And the cause? Four miscarriages.
Miscarriages Marian hadn’t even known about until her aenti divulged the fact without her parent’s consent. Marian clenched her hands in her lap. She was still angry that they hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her about them.
As if she were some child who couldn’t bear the truth. At eighteen years old, she was hardly a child.
She stared out the window and watched the fields rush by in a blur. How did Englischers stand it? The world whizzing by at such speed every time they got into a car. Marian much preferred the slow, rhythmic pace of Frosty’s clip clop as she pulled the pony cart over the asphalt roads.
She wished Thomas was with her there in the van. His gentle strength always made her feel better, more centered, and able to withstand whatever life held. They were courting in earnest now. Before Mamm had been admitted to the sanitarium, they’d made plans to marry during the coming wedding season in November.
A plan that seemed highly unlikely now.
The wind grew colder, and her ears were beginning to freeze. She reached over and rolled up the window.
“Douglas, can you turn on the radio?” she asked, surprised at her nerve. Listening to the radio was not approved by the families in her district, but right then, she felt that if she didn’t have something to distract her, she would go crazy herself.
Douglas turned on a station of religious music. The music floated through the vehicle sounding like the hymns the Englischers sang in their churches. She recognized them from the one time her Englisch friend Amy had played them over the computer.
Marian smiled. She had liked Amy so much. But once Marian’s rumspringa was cut short by Mamm’s illness, she didn’t see Amy anymore. She couldn’t risk be away from home that long, not with having to watch over both Mamm and the baby.
Losing Amy was only one tragic casualty of Mamm’s condition. The blog Marian had started during her running around time was another. She shifted in her seat and sighed. Why was she dredging up all these sad memories now? They didn’t serve to help anything. And she was quite sure they weren’t pleasing to God.
She closed her eyes and asked God for forgiveness and mercy. And while she prayed, she asked Him for her mother’s quick recovery just as she did every single day.
“There’s a bit of a traffic issue up ahead,” Douglas said, lowering the volume of the music.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell from here, but it looks like a real backup. It could take us longer to arrive.”
Marian blew out her breath in a heavy sigh. “It’s all right. Mamm doesn’t know I’m coming anyway. But thank you for telling me.”
“How is your mama doing, if I may ask?”
Truth be told, Marian had no idea. Not really. “I think as well as can be expected,” she said.
But was she doing as well as could be expected? Marian’s expectations had been far higher in the beginning. At first, Marian had been deeply relieved when Bishop recommended Mama go to The Peaceful Haven. Marian had been trying for weeks for convince Dat to get her some help, but Dat had flatly refused. He’d blinded himself to the severity of her mamm’s condition.
Until that fateful night.
The night when Marian and Thomas had found Mamm running barefoot through the woods searching for a non-existent son. That was the night Dat finally realized it couldn’t go on.
Others in their district had gone to The Peaceful Haven and been helped. Only the most severe cases, of course. Folks in her community used Old Mae when they needed special doctoring. The woman’s knowledge of herbs and homespun remedies was without equal.
But Mamm’s case was beyond Old Mae.
Way beyond.
Marian closed her eyes and attempted to doze. Sleeping would make the trip go faster. Plus she was likely to need every ounce of energy once she arrived.
****
The driver didn’t pull up to the front doors of the sanitarium until mid-afternoon. Marian climbed stiffly out of the van, clutching her bag.
“I’ll need a ride back tomorrow,” she told Douglas.
He had gotten out of the van with her. He gave her a sympathetic look and pulled her door shut.
“Around this same time?”
She nodded.
“I’ll be here.” With a friendly tip of his head, he went back around the van and got in.
Marian faced the double glass doors and took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and pushed her way into the reception area. The woman at the desk was dressed in all white, and her glasses hung around her neck on a thin chain. She looked up when Marian entered.
“Marian Yoder?”
Marian approached the glossy counter. “Jah. You’ll remember I’m needing a place for the night, too.”
The woman looked down at her clipboard. “We’ve reserved the Rose Guest Room for you, miss.” She opened a drawer and took out a key. “Would you like me to show you the way?”
Marian shook her head. “I know the way.”
“Ah, that’s right. You’ve stayed with us before, haven’t you? Then you know the times for meals and our rules for visitors?”
“Jah.” Marian took the key from the outstretched hand. “Do you know where Mama is?”
“She’s in the Garden Room. Once you get settled, you can go right on in.”
“Thank you.” Marian turned and went down the hallway to the left of the desk. The walls were painted a soothing green, and there were pictures of landscapes placed strategically next to the closed doors. A floral smell permeated the space and Marian knew it didn’t come from real flowers. Perhaps the smell was pumped in from the vents lining the ceiling. Or maybe it was from the floor cleaner the custodians used. She didn’t know, but the falseness of the smell bothered her.
The Rose Guest Room was the last door on the left. She slipped the key into the lock and opened it. A double bed was pushed up against the far wall. Next to the window was a desk with drawers large enough to store every dress Marian owned.
She had brought very little with her, only her nightgown and undergarments. She would continue to wear the same cape dress she had on that day. She fingered the lace curtains at the window and looked outside to the expansive sloping yard. Some of the trees still bloomed with late summer flowers, and the grounds were meticulously tended. She leaned against the window sill and let the beauty of the place calm her heart.
Down the hall, a door banged closed and she gave a start. She needed to get going. She hadn’t come all this way to wallow about in her room. Quickly, she put her clothing inside the top drawer of the desk. Then she placed her notebook and pencil on the flat writing surface. She touched the pages, feeling certain she would be writing late into the night.
It would be odd to write using electric lights since she was accustomed to the flickering light of the lamp she kept in her bedroom. No matter. The important thing was to put her thoughts and feelings into words on paper.
There was a fairly large mirror mounted to the side of the door. She avoided looking in it, as she didn’t want to be vain. But she knew there were probably shadows under her eyes. She ran her hands over her blond hair, tucking a few stray wisps firmly under her kapp.
It was time.
She left her room and made her way down the hall to the Garden Room. The double doors were open wide, and she saw a smattering of people sitting at various round tables. Others sat in overstuffed furniture set about in clusters. Her eyes skimmed the room until she saw her.
Mamm sat alone next to the window, staring outside. Her posture was stiff, and her hands were motionless in her lap. From where Marian stood, she couldn’t see her mother’s expression. She inhaled sharply and started across the room.
Mamm must have sensed her presence for she turned her head to gaze at Marian as she approached.
“Mamm,” Marian said, moving faster now. She reached out to embrace the rigid woman, but stopped when she saw the clouded look in her mamm’s eyes.
“It’s me. Marian,” she said gently, kneeling before her mother.
“I know who you are!” Mamm snapped. “Do you think me an imbecile?”
“Nee, Mamm. Of course, I don’t. I’m so happy to see you.” Marian’s heart plummeted as she took in her mother’s sharp expression.
“Then you’re the only one who doesn’t.” Mamm smoothed her pale blue dress over her knees. “They all think I’ve lost my marbles.”
Her gray eyes bore into Marian’s, and she licked her lips. “Are you here to take me home?”
Marian glanced about for an empty spot to sit. She pulled a chair from a table that held a checkers game. She situated the chair close to her mother and sat down.
“How are you feeling?” Marian asked.
“Are you taking me home?” Mamm repeated.
Marian swallowed. “Uh, I need to speak with your doctor.”
Mamm leaned close. “The doctors here are insane. They don’t know a thing. All they do is try to shove Englisch pills down my throat.” She looked about. “Did you bring Old Mae with you? Now her medicine works.”
Marian patted her mother’s arm. “Old Mae was busy. You can see her later.”
Mamm stood and peered around the room. “Where’s Izzie?”
Marian pulled her mother back down to her chair. “You know they don’t allow babies here. I couldn’t bring her, but she misses you. She’s eager to see you again.”
“How would you know that?” Mamm glared at her. “Bopplis don’t talk.” She grabbed Marian’s hand. “Has she started talking while I’ve been trapped in here? Has she?”
Marian loosened her mother’s grip on her hand. “Nee, Mamm. She says a few words here and there. Not many.”
“What? What does she say?”
“Well, mama for one.”
Mamm leaned back in her chair, and her face beamed. “Gut. That’s gut.”
“And dada.”
Mamm’s eyes welled with tears. “How is Zeb? Why didn’t he come?”
“He’s watching Izzie. Remember, he came last time. It was my turn.” Marian gave an encouraging smile. “I was happy to come. I miss you, Mamm.”
Mamm waved her hand through the air. “I miss you, too. I told the doctors I must go home. They won’t listen to me.” Her eyes grew wild. “Take me home!”
She’d raised her voice to a near yell, and Marian looked about her, alarmed. Two men next to the fireplace stared at them. Everyone else seemed oblivious to her mother’s outburst.
“Shall we go for a walk?” Marian asked. “It’s lovely out. We could take a walk before supper.”
Mamm stood. “Jah. Let’s go for a walk.”
Together, they went toward the reception desk.
“Just let me tell them we’re leaving,” Marian said. “Otherwise, they’ll worry.”
“No need,” Mamm said. “They don’t worry about me. They don’t pay me any mind at all.”
Marian knew that wasn’t true, just like she knew that if they went outside without permission, she’d be lectured for sure.
The woman at reception stood when they approached the counter.
“I’m taking Mamm for a short walk,” Marian said.
“Just one moment,” the receptionist countered. She picked up the phone, pressed a button, and told someone Marian’s plan. The woman hung up.
“It’s fine, but please stay on the grounds. The evening meal will be served in an hour. Don’t be late.”
“We won’t,” Marian said.
“We take roll, you know,” the woman added.
Marian slipped her hand through her mother’s arm, and they went outside. Marian steered her mother in the direction of the back grounds, where the trees were lovely and there were winding paths made of tiny pebbles throughout the area.
“Feels gut to be outside,” Mamm said. “How are my chickens?”
Marian laughed. “The chickens are fine.”
“And Frisky? And the milk cow?”
“All fine, Mamm.”
“We’re supposed to host the church meeting first Sunday in September.”
“I know. We’ve changed the rotation.”
Mamm stopped walking. “What? We’re not hosting? But it’s our turn.”
“I know, but since, well, since you’re here, Bishop changed the rotation.”
“He’s no right to do that!”
Marian’s eyes widened. Her mamm was questioning the bishop? What was she thinking? One never questioned the bishop or his decisions.
Mamm twisted her apron into a wad. “What did your father say?”
Marian bit her lip. “He thought it best, Mamm. Under the circumstances.”
Mamm’s nostrils flared and she resumed walking, her back straight, and her steps firm. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Marian scrambled to catch up. “You will. Don’t worry. Just get better.”
Mamm didn’t respond, she merely kept marching until she came to a cyclone fence surrounding the property.
“You see this?” Mamm asked her.
“It’s the fence.”
“It’s the jail.” Mamm grasped the metal and yanked on it a few times. A clanging noise reverberated through the air.
“Mamm! Leave it alone.”
Mamm dropped her hands. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one stuck here.”
Marian took a deep breath. “It’s for your own good. To get you better.” Her words lacked enthusiasm, and she knew they meant nothing to her mother.
Mamm turned and headed back toward the buildings.
“Have you seen Barb?”
“Jah. Your sister is fine. I saw her just the other day.”
Mamm nodded. “And your cousins?”
“Fine, too.”
They walked back into the building and headed toward Mamm’s room. “I have a roommate, you know.”
“Jah.”
“She’s crazy. She hollers in her sleep, so I don’t get a wink of rest.” She turned sad eyes to her daughter. “Can’t you take me home? Get me out of here? I want to go home. I want my baby.”
Marian’s throat tightened. “I know, Mamm,” she said gently. “Soon. Soon you’ll be able to come home.”
But would she? Nearly three months seemed a very long time to be in a sanitarium. A very long time. She knew the money for her mother’s treatment came from district funds. As a general rule, the Amish didn’t hold insurance. Insurance was the Englischer’s way, not theirs. But how long would the district continue to pay? She had no idea what a place like this must cost, but she assumed it was plenty.
Mamm dropped off her sweater in her room, and they headed to the dining hall for supper. Marian recognized a few patients from her last visit there, but there were many new faces. The patients had assigned seats, but when they had guests, they were seated in a special section.
“Hey,” a young man in jeans and a green T-shirt leaned over from his table to greet them.
Marian wasn’t accustomed to speaking with strangers, particularly males, but she didn’t want to appear rude.
“Hello,” she said.
He pointed with his thumb to an elderly man by his side. “My grandpop.”
Marian nodded.
“Who you visiting?”
“My mother,” she answered. She averted her eyes, not comfortable divulging her private affairs.
“So, what’s the story?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “No story.”
He pursed his lips. “Got it.”
Mamm tugged on Marian’s sleeve.
“You see what I mean?” she whispered. “It’s a jail here.”
Marian grimaced at her mother and shook off her hand. “Nee, Mamm. It’s fine. Let’s eat.”
“Food’s good, though,” the young man continued speaking in a near holler. “Hey, can we eat over there at your table?”
Marian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh—”
The man laughed. “You should see your face! The
thing is, Grandpop is deaf. Can’t have much of a conversation with him.”
“What’s that?” the elderly man by his side yelled. “What’d you say, son?”
The guy shrugged. “I rest my case. So, how about it?”
Marian glanced at the horrified look on her mother’s face. “Nee. Thank you. But no.”
“Have it your way, then,” he said. “You’re Amish, right?”
“Jah.”
“Thought so.”
Well, of course, he thought so. Her dress was a blazing clue. She looked at her mother.
“Shall we pray, Mamm?” she asked her quietly.
Mamm sighed and slumped back in the chair. “I miss your dat,” she said.
****
That night, Marian sat at the little desk in her room and wrote and wrote and wrote. She wrote about her fears, about Mamm’s condition, about the smell in the hallway, and about the way that young man at dinner had tried to push his way into their business. She described her walk outside with Mamm. She wrote a poem, describing the expressions on the patients’ faces in the dining hall. When she finally fell into bed, her emotions were spent. Exhaustion crept through her, and within minutes, she was asleep.
****
Marian conferred with the doctors before leaving the next day. They were hesitant to speak with her as only her father was listed as next of kin. But Marian reminded them that they had spoken with her before, so they agreed. The doctors reported that if her mother continued to cooperate with her treatment—and that seemed to be a big if—they foresaw her being released within the next two to three weeks.
Marian breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe life could become normal again. The thought brought her to tears.
She put on a cheerful face when she bid her mother farewell. Lydia refused to see her off in the reception area, choosing instead to sit in her room on the edge of her bed to say goodbye. Marian stared into her eyes, checking, always checking, to see if she looked rational. For most of her stay, she had felt her mother had been there, cognizant, aware of everything around her. But as she left, she saw glimmers of that wild look in her mamm’s eye, and her heart squeezed in dread.
Two or three weeks?
Amish Romance BOOK BUNDLE: Marian's Story: Amish Romance Boxed Set (Hollybrook Amish Romance) Page 7