The Healing

by Linda Byler

  She talked to Samuel, hovered over him like a kindly drone, annoying him in the process. She said exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, all while congratulating herself for having helped Samuel accept life without Lena in his future.

  “There are so many other girls, Samuel. Levi Lapp’s Susan. Now there’s a winner if I ever saw one. They say she’s an excellent quilter for a young girl. Over at Ez Miller’s, they had a tan and black Bargello quilt in frame, they said she quilted rings around everyone else.”

  Samuel pictured himself being quilted, like a web being spun around his body by a spider named Susan Lapp.

  “Or that new girl. What’s her name? Sylvia or Suzanna. She’s a real looker, that one.”

  Samuel cringed at her old-fashioned way of talking. “Looker.” Who said that anymore?

  “But you know, Samuel, you must pray for a partner. Evidently Lena was not the one for you. God just hasn’t revealed it till now. So you must be brave and keep praying. In time, His will is made known. It always is.”

  “Oh, and I wanted to mention another girl. Fannie Esh. She might be a bit older than you, but with her dark hair and eyes, you’d make a specular couple.”

  Samuel groaned aloud. She always said “spectacular” like that. Speck-u-ler.

  “Mam, I’m not ready yet, OK? So no suggestions, please. I appreciate your concern, though.”

  He gave her a surprisingly kind look.

  Now when did Samuel ever voice appreciation? Mam wondered.

  CHAPTER 22

  AND SO ONE SUNDAY IN THE MIDDLE OF JUNE WHEN THE TRADITIONAL peach-colored roses bloomed in profusion all over the white wooden trellis, the air heavy and sweet with the sound of bumblebees hovering greedily over the nectar from the purple clematis, John dressed to go to the youths’ supper at Isaac Beiler’s.

  He blinked at his reflection in the mirror, thanking the sun for all the vitamins, feeling only the beginning of a renewed sense of vigor.

  Tanned, slim, his hair as decent as he could expect, he shaved his face with the new triple-edged razor, the new shaving cream, and aftershave lotion, chose a light beige shirt and the traditional black trousers and vest.

  He had gotten new trousers, since none of his old ones fit.

  Crayon was eager to step out, brushed and combed, his coat glistening like an old copper penny, tugging impatiently at the reins, wanting to run faster than John would allow. They traveled over the one-lane bridge at Jack’s Crossing, along the narrow country road that bordered the ridge to the north of Jake Stoltzfus’s, the wind in his face, the sun at his back.

  It was a rare evening in June. It was only natural, then, that his thoughts turned lightly to thoughts of love, of Lena, the one who had always represented his heart’s longing.

  What would her reaction be when she caught sight of him? He had no idea if she would be there. Perhaps she, too, despaired of social life after Samuel. He knew only that it was time to rejoin the rumschpringa, that he had conquered nearly all of his real or imagined symptoms.

  Were they imagined? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that tonight he felt better than he had for years.

  So far, anyway.

  He drove up to the barn, met his friend Ivan, along with a few other boys he knew well, threw the reins across the protruding headlight, and hopped out.

  “Hey, John! What do you know? He’s back!”

  Ivan was childishly excited to see his old friend back in the circle. John grinned.

  “Boy, you are one good-looking dude!” Ivan said, followed by a piercing whistle.

  “Hey, cut that out.”

  And so the evening began on an easy note, John falling into the pool of camaraderie, events unfolding as if they’d never left off.

  Marty and Marcus played volleyball, Marty like a brilliant peacock in her dress of iridescent teal blue, bare feet, covering strings flying.

  John smiled to himself, thought of Mam’s compressed mouth at the sight of that color.

  He could watch her play volleyball all night. She was a study in efficiency, making every one of her flying moments count. Marcus was a perfect match, spiking, setting up, a fierce server. Was it just John’s imagination or did his shirts tend to become more and more colorful?

  Like birds of paradise, those two.

  And then he saw her, walking down the slope from the white one-story house. He could never remember what color she wore that day, if she wore shoes, if she was smiling, if she was with another girl. He only knew that it was Lena. Across the length of space between them, their eyes met, and the world went away. Only Lena existed.

  “John. Hey. Back to earth, you.”

  Ivan struck an elbow into his ribs to get his attention.

  It was when he was in line to fill his plate at the long row of tables that she came up to him, softly said hello, told him quietly to come eat with her.

  He nodded, but his hands shook when he lifted a wobbling square of meatloaf onto his plate.

  No one would think it unusual. They had often eaten together.

  He was, after all, still the little brother.

  They were seated at the far end of the large, well-lit shop, leaving room for others to join them. But quickly, before their privacy was disturbed, they found each other’s eyes, their gazes locked and held.

  “John, I . . .”

  “I know. I know.”

  “But you . . .”

  “Is it over?”

  “Samuel?”

  He waited. There was no need for further words. Her eyes told him everything he had wanted to know.

  Marty bounced up, knocked over Lena’s glass of water, shrieked, and apologized, and the moment was over.

  “Hey, John. Boy are you looking good or what? Wow! What happened to you? You’re, like, all grown up or whatever.”

  Lena smiled at John, freely, gladly.

  “I mean, seriously. You rid of the Lyme or what? Shoo!”

  Lena laughed outright.

  “Marcus will hear you.”

  Marty laughed. “He won’t mind. He knows he’s a keeper for me.”

  The evening passed happily, coasted along on stardust for John. When darkness fell, the stars winked at him, the quarter moon smiled alone for him. She appeared at his side, after the last hymn had been sung, and he never asked if he could take her home. She simply helped him hitch up, climbed into the buggy, and they talked the whole time it took Crayon to trot nine miles to her house.

  They hid the buggy in the forebay, left Crayon hitched to it, and closed the garage door. Her family could not know John brought her home. It was too soon.

  In the half-light from the neighboring pole light, they sat on the buggy seat and talked, saying everything they had wanted to say for so long, but couldn’t.

  “I’m going back to Kentucky in August,” she stated.

  His heart sank. He hadn’t expected this.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I am, John. I feel it’s my duty. I can’t let Gid and Barbie down. They need someone.”

  John nodded. “That’s true. Well, it’s up to you. Whatever you decide. I am going to ask you, though, when we can start to date. You know, see each other on a regular basis. If you want to spend a year in Kentucky, that’s fine. I’ll wait.”

  “Oh my, John. That is so kind of you. You won’t be going?”

  “No. I see no reason to return to my sister. They have good dependable help with Dewan, who bonded with the dogs more than I ever could. And my father needs me.”

  She sighed. “Oh, John.”

  There was a space of silence, a restful acceptance of being there, seated beside each other, with no one to interfere. They both contemplated their good fortune, the blessing of living in a culture that allowed each individual to follow their heart, in spite of having gone through the years of sickness and indecision.

  Samuel approached him on Monday evening, as John knew he would.

  “You took her home,” he stated, his blue eyes boring into J
ohn’s.

  “Only as a friend, Samuel. As a favor.”

  “Expect me to believe that?”

  “You can believe what you want.”

  John was shocked when Samuel lowered himself onto a patio chair, put his head in his hands and groaned, a sound so filled with loss and hopelessness, it wrenched his heart. His own brother, his flesh-and-blood sibling, enduring so much suffering because of him.

  John stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, pity rising like a slow winter sun, but pity nonetheless.

  “I’m sorry.”

  From the depth of Samuel’s cupped hands came a muffled, “You should be.”

  He lifted his face, tearstained, his eyes dull with anguish, and begged John to let her go, for his sake.

  “Do you think for one minute the Lord can bless your union if you took her away from me? Like I told you, it’s no different than King David taking Bathsheba, you mark my words. Nothing good will come of it. What am I expected to do? How am I supposed to carry on with my life, knowing I’ll have to live the rest of my days seeing you two together? It’s not right.”

  John lowered himself into an opposite chair, across the table.

  “You think there was ever such a messy affair in the history of the Amish?” John asked wryly.

  Samuel shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, she’s going back to Kentucky.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “No.”

  Hope flickered across Samuel’s tired face. John knew he hadn’t even started to give up the desperate hold on Lena. His own will, his pride, all that had ever mattered to Samuel, was torn out of his grasp by one beautiful, sweet, kind, unselfish girl named Lena.

  “So you’ll let her go?”

  “I will. I’ll talk to her.”

  “You’ll try and persuade her to come back to me, right?”

  “That is her choice. Not mine.”

  “But if you told her you don’t want her, start dating another girl, she’d change her mind. She did love me, in spite of what you think.”

  John stood up, pushed back his chair, and looked steadily at Samuel.

  “All right. I’ll tell her we won’t be in contact, but I can’t tell her I don’t want her. That would be a lie.”

  That brought another outburst from Samuel, hurled accusations, bitter words like flailing, pecking blackbirds. John felt as if he needed to lift his arms to his face, duck his head to ward off the verbal blows. He felt the numbing weakness in his chest travel down his arms, the core of his body turned to jelly, his legs tingled with weakness. He broke out in a sweat, his eye flickered, the familiar maddening tic in his right eye.

  He turned, left the patio, stumbled blindly up the stairs, and fell across his bed.

  Mam had watched her sons’ encounter on the back porch, which had filled her with dread. Dire premonitions swirled around her, the end of her peace for days to come. How would something like this ever be patched up? Mam threw a mug into the rinse water, heard the snap of the handle breaking, and began to cry.

  This was just the limit. After all this time with John’s illness, the days of worry and prayer, the indecision, making choices and wondering if it was the best thing to have chosen, and now this. Life simply wasn’t fair.

  She enjoyed a moment’s reprieve as she gave herself over to a big helping of self-pity, fat tears sliding down her plump, pink cheeks.

  And now here it was June. The time of heat would soon be upon them, the ninety-five-degree afternoons when work stared at her from every direction and she had all these big boys to feed and clothe and wash for. It was all too much.

  John had simply taken Samuel’s girlfriend. Now what was she supposed to do? She hardly knew Lena. What was all the fuss about? She was pretty enough as that went, but she sure didn’t come from much. That Henry Zook was so tight his pennies screeched from pinching them. His wife was no different.

  She’d heard they socked their money away, never went on vacation, and lived out of those produce fields of theirs.

  Having spent the day sewing trousers for her six boys, she had a crimp in her neck, a sore lower back, and eyes weary with focusing on dark fabric, pedaling that treadle. There were weeds in the garden and no one to help her with them. She blew her nose in the paper towel she’d used to wipe the window on the door, recoiled as the strong ammonia smell of Windex hit her.

  Probably Lena wouldn’t even buy Windex. She’d make her own homemade window cleaner. Well, if Samuel got her he’d have to change his ways.

  Frugality was a virtue, to be sure, though.

  It didn’t surprise her a bit, actually, Lena picking John. The difference in those two boys was vast. She liked to think John took after her side of the family. Well, her, anyway. But she knew some of his obedience, his sweet nature, came from her Elmer. He was a good man.

  Oh, that Samuel was Elmer’s brother Yoni. Absolutely no doubt. Good looking, suave, could have had anyone. Anyone. He picked the flashiest girl and they had their share of marriage problems. That Betty was a piece of work. Didn’t she go and bid up the grandfather’s clock at the family auction to over six thousand dollars? They didn’t even have it.

  She lifted her coffee mug, drained the last bit, grimaced, spat out the annoying coffee grounds, and thought for the thousandth time she would have to start using coffee filters. Those Lifetime drip coffee makers were just the ticket, but some grounds always escaped the tiny holes in the bottom.

  She wiped the counter furiously, felt her hips jiggling from the vigorous motion. That was another thing that depressed her. Her weight. Eli sie Emma went on Plexus, some new herbal supplement that was supposed to cure everything, plus take weight off in the bargain.

  Well, she’d mow lawn till bedtime, for the exercise. She leaned into the handle, putting her weight into the reel mower as she plowed through the thick, late spring grass. She must start mowing this section more often. Her breath came in hard puffs, her face felt as if it was on fire. Purple, probably. Her knees felt wobbly, but she charged on. Nothing was better for the heart.

  “Hey, Mam.”

  From behind her, she heard John calling. She finished the row, started back, threw the handle of the mower down, wiped her face with the hem of her apron.

  “Let me.”

  “Ach, John. I need the exercise.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He reached for the mower handle.

  “You sure you feel well tonight?”

  “Well enough. Good, actually. I am pretty good. Don’t baby me.”

  He grinned. Mam grinned back. “I’m good at that, right?” Then, because she couldn’t help it, “John, what are you going to do about Lena? I saw you and Samuel on the back porch and it just makes me weak.”

  John lowered his gaze, kicked at the reel with the toe of his shoe. When he lifted his face, his eyes were so full of misery, it was like a physical blow to Mam.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s a hard situation, John. I’m afraid it will get the best of you.”

  “I’m all right. I haven’t been dating her. It’s Samuel I’m worried about. He hasn’t even started to give her up.”

  He told her, then, that Lena was going to Kentucky for the fall and winter, to help her cousin with their special-needs child.

  Mam nodded. “Lydia says you’re not going back.”

  “No. They have dependable help with that Dewan Reynolds.”

  John laughed, a sound Mam so seldom heard. She watched his face, sharply.

  “The happiest person I ever met.”

  Mam smiled. “So, what about Lena?”

  “I told you, I don’t know. Samuel wants me to tell her I am no longer interested, but it’s not the truth.”

  Mam shook her head.

  “I suppose the best plan is to wait, right? If she goes to Kentucky, and Samuel and I stay here, then we’ll leave it to God. I will not contact her, or try not to, and perhaps Samu
el will move on. What do you think?”

  Mam nodded. “The best plan, I would say. But a sacrifice.”

  “She’s worth it. It’s nothing compared to seven years.”

  Mam looked up, puzzled.

  “You know, the story of Jacob and Rachel.”

  Understanding dawned on Mam’s flushed face. She smiled, nodded.

  “Poor Jacob of the Old Testament. Do you think there is one young man nowadays who would work for someone for seven years to win his bride? Then he was cheated by Laban, given Leah instead of Rachel.”

  John grinned. “Poor guy. I don’t know if I’d do that or not. Fourteen years he worked, and he said the time was short. So you see, I can do this. Aren’t these old stories written for an example for us?”

  “Why sure they are.”

  “I thought so.”

  And with that, John moved off, pushing the reel mower.

  Incredible, thought Mam. Here was John, the silent Lyme disease victim, the mute, tormented young man that pierced her through with sorrow and anxiety, mowing grass, holding a conversation with her.

  Spiritually, she prostrated herself by the throne of grace, weeping with a grateful heart.

  Thank you, thank you.

  She thought about how five years ago she never would have thought to say thank you for her son mowing grass. Was this disease a call of awakening? A chastening of the Lord for the entire family?

  Ah, but the wrecking ball of the Lord had wrecked the once-sturdy family structure. Or had it? Were the hearts only learning now what love was? The kind of love that was not conditional?

  What had appeared on the outside as harsh trials and sorrows had actually been teaching all of them what love really was. Patience, forbearance, sympathy, tolerance for one another. Life would always present you with people who did not act the way you thought they should, causing you to lower your brows in disapproval, voice an opinion, feel superior in and justified by your own judgment.

  Ah, but we can do better.

  She envisioned all the boys as rust-colored pottery, soaking wet, spinning on the wheel that formed a vessel for the Master’s use. Abner, an experienced roofer, a light of happiness to those around him, a wonderful match for Ruthie. Amos so mature, already coming into his own.