and closed his eyes. Suddenly he was overcome with a sense of homesickness, a dull ache that had settled around his heart. He missed Windmill Farm. He missed the cottage. He missed the Lapps. He missed Julia. He hated knowing he’d hurt Julia. “Take care of yourself,” he had said, as if he were talking to a pal. How inadequate. How childish!

  The only reason he’d acted so cool and detached was so he didn’t leave her with any mixed messages, any confusion.

  This was better for her, for him. She would marry Paul. He would have an unencumbered life. It was better for both of them.

  So why did he feel as if he had lost something precious? As if he was losing his home all over again?

  What was home, really? Just a place to lay your head.

  No. It was so much more than that. It was the place where a person belonged. Where a fellow would be missed. It was a part of a man. Something that couldn’t be sold or taken for granted.

  He was seized by a moment of panic. Why had he sold the Ohio farm? It was like giving away his right arm. How could he have done such a thing? His father would be ashamed of him. Was it too late? Could he stop the process?

  He hurried to town to get to the post office before it closed at five. He would send a letter—a telegram. He would stop the sale.

  When the postmaster saw him come into the post office, she reached below the counter and pulled out a large manila envelope. “It just arrived, Bee Man. Those papers you wanted from Ohio. Now you can be on your way.”

  It was too late.

  The transaction had been completed. He ripped open the envelope and read the enclosed letter. Then reread it, again and again. He had to sit down. He went outside of the post office and found a bench. Was someone playing a joke on him?

  The cashier’s check was included for the full amount of the property. But also included was the deed to the farm. Paid in full. Returned to Roman Troyer. A gift.

  At dusk, Fern sent M.K. and Menno over to the Fishers’ with two bushels of apples to make cider. “Edith said her apple tree wasn’t delivering the goods this year because we hogged Rome’s bees.”

  “It’s cuz those bees have good sense to stay away from Jimmy Fisher,” M.K. muttered.

  “Go,” Fern said. “And don’t dawdle. It’ll be dark soon.”

  They got about halfway to the Fishers’ when M.K. was struck with inspiration. “Menno, let’s cut through the cornfields. It’ll save us going way down on the road.”

  “I don’t think so. It’s getting dark.”

  “Come on!” She started into the fields. “I do it all the time. Just watch for snakes.” She was deep in the middle of the field when she stopped abruptly. Staring intently through the dried cornstalks, she thought she heard a strange sound. Maybe she heard a snake behind her, maybe not.

  Menno caught up with her. “Let me go ahead of you. I’m taller than the corn.”

  M.K. grinned. Menno was proud of his height, nearly as tall as their father. He worked it into conversations all summer long. “Fine, but just keep going in a line, along that row. Can you see the lights from the house straight ahead?”

  A dog began barking and Menno stopped. “That’s Jimmy’s dog, Menno. He won’t hurt you.”

  “I don’t know about this, Mary Kate.”

  “It’s fine!”

  “Do you hear that dog yapping?”

  “He’s always yapping.” That dog was crazy, as crazy as Jimmy. It was barking its head off like it had seen a ghost. She gave Menno a gentle push to move forward. “Hey, I heard a good joke we need to remember to tell Uncle Hank. What’s got a head and a tail, but doesn’t have a body?”

  Menno worked on that for a long moment bef
ore giving up. “I don’t know.”

  “A coin! Like a dime or a quarter. Get it?” She then explained the joke to Menno until he understood it and gave out a big haw. By the time he stopped laughing, they were nearly through the cornfield to the woven-wire fence that ran alongside the yard to the Fishers’ large henhouse.

  “Let’s cut through the chicken yard to get to the house.”

  Menno started to object, but before he could get the words out, M.K. found the gate into the chicken yard and led the way across hen grit and worse. “Pinch your nose, Menno, so you don’t have to smell the stink. And be careful where you step or Fern will have a fit.” Nothing smelled worse than a henhouse on a windless night.

  M.K. could hear the chickens flapping their wings in the henhouse. Chickens weren’t the brightest of birds, and easily flustered, but something felt eerie to her. It didn’t help that Jimmy’s dog was having fits. She was glad to see it was on a tie-down.

  She heard a strange ripping metal sound, as if the henhouse door was getting wrenched from its hinges, then every hen in the place rose up and screamed. The bucket of apples dropped from Menno’s fingers, spilling everywhere. M.K. stopped to help him, when suddenly, something or someone burst out of the henhouse and stood, scanning the yard. The air behind it was white with feathers. M.K.’s breath was cut off, and her heart hollered.

  “Bear! Run, Menno!” M.K. screamed. “It’s the bear! Run! Get to the farmhouse!”

  She flew toward the house and landed on the top step of the porch, banging on the front door. Rapid explosions went off from an upstairs window in the house, followed by a burned-powder haze that hung in the air. And an eerie silence. Even the dog went still. Everything was waiting.

  “Menno?” M.K. shouted into the night. “Menno? Where are you? Menno?”

  As M.K. realized he wasn’t answering, she screamed.

  20

  At seven o’clock that night, Sadie came downstairs and asked Julia where M.K. and Menno were. When Fern told her they hadn’t gotten back yet, a strange look came over Sadie’s face. She went outside on the back porch to wait for them, restless and anxious. “Something’s wrong.”

  Within minutes, a strange wailing sound drifted up the hill. Julia ran to the kitchen door and saw a small figure running toward the house. “Juuu-Leee-Aaaa!”

  Julia flew out the door and ran down the hill to reach M.K. Her little sister flung her arms around her waist. It took awhile to calm M.K. down and get the facts straightened out, but Julia pieced together that Menno had been accidentally shot and was taken to the hospital in Lancaster by ambulance. As they came back up the hill, they found the family—Fern, their father, Uncle Hank, Sadie—waiting on the porch.

  “We’ll all go,” Amos said gravely.

  “Dad, are you sure you should go?” Julia asked. “I’ll go, find out the extent of Menno’s injuries, and call you. Sadie or M.K. could stay in the shanty until I call.”

  Sadie stood next to her father and held on to his arm. “He needs to be there, Jules. We all do.”

  It would take forever to get her father dressed and ready to go. He struggled to get enough air for the simplest of acts, how could he hurry for this?

  The same thought must have run through Fern’s mind. “You and Sadie go on ahead. The rest of us will follow as quickly as we can.”

  Julia nodded. Fern’s voice was calm, reassuring.

  “I have to come too,” M.K. said. “Please let me come. Please, please, please.” Her little face was white and pinched.

  Julia and Sadie went down to the phone shanty, called for a taxi driven by a Mennonite fellow who lived nearby, and waited. And waited.

  Finally, two headlights appeared on the road. The ride to the hospital felt like an eternity. When they reached the Emergency Room, they tumbled out of the car. Julia told the driver to go back to Windmill Farm to get her father. The hospital door slid open and Sadie, M.K., and Julia stepped into a crowded waiting room. Julia asked a man at the counter about Menno. He looked up Menno’s name on the computer, asked if they were family, then pointed toward a hall and said to go talk to a nurse at the station through the doors. They walked down another hall to a door that said NO ADMITTANCE. Julia had to push the button and talk into a speaker box to tell the nurse why they were there and whom they wanted to see.

  A nurse was waiting for them as the door opened. “Come with me.”

  “Where’s Menno?” M.K. asked, starting to cry again.

  Julia held her close against her. She wanted to cry too. This all felt like a bad dream that she couldn’t wake from. How could Menno have been fine, just a few hours ago, and now he was in a hospital? How could life be so fragile?

  The nurse handed M.K. a box of tissues. “I need to talk to your older sister about a couple of things first. Then I’ll take you to your brother. I promise.” She motioned to a quiet space by the nurse’s station so Julia followed her. “Were you told what happened?”

  “I know there was an accident. Someone was trying to shoot a bear and they ended up shooting Menno.”

  “Your brother received a bullet wound to his head. He’s on a ventilator and IV, oxygen and a catheter.”

  “Is he in pain?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Oh good! Oh, thank God. A wave of relief washed over Julia. “We’d like to see him.”

  “Soon. You need to know, he’s in a coma. He’s unresponsive.”

  Julia felt as if she might faint. She held on to the counter with both hands.

  “Do you need to sit down?” the nurse whispered.

  Julia breathed deeply for a moment. Was she going to be sick? She closed her eyes and tried to recite a psalm. Finally, she said, “All that matters is that he is alive.”

  “Yes, but—” The nurse stopped abruptly. “Let me take you to see him.”

  Julia followed her through another door and into the room where Menno lay, but the boy who lay on the bed did not look like her brother. Julia glanced around at the monitors. She recognized the jagging line for the heart, the numbers for the blood pressure and oxygen levels—it was the same kind of monitor her father had been hooked up to. Menno’s chest rose and fell, his left hand was taped to a board with the IV line in the back of his hand. His head was bandaged down to his eyebrows with a turban of white gauze. It was a horrible dream. Like someone was pummeling her with hard blows. One more and she might crumble.

  It was so hard to see Menno like this. She wanted to protect him. She was supposed to be able to protect him. She was his older sister! She had always watched out for him. Julia curled her fingers around his right hand on top of the sheet. His hand was so cold. She had heard once that even in a coma, the patient could hear.

  “Menno, it’s me. It’s Jules. Your sister. Can you hear me?”

  No response, not even a flicker.

  Julia sat down in the chair by the bed, still clinging to Menno’s hand. She remembered a time he’d fallen from a horse and his sweet face had been so battered and bruised she hardly recognized him. She stroked his hair that was sticking out under the gauze.

  She shot a look through the window at Sadie, who had tears running down her cheeks. M.K. had her face buried in her hands. Julia glanced over to the doorway to see a doctor standing there. Had he said something to her? “Yes?” The word came out in a croak. She tried again. “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Lee.” He held his metal clipboard against his chest, a barrier between them. “I admitted your brother.”

  The doctor studied the monitors, checked Menno’s eyes responses with his flashlight, skimmed the bottom of his feet with another instrument, pulled out his stethoscope and listened to his heart and lungs. He turned to her. “Menno’s condition remains unchanged.” Another blow to Julia’s gut. “Are you Menno’s guardian?”

  From some distant place, Julia could hear herself say, “Of sorts. I’m the eldest in the family. My father will be here soon, but he isn’t well. If there’s something about Menno you need for us
to know, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me first.”

  The doctor cleared his throat and his shoulders rose and fell in a sigh.

  “Will you be taking him in for surgery soon?”

  “Surgery?”

  “To get the bullet out of his head,” Julia said. Just how experienced was this doctor? He didn’t seem to know what to do next.

  Suddenly she felt herself shaking so hard she had to sit on a chair. She grabbed her elbows and leaned forward, head down. “You think he’s going to die, don’t you.” Julia’s voice was a dry rasp.

  The doctor crouched down beside her. Then, slowly, in a gentle voice, “Miss Lapp, when your brother came into the hospital, he was already comatose. The brain function is minimal. We’ve done all we can do for him.”

  At the window, Julia saw a nurse leading her father, Fern, and Uncle Hank to meet Sadie and M.K. The nurse quietly opened the door and let them file around Menno’s bedside. Fern and Uncle Hank stood against the wall. Fern gave M.K. a gentle push to go stand by her brother. Sadie leaned over and whispered something in Menno’s ear. Julia heard only the sounds, not the words. It reminded Julia of when they were young. Menno’s language was slow to develop, and Sadie, though two years younger, spoke sooner than he did. Her mother used to say that Sadie was God’s gift to help Menno along. Sadie seemed to understand what Menno wanted to say before he had words of his own to use. She would whisper something to him, like she was doing now, lean close to him, hearing something from him that only she could hear.

  Amos picked up Menno’s hand in his and stroked it gently. The doctor quietly explained the situation to everyone.

  “But he is breathing,” Amos said, “and his heart is beating.”

  “Yes, because he is on the ventilator,” the doctor said gently. “If we turn that off, he won’t last long.”

  Julia stared at the monitors. The steady beep beep beep, the snaking lines of tubing, the sucking sound as Menno’s chest lifted and fell. Was it true? She studied her brother’s face and his arms and hands. Beautiful Menno, special Menno. He had taught them all so much—patience, loving unconditionally, daily reminders to slow down and notice things—to really notice. She took his hand in hers, this calloused hand that had gently nursed so many animals back to health, this hand that had built so many birdhouses to shelter birds.