by Ruth Reid
“I should check Patsy.” He tapped Samuel’s foot. Even through the covers, his foot was stiff. Cold. Andrew withdrew his hand. “You get well.”
“It’s getting late. You should all go,” Mrs. Fischer said.
Samuel swept his hand over the blankets, and crumbs spilled onto the floor. “Will you kumm back to visit me again?”
The boy’s gaze pierced Andrew’s heart. “Jah, soon.” He turned away the moment Mrs. Fischer stood to straighten Samuel’s bedcovers. As he headed for the door, Judith and Martha were saying their good-byes, and Mrs. Fischer was softly scolding Samuel for messing up the hospital floor with his crumbs.
Levi followed, and once they were in the hallway, he blew out a breath. “That was hard.”
“Jah,” Andrew replied.
Judith and Martha came out, shutting the door behind them. They took a few steps away from the room before Martha broke down, sobbing.
“I can’t see him like that. He’s just a boy.” Sobbing harder, she turned into Levi’s arms and buried her face against his chest.
Levi patted her back. “It’s hard, but you need to stay strong. Do it for Samuel.”
Martha lifted her head off Levi’s chest. Still, they stayed practically nose-to-nose as they talked. “Why would God do this to a child?”
Levi guided her head back to his embrace and rested his chin on her head. “I don’t know.”
Andrew looked at Judith, standing off to his side. She too was weeping. What was he supposed to do, hold her? He should’ve checked on the horse sooner. He couldn’t comfort her, not the same way Levi had with Martha. He leaned toward Judith. “There’s a water fountain down the hall. Maybe a drink would help.”
She nodded and walked away with him.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew said.
Judith wiped her eyes. “For what?”
“Samuel.” He pointed at Levi and Martha. “Those two.”
“She’s taking it hard.”
Andrew stared at her. Was she really so blind? Levi should be comforting her, not her sister. He glanced back at the two standing close, talking. For Judith’s sake, he hoped his initial impression was wrong . . . but seeing them, he couldn’t be certain Martha hadn’t fallen into Levi’s arms for attention.
Judith pressed the fountain lever and sipped the water. When she finished, Levi and Martha were walking toward them.
Martha bent to drink from the fountain, and Levi stood with Judith.
“She’s mad at God for doing this to Samuel,” he said.
Judith sighed. “Did you talk sense into her?”
Levi shrugged. “I tried.”
Andrew tossed his head. “We need to go.”
They rode down to the bottom floor in silence and spoke little on the ride home.
Andrew stopped the buggy near the Fischers’ porch. “Tell your daed I’ll kumm meiya.”
“Denki,” Judith said, stepping out of the buggy. She glanced at Levi. “See you meiya?”
“Jah.”
Martha delayed getting out. When she did, she paused near Levi’s door opening and leaned in to whisper something Andrew couldn’t make out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear if he could.
Levi grinned at Martha. “Maybe so.”
Whatever words they shared caused Martha to giggle. Suddenly, she was no longer the grieving teenager seeking comfort.
Then again, maybe she was.
Chapter Six
At the first hint of dawn, dozens of buggies filed into the drive. Judith’s heart sank, remembering the excitement she’d felt on the morning the community arrived to build the barn. Similar chattiness carried over the air. It wasn’t the same today. But how could it be, with Samuel in the hospital?
Martha met Levi’s buggy in the drive. He glanced over her shoulder, flashed a smile to Judith along with a quick wave.
Judith’s smile widened as she waved back. Surely the day would be brighter now that Levi had arrived.
Andrew walked up behind Levi and tapped his shoulder, and the two headed toward the field.
Judith greeted Deborah as she climbed out of her parents’ buggy.
“How did your talk with Martha go?” her friend asked once they were alone.
Judith shrugged. “Martha is Martha. She blames me. She blames God. I think she’s in love with Levi. I know she’s had a crush on him probably since she turned twelve.” Judith slowly shook her head. “Lately, Ich don’t know what has kumm over her. She used to be a sweet girl.”
Deborah slid her arm under Judith’s. “It’s the world. Didn’t you say she’s been singing Englisch songs?”
“Jah. But you know Martha. She’s talked about what it would be like living outside the community for the past two years nau.”
“She’ll get over herself.”
“So Ich hope. But mad at God . . .” Judith shook her head. “It’s nett healthy.”
Deborah leaned closer. “I have something to tell you.” She looked around. “Ben asked me to the next singing nacht. That’s wundebaar, jah?”
Judith squeezed her friend’s arm. “I’m so happy for you.”
Deborah’s gaze moved across the field until it stopped on Ben. He worked the team of four draft horses in the corner opposite Levi. “Well,” she said, pulling her eyes away from the field, “we should find ourselves something useful to do.”
“Jah, I suppose work will help pass the time.” Judith leaned closer. “Maybe we can volunteer to run water out to the field in a while.”
“Gut idea.”
Judith and Deborah joined the other women. Deborah seemed oblivious to the women’s aloofness, but Judith wasn’t. Their faces crinkled with concern, fear, indifference—she wasn’t sure what they were thinking. But as the day continued, it became plain to see there was tension every time she entered a room.
Judith pulled Deborah aside. “Why are they avoiding me?”
Her friend’s face turned serious as she leaned closer. “Whatever you do, don’t bring up the angel. Nothing about seeing an Englischer either. They think—” She bit her bottom lip.
“What? Deborah, you muscht tell me.”
“They think the stress has addled your mind.”
Judith swallowed hard. “Do you?”
“Nay!”
At least someone believed her. Judith bobbed her head toward the kitchen. “Let’s take water out to the field.”
As Judith opened the kitchen cabinet and removed two gallon-sized glass pickle jars, several of the younger children entered the room and circled around her.
“Will you take us outside for a walk?” Emily asked.
“Perhaps, after I take water to the men in the field.”
“Can we kumm with you?” Rachel asked.
Emily bounced on the balls of her feet. “Please.”
Martha entered the kitchen. “What are the jars for?”
“Water.” Judith took the containers to the sink.
Emily tugged Martha’s dress. “We’re going to take water out to the field with Judith.”
“And she’ll probably tell you stories of seeing an angel too.” Martha’s voice grew louder. “Would you like that? Would you like to hear stories of how she followed an Englischer and he disappeared in the fog?”
Silence fell over the kitchen.
Then Ellen intervened. “Stop telling the children that,” she said.
Emily leaned her head against Judith’s arm. “She’s a gut storyteller.” She turned to her mamm. “Can we take water out to the field with Judith?”
“Nay, nett a gut idea.” She redirected Emily toward the sitting room.
“She can go with me. I’ll take water out,” Martha suggested.
Emily spun back around. “Jah, please, Mamm?”
“I suppose their water jugs are empty by nau.” Emily’s mamm looked down at her daughter and smiled. “You can go with Martha, but stay away from the horses.”
“Jah.”
Martha cast a gloating smirk at Judith.
“I’ll take the jars.”
Judith’s eyes darted from one woman’s down-turned head to another. Without saying anything, she turned and went outside.
Deborah followed. “I don’t understand your sister. Didn’t she know not to bring up that subject of storytelling?”
“She knows exactly what she’s doing. And she knows how much I love spending time with the children.”
Deborah rested her hand on Judith’s shoulder. “I know you do. And they love your stories. But . . . if you want a marriage proposal, you need to change your storytelling image.”
“You know I want to be married more than anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She glanced at the house. She didn’t want to be on the porch when Martha came outside. “I’m going to take a walk.”
“I’ll kumm.” Deborah stepped off the porch.
“Nay. I don’t want to get you into trouble too.” She motioned to the house. “I just need a few minutes away from everyone. I won’t be long.”
“Find a place and pray. This all muscht blow over or I fear you’ll end up leddich like Katie.”
For years the girls had heard Ellen despair of her sister Katie’s unmarried status. And they both pledged not to follow Katie’s unfortunate footsteps and be disappointments to their parents. Judith turned and walked toward the barn, but with the men stocking the loft with hay, she couldn’t hide inside with the horses.
She rounded the corner of the barn and paused at the place where she’d found Samuel unresponsive. Please forgive me, Lord. I’ve managed to embarrass my family. How will I ever earn their respect? They all think I’m telling stories. But I did see an angel, didn’t I?
She continued to walk across the pasture toward the apple orchard. At the end of the grove, she followed the footpath that weaved between the yellow-leafed poplar trees down to the river. This summer she had been busy with garden work and hadn’t spent time at the river as she loved to do. Today wasn’t warm enough to remove her shoes and soak her feet in the water, so she stayed up on the grassy bank.
God, even the parents want their children to stay away from me. What do I have to offer my church? What do I have to offer You? I might as well be openly shunned by my community. No one believes me. Judith turned her face into the direction of the breeze. Tears trickled down her face.
The leaves rustled overhead as though a storm brewed in the distance. But when she looked up, the sun was shining and the sky was blue. Judith closed her eyes and welcomed the breeze that dried her tears.
“What’s troubling your soul, Judith?”
The baritone voice caused Judith to jump. Bounding to her feet, she turned in a quick circle. No one. The question had come as if from someone next to her, yet she was alone. She released her breath. The rustling leaves must have tricked her mind.
“Tell me what troubles you.”
This time when she spun toward the voice, the angel was beside her. Petrified by his towering stature, she broke out into a cold sweat and her teeth began to chatter. Today he appeared even more gigantic. One look at the keenness in his deep-set eyes caused Judith to raise her arm and bury her face in the crook of her elbow while dropping to her knees, cowering.
“Do not be afraid.” The richness in his tone hailed as a choir of a thousand.
Lying prone and breathing in the scent of the earth, she trembled. He said not to fear, but hearing the earth groan beneath her, she wished she could wither away, sure that at any moment she’d be swallowed into the earth’s core. “Himlish-engel.” Heavenly angel.
“Judith, do not worship me. Stand up, for I come on God’s command.”
She gulped. Apparently she had caused more problems than she thought. God had sent His angel concerning her. After hesitating a moment, she pushed off the ground and stood. With her eyes aimed at the caked dirt on her shoes, she waited for what would happen next.
“I will not destroy you if you wish to look upon me.”
Her heart fluttered against her ribs like a caged bird trying to take flight. In slow motion, she lifted her head. Her eyes widened and her pulse surged as she carried her gaze up to his broad chest and head. His neck looked as thick as the trunk of a river birch.
“Why do you cry?”
“I told them what you said about Samuel, but no one believes me.”
“Ah, because they do not see with their own eyes, they do not believe.” He walked to the riverbank and sat on a large rock. “Do you believe, Judith?”
“I . . . want to.” Unable to gain control of the quiver in her voice, she swallowed. She wanted to believe this wasn’t a dream. That she was indeed talking with an angel. An angel sent on God’s command. Yes, she wanted to believe, but doubts interfered with her judgment.
When Judith glanced up, prepared to confess her apprehension, he was gone. She scanned the area toward the river’s edge and saw him entering the heavy growth of ferns. “Why are you leaving?” She stood still for a moment. “I have questions for you,” she called, walking in his direction.
If he had taken the path, she might have found him. But when she hiked into the dense undergrowth of brush, she had to concentrate so she wouldn’t lose her footing on the rocky embankment and slip into the river.
A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye startled her. As her heartbeat returned to normal, she wasn’t sure who was frightened more, she or the whitetail deer that sprang out of the ferns.
Finally her feet needed to rest. Judith sat in the midst of the ferns. Surrounded by the leafy canopy, she wrapped her arms around her legs and lowered her head against her knees. She listened to the sound of the rushing water, and her thoughts drifted to how God supplies the deer a place to bed by the stream of water. The psalm about thirsting for the living God came to her mind as heaviness closed her eyes. When can I go and meet with God?
A profound silence dulled her senses, deadened her thoughts. Like a creature spooling into a dormant state, she lay, fetal position, on the ground. With her eyes closed, she heard chanting. Those same lulling sounds she’d heard after Samuel’s accident were causing her eyes to close . . .
The sky cracked open, releasing pea-sized ice pellets. When they landed on her, they changed into a warm liquid and spread. Soon long, pointed icicles hung from her arms, dripping liquid that froze as it touched the ground, weighing her down like iron shackles. When her eyelashes froze to her upper lids so that she could not close her eyes, an angel appeared. His wool-spun hair was white and his skin bronze. He hovered so that his feet did not touch the ground.
He placed a road under her feet. Although her feet remained stationary, the road moved her through time—two cycles of seasons passed before her eyes. Without warning, the road split three separate ways, and a voice told her to choose. Both the rocky road to the left and the paved one to the right were wider than the center, which was a mere footpath. Unable to see beyond the turns, she felt her heart thump against her icy armor.
The angel spread his hand before her eyes, and everything in sight turned to shades of gray. The center path, however, glowed. Trees, top-heavy with golden-colored leaves, glittered against the blue sky as they convulsed. Persuaded to follow the voice calling her name, she tried moving closer to the center path. Her feet, however, frozen to the three-pronged junction, forced her to stay planted, and her heart cried out to God . . .
Chapter Seven
Judith woke with her cheek against the damp ground. She blinked several times as she tried to bring her surroundings into focus. Seeing the daylight fading, she realized she’d been out for a while. Her mind fogged over as she tried to recall the details of the dream. Three roads to choose . . . what did it mean?
A prickling sensation slithered down her spine.
Dozens of ravens perched in a nearby tree suddenly took flight. Their wings flapped and their raucous caws echoed in the stillness. Judith scrambled to her feet. Why ravens? Why didn’t she wake to the cooing of doves or the sound of sparrows? Ravens with their loud, alarming calls
were unnerving. As she moved through the brush, unable to keep close watch on her footing, her heart hammered and her breaths turned jagged.
It wasn’t long before she reached the wood-lined path that led to home. She pushed herself to run faster, refusing to let the shifting shadows of the woods hinder her progress. Focused on the trail, she didn’t notice the figure ahead until his strong arms caught her midstride. He brought her to an abrupt halt as he pulled her off the trail. Gulping for air and unable to scream, she thrust her fists against his back. Her legs crumpled, and the figure caught her before she hit the ground.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Andrew said, releasing his hold.
Judith struggled to regain her breath. He should have spoken sooner so she knew it was him.
“Are you okay?”
“You practically tackled me. Why did you have to knock the wind out of me?”
“You almost plowed me over. I didn’t think you were going to stop.” He leaned around a tree to look in the direction she’d come from. “What were you running from?”
Andrew’s father was the bishop. How could she tell him that she’d spoken with an angel? She’d be shunned—if the community hadn’t already decided to dismiss her. If she shared what she’d witnessed, meidung was more than a possibility.
The crack of branches above them caused her to flinch. Startled by the noise, she bolted into what felt like a wall— Andrew’s thick chest.
His sturdy arms surrounded her. “You’re trembling,” he whispered, tucking her head against him.
She listened to his heartbeat, steady and firm. His affection caught her off guard. He was usually so reserved.
Levi had mocked Andrew, saying the girls found him boring. Obviously, Andrew hadn’t recovered from Esther’s death. Perhaps he never would, seeing how Levi said even the bishop couldn’t persuade his son to find a mate.
Andrew eased her back to arm’s length. “Are you okay nau?”