by Leslie Gould
The weather stayed hot and muggy as the days passed by. Even though she was back in the safety of her home, Annie slept fitfully and often awoke with a nightmare. Dead soldiers, cows, and horses. Richert in the field hospital tent. Screams from the patients. She could smell the scent of blood in her dreams. Often, she was in Dr. Carson’s hospital by herself, searching for Kate. Then Ira.
Soldiers were dying. She didn’t know what to do. She’d wake up, sometimes crying. Sometimes sitting up in bed, with her feet on the floor. Sometimes in a cold sweat.
One time she must have cried out, because when she awoke Mamm sat next to her, rubbing her back. Annie wondered if the dreams would ever stop. She felt ashamed by them. She hadn’t gone through what the soldiers had. No one had shot at her, and she hadn’t had to shoot at anyone either. She hadn’t been injured, lost a leg or arm, or lost her eyesight. She didn’t have a gaping wound in her thigh or stomach or back, like so many.
But still the nightmares continued, much to Annie’s chagrin. The second week she was home, Mamm asked if Annie was sleeping better. She simply nodded in response. She must not have been yelling in her sleep, so that was good.
Sophia, with Annie tagging along, visited Richert a few times. Each time it was obvious that he was failing more and more. Even Sophia admitted it—and as soon as she did, her own rally began to fade. Her cough grew worse, and she spent more and more time in bed.
Samuel visited often, and as far as Annie knew, no one had told him that she’d been asked to return to Peach Bottom. Never once did he ask her about what she’d experienced in Gettysburg. Of course, she didn’t say a word about her nightmares or about all the horrors she’d seen. It would only give Samuel more reason to think it had been a mistake for her to go. A couple of times, he tried to bring up their future, but each time she asked to postpone the conversation.
When they sat on the porch together, she felt restless and bored with their interactions. If Samuel had any news, he didn’t share it with her. Perhaps he thought it would inspire her to leave on another adventure.
However, late in August, he did bring an old newspaper from July. Annie read it to Sophia, including an article that the 54th Massachusetts Colored Infantry led a fight in South Carolina. Sadly their commander, Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, was killed along with many others. The article said he was buried with the other dead from his regiment.
Annie shook her head in sorrow. The killing continued.
“That’s so sad,” Sophia said. “When will this dreadful war ever end?” Annie feared the bad news would wear Sophia out even more and wished she hadn’t read the paper to her. Sophia’s cough had grown even worse, and Richert’s infection continued to spread.
The next time Samuel visited, he brought two letters for her. One was from Harriet and the other was from Ira. Samuel frowned as he handed her the second one, postmarked from Gettysburg.
Annie ignored him and slipped the letters into the pocket of her apron.
After Samuel left, she opened the one from Harriet first. Cecil was on the mend, but Kate had diagnosed his illness as typhoid, and several of the other soldiers had come down with it. Annie knew the only thing to do was treat the symptoms and hope the patient recovered. Harriet wrote that their home was essentially a hospital, and they were all doing their best to care for the ill and the wounded. Of course George never would have chosen such circumstances, but he has resigned himself to serving as the Lord has led. We are shorthanded, as you can imagine, and could not carry on without the help George can give, although he is as busy as ever tending to the farm. We all miss you, Harriet concluded, and hope you can come visit when Sophia’s health allows.
Annie hadn’t made the wrong decision to stay home, especially with Sophia’s health failing again, but she also longed to be in Peach Bottom, helping to care for the soldiers. Obviously Harriet had regained strength to be able to do what she was doing, but Annie knew her sister-in-law still wasn’t strong, not after the hard pregnancy she’d endured.
Next, Annie opened the letter from Ira. He was back in Gettysburg, working with Dr. Carson. He said that many of the wounded had been shipped out, but that Dr. Carson’s hospital had nearly as many as when Annie had left, due to more being transferred from the field hospitals. Ira added that he continued to learn new things from Dr. Carson. I think of you often and your time here, Ira wrote. I know it was trying for you, but your help was invaluable. He went on to write that he hoped she was doing well and that Richert, along with Sophia, continued to heal. I know you’re courting Samuel, so please don’t be offended by this letter. I just wanted you to know that I appreciated your help during a trying time and pray that the Lord will bless you for your service. He signed his name as, simply, Ira.
Annie slipped the letter back into the envelope as a wave of sadness washed over her. She missed Ira. And as hard as her time in Gettysburg was, it had changed her. She wouldn’t be the person she’d become without that experience.
It was in the middle of September that Richert passed away. Sophia collapsed in Annie’s arms when Dat told her. The night after they buried him, as Annie mopped her sister’s forehead with a cool rag, Sophia said she hoped Annie would find a man as loving as Richert.
“Jah,” Annie had answered. “I think Samuel is that man.”
Sophia shook her head. “Samuel is a good man, but he’s not right for you.”
Alarmed, Annie asked Sophia what she meant.
“You’ve changed since you were in Gettysburg, but Samuel wants you to be who you were. Not who you are.”
Annie swiped at her eyes. Sophia was right. She truly was a different person than she’d been before she’d gone to Gettysburg.
The next week, in desperation, Mamm suggested sending Sophia west where the air would be drier, in hopes it would slow the consumption, but Sophia insisted she didn’t want to leave the farm.
Annie doubted the change in climate would make a difference, not when Sophia’s health had failed so quickly. In the wee hours one morning, as Annie sat beside her sister and mopped Sophia’s forehead with a damp cloth, her sister opened her eyes and reached for Annie’s free hand and squeezed it. “I’ve been dreaming about Richert. He can see again, and he has no pain. He’s at peace. . . .” She struggled for a breath and then managed to say, “I’m so happy for him. . . .”
Annie knew Sophia would die soon too, but she didn’t cry in front of her. She simply willed herself to do all she could to make her passing as comfortable as possible.
And she did. She slept on a cot on the porch beside her sister’s bed, and when Sophia coughed up blood, Annie cleaned her. When Sophia grew too weak to feed herself, Annie spoon-fed her soup and then wiped her mouth. She bathed her and changed her clothes, soaked from the sweat of her fever. Each day, her sister grew weaker until she stopped eating altogether. Except for coughing, she only slept.
Sophia passed away during the night toward the end of September, just as the leaves on the old oak tree began to turn copper. Annie pulled the covers up to her sister’s chin and then tiptoed into the house and woke her parents.
Sophia’s suffering was over.
They buried her in the cemetery at the edge of the farm where their ancestors had been laid to rest too. Richert’s grave was only a row away. Annie’s heart swelled at the sight. No other Mennonites were buried in the cemetery. Dat had allowed it as a good-will gesture to the Fishers—and to comfort Sophia.
Samuel and his family joined them for the service and the burial. He shared kind words with Annie about his sorrow for her, but she felt hollow as he spoke.
Later, after they’d all shared a meal, he asked if he could speak with her in private. She followed him outside.
“I’ve waited a long time to talk about our future,” he said. “I can’t wait any longer.”
Annie shook her head. “I can’t think of that now.” She turned toward the cemetery on the corner of the property. Maybe she had only been using Sophia’s illness as an excus
e—and now her death.
His face fell, as if he’d realized how he’d sounded. Behind him the leaves of the oak tree shimmered in the sunlight.
He took a step toward her. “I shouldn’t have brought this up—not when you’re in mourning. We can talk about it later, but please, let that be soon.”
She shook her head. “I’m glad you did. I’m not sure—”
His tone was patient now. “Wait. We can work all of this out,” he said. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”
She nodded and headed back to the house, leaving him by the garden. Perhaps she was feeling unreasonable and did need more time. She hurried up the steps to the back porch and sat on the edge of Sophia’s bed, fighting back tears.
When someone called out a hello, she stood and peered out the screen. A wagon had turned into the lane. It was Woody, with Cecil beside him. Annie hurried back down the steps, stopping at the bottom.
As Woody pulled the wagon to a stop, Dat walked toward him.
“What’s happened?” Woody asked, glancing back to the horses in the field and the buggies by the barn.
Dat explained that Sophia had passed and the service and burial had just been held. The man dipped his head and expressed his sorrow.
Cecil jumped down from the wagon. “Harriet is ill now, with typhoid. And Kate is exhausted.” He handed Dat a letter. “George wants Annie to return. Woody can transport her—I’m going to see my folks and then join my unit in West Virginia.”
Dat turned toward Annie. She nodded in agreement. Of course she would return.
Samuel, who still stood where Annie had left him, didn’t say a word, but marched off toward the barn. Woody caught her eye, his expression full of concern.
“I’ll pack my bag,” she said to Woody. She would go, and work things out with Samuel later. “You get something to eat. Josiah can water and feed your team, and then we can be on our way.” She glanced toward the porch but Mamm had already gone inside, most likely to pack a basket of food for their trip. Relief filled Annie that her parents agreed she should go nurse Harriet. God willing, she could help enough to make a difference.
18
Marie
The young Mennonite man stood next to us on the bus, tapping my shoulder, holding up his cell phone. “It’s for you.”
As I thanked him, I took it and handed it to Aenti Suz.
I listened closely as Aenti Suz held the phone to her ear, trying to figure out who was on the other end of the call. It was Gordon. My heart raced. While I was dragging my feet returning home, he was most likely at the hospital, supporting Silas.
My thoughts went to Sophia and her tragic death. Annie had lost her sister, unable to do anything to save her. My palms grew sweaty and my heart began to race.
“I see,” Aenti Suz said, her face pale.
There was more talking on the other end of the call. Then Aenti Suz said, “Thank you so much for letting us know.”
I expected her to hang up, but Gordon said something more. Aenti Suz responded with, “We have our coats on our laps—and our boots on our feet. We’ll take a taxi to the hospital as soon as we arrive.”
I guessed the weather was even worse than when we left.
Aenti Suz handed the phone back to the young man. “Thank you. You’ve helped us rest easier.”
I exhaled. The news couldn’t be all bad.
As the man walked away, Aenti Suz told me, “Jessica’s out of surgery. She needed several transfusions. Of course, the fallopian tube was already damaged beyond repair and there’s a lot of scarring.”
My eyes widened at the thought of Gordon relaying that news to Aenti Suz. “He told you all of that?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You know, the issue here is Jessica’s well-being—her very life. Not what offends you.” She shuddered a little. “Do you ever think of others before yourself?”
Before I could stammer out an answer, she leaned her head against the seat, closed her eyes, and pulled her coat up to her chin.
I stared straight ahead, dumbfounded. She’d never been cross with me before. Well, she had been firm, just that morning.
Did I ever think of others before myself? I told myself that writing Jessica the letter when she left the Amish was for her own good, but honestly I did it because it was required of me to keep in the good favor of Bishop Jacobs. And when Leisel left, because she hadn’t joined the church, I didn’t write her at all. Not even to tell her that I loved her and missed her, even though I did.
I did care about Elijah, didn’t I? I took out my embroidery. I was sure I could be a good wife to him, whether he ended up enjoying being a farmer or not. I knew I’d think of him before myself—hadn’t I in Pinecraft? He didn’t like music so I’d spent time playing volleyball and watching him play basketball when I could have been singing instead.
I wouldn’t resent him for that because I believed he’d grow into a good man like his father. Strong. Wise. A leader. I knew Elijah could be all of those things too.
My palms still felt clammy. Was I coming down with the flu? I took a sip from my water bottle, wiped my hands on my apron, and then resumed my embroidery. Why did I feel so unsettled?
Deciding whom to marry was a big decision that would determine the course of my entire life.
My thoughts fell to Annie and Samuel. Annie had unselfishly helped others. I couldn’t imagine ever doing such a thing. Traipsing off to care for wounded soldiers at the scene of such a horrible battle.
Leisel had nursed our Dat when he was dying, caring for him day after day. Sleeping on the floor by his bed. Giving him his medicine, feeding him what she could get him to swallow, making sure he was comfortable. Honestly, I couldn’t have done that either.
Jessica was always quick to serve others too. She’d been like a daughter to Mildred Stoltz, caring for her as she fought cancer. And she was tender with animals too, and with the land.
Caring didn’t come naturally to me, but my own selfish desires did. I cringed again at my gut reaction that morning. It was all about what I was going to miss, not about Jessica or that she’d lost a baby or that her life was literally in danger. Tears filled my eyes, and I put my embroidery away. Was it too late for me to change?
I looked beyond Aenti Suz and out the window into the pitch dark. I put on my coat, zipped it, wrapped my scarf around my neck, and pulled my hood over my Kapp, ready to reach Lancaster in a few hours. Then I put my head back against the seat, determined to get what sleep I could.
I awoke to a scream from a woman a few seats ahead of us. Then the awareness that the bus seemed to be sliding. The snowy world outside the window began to tilt, and a bank of snow came straight toward the window.
Aenti Suz had just opened her eyes, and I grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her toward me, covering her body with mine, yanking her down into my lap, my head facing the window. Time slowed as the bus spun around.
The screech of metal and the shatter of glass jarred me, but I held on tight to my aunt, even as cold air rushed through the broken window and my body was flung forward, pulling Aenti Suz with me. But as the bus collided with the snow bank, the force yanked Aenti Suz out of my arms. Time sped back up as I scrambled to reclaim her. But the bus came to a crashing stop, and her head slammed against the jagged frame of the window.
“Aenti!” I yelled, grabbing at her, pulling her body back toward me. There were more screams, and then someone calling out, “Are you all right?”
Someone else shouted, “Call 9-1-1!”
Then the bus lurched again and then righted, with a bounce. The snow bank had kept it from rolling.
I wrapped my arm around Aenti Suz again, feeling the sticky blood immediately. “You’re bleeding.”
She reached up to the side of her head and turned toward the broken glass and twisted metal. I unbuckled and unwrapped my scarf from my neck. Kneeling on the seat, I pressed my scarf against the side of her head where the blood was soaking through her Kapp.
�
��You know head wounds,” she said. “They bleed like crazy. It’s probably nothing.”
I knew it wasn’t “nothing.” I just hoped it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Jah,” I answered. “I’m fine.”
She pointed to the blood on my hands.
I was bleeding too, cut by the glass when I still had hold of Aenti Suz, but they were just nicks.
The bus driver, clearly shaken, walked down the aisle and checked on all of us. I told him Aenti Suz was injured, and we needed an ambulance.
“Oh, I don’t think I—” Aenti started to say.
“Jah, she does,” I said, firmly. “She’s bleeding.”
He nodded. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Several people were bruised. A couple of passengers had fallen to the floor, but most had been wearing their seatbelts. Both Aenti Suz and I felt tender where our belts crossed our laps, and I imagined others were too.
A few people on our side of the bus who were sitting nearest the windows were also bleeding. And an elderly man seemed badly injured. It appeared he’d hit his head rather hard and was confused and dizzy, possibly suffering a brain injury. Aenti Suz squeezed my hand. I was sure she was praying for him. I joined in, and then prayed for her too. A Good Samaritan stopped and brought a blanket onto the bus. A man quickly took it and put it over the elderly man. The bus was freezing now from the broken windows and the lack of heat, and I zipped Aenti Suz’s coat up to her chin.
Soon a police officer arrived. I continued to apply pressure to Aenti Suz’s head, but the blood had soaked through my scarf. I repositioned it with my bloody hand. A person across the aisle asked if anyone had a towel. From the back of the bus, obviously from a family with children, came a baby towel. I hated to ruin it, but the terrycloth did absorb the blood better.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the ambulances arrived—four of them—as the gray light of dawn filled the bus. All of the passengers who were able to disembark did, but I was told to stay on, of course, and continue to apply pressure to Aenti Suz’s wound. The EMTs came on and took the man with the possible head injury off first. Next they checked on Aenti Suz. She convinced them she could walk off, holding the towel against her head. I wiped my hands as best I could on the part of my scarf that wasn’t already covered with blood, and then followed with our purses.