I wanted a lot of things for myself. My dream home. My family all to myself where I could control them.
Much control I have now, I thought as the respirator expelled Nicholas's air, then gave him another breath. And much control I would have once we left Harland.
But as that thought formulated, another one crept alongside on padded feet.
Stay.
I closed my eyes and gave in to the familiar, teasing thought. It had visited me before, I allowed it more time now. Let it play around in my mind for a while. I imagined us on the farm. Our kids growing up in Harland.
A bubble of claustrophobic panic burst in me, then dissipated, because with Harland came Kathy, who took such good care of my kids. Judy, who made me laugh. Gloria, who made me… well, take another look at myself. And Wilma. A mother who loved my husband and loved my kids. A mother who, unlike my own mother, was at least involved. Cared. Did something to help.
Family. Support.
Letting go.
I remembered what Kathy said about farming and control. Could I allow our family to be held hostage to the vagaries of weather and markets and tariffs and import agreements and countervailing duties? Things so far beyond our control you couldn't even face them down and demand accountability?
And yet… and yet…
I laid my head back against the chair, closed my eyes, and let a small prayer rise up in me. I knew I needed some direction. And as I prayed, I thought of Dan.
And I knew what I had to do.
Chapter Twenty
The next few days were a slow grind of doctor visits, nurses' maintenance, and family stopping by. Lots of family stopping by. Wilma came almost every day, and though there were times I wished she didn't, I had come to appreciate the long drive she made just to see Nicholas and me. Kathy came, as did a few of the women from church whom I barely knew. Judy and I had a chance to spend more time together.
Gloria came. There was an initial moment of awkwardness, but she kept things cool. I knew we wouldn't be swapping recipes anytime soon, but something important had shifted between us.
With each visit I felt as if Dan and I were being carried along, supported when we could do nothing more for our son ourselves. I looked forward to each visit, each opportunity to talk to a friendly face. To make another connection with people who cared.
And to rethink our decision to leave after a year. We didn't need to be so hasty. We had nothing waiting for us in Seattle per se. We could take our time. Get to know the family a bit better.
I didn't mention my idea of putting our plans on temporary hold to Dan. I didn't dare put it into words yet.
Then, improbably, came the day when Nicholas turned a corner. When the rash started subsiding, leaving only angry red marks, an external reminder of the battle he had fought and won. When the last MRI showed no abnormalities, when he sat up in bed and pulled out his catheter and ripped off his oxygen mask, we knew we were on our way out of the dark pain we had been trudging through for the past ten days.
It was a miracle, plain and simple. Undeserved. Grace granted to graceless people.
As Dan drove the car up the driveway to the house many long, tiring days later, I glanced down at Nicholas on the seat behind us. He had been quiet all the way home from Helena, but as Dan parked the car, he gave me a loopy grin. Did our little boy know we were home?
I unbuckled my seat belt and felt the hard knot inside me loosen and open up. For some inexplicable reason I couldn't relax until I saw Sasha running toward us and heard the welcome whinny of the horses as we drove along the fence of the pasture. Normal had returned to our home and family.
Dan turned the key in the ignition and released a bellydeep sigh.
“We're home,” he said, brushing a callused finger over my cheek.
I caught his face in my hands, his shaven cheeks smooth beneath my fingers. His face so familiar. So dear. Then I gave him a noisy kiss.
“I like home.”
I pulled down the visor to check my face and flipped it quickly up again. Time may be a great healer but it was a lousy beautician. No sense in looking in a mirror until I got my hair cut again and had access to my own makeup.
I got out of the car, taking stock. The yard looked better than I did. Lawn neatly mowed. Flower beds weeded and tidy. Pots of geraniums, a new note of cheerfulness hung from the porch.
Home.
Stillness encircled my heart and settled there.
As I gently lifted Nicholas out of the car seat, I held him close to me, curling his warm head under mine. The fresh scent of his clothes couldn't mask the smell of hospital that still clung to him.
He shifted away from me, a hint of the old Nicholas, then drooped against me, as if that small rebellion was all he could manage for now.
We had our little boy back.
Before Nicholas's illness, that whole Valley-of-the-Shadow-of-Death concept sounded melodramatic. Today, with the sun pouring down bright promises, it became real. Spending time in the shadows gave me a vivid appreciation of light and grace.
I knew the situation could have turned out so differently.
Dan set Anneke down and looked over at me. “Here we are.” I saw his gaze flit past me to the hills as the wind flowed over the growing grain. The smile on his face lifted my heart.
“They're here!” Judy's voice called out from the house.
She rushed down the same crooked walk Wilma had so sedately come down when we first came here. Gloria was right behind her.
“Welcome home.” Judy gave me a quick hug, stroked Nicholas's head. Gloria hugged Dan and turned to me. A moment of awkwardness hung between us. I didn't know if we had reached the hugging stage in our détente, and if we had, whether I should make the first move.
She solved that for me by slipping one arm around my shoulder and pressing her cheek against mine. “So glad to see you all back,” she said softly. She stroked Nicholas's head. He blinked at her and snuggled in a bit closer.
My boy.
I caught Gloria's arm. “Thanks so much for taking care of the house while I was gone. I was so thankful to know that things were under control here.”
“I know how I would feel if I were in your position and my family looked the way they did.” She gave me a quick smile. “Dan stopped by on his way home from the hospital, and I felt so bad that you had to see him and Anneke looking like refugees.”
Surprise welled up in me. I'm more like her than I thought.
“I really appreciated it. Knowing that the house was well taken care of made things easier for me.” I looked around then. “Where's Wilma?”
“Mom's inside,” Gloria said, giving me an awkward pat on my shoulder. “She's taking care of dinner.”
Gerrit and Dayton joined us, followed by a crowd of kids and noise. The dogs barked, and a delightful chaos reigned as Dan, Anneke, Nicholas, and I were greeted, patted, slapped on the back, and in general drawn back into normalcy.
As I entered the house, the smell of roasting turkey teased my nose with the promise of the comfort of a home-cooked meal.
Wilma was bent over a roasting pan, basting a golden brown turkey. She looked up, her face flushed from the heat of the oven, but her makeup impeccable, her hair stylishly cut. Her eyes held mine a moment longer than usual. She gave me a quick smile, then her gaze moved to Nicholas in my arms and her features melted.
She put her oven mittens down and walked over, holding out her hands for my son.
“Here, let me take him.”
I felt my arms involuntarily tighten around Nicholas. I hadn't had nearly enough cuddling time.
But my resolve to learn to let go returned, and I loosened my hold on him, moving him toward Wilma.
He frowned and puckered his mouth, pulling back toward me with a whimper.
Oh, how my heart beat high with joy.
This won't last, I reminded myself as I gave Wilma a regretful smile. “He's waking up,” I said. “Not himself yet.”
“Of c
ourse.” She pressed her lips together, then eased out a dubious smile. “I'm glad he's better and I'm glad you're home again. Or, well, back at the house.” Her small amendment caught me by surprise. It was as if she finally acknowledged the temporary nature of our stay.
“It's nice to be home.”
Wilma gave me a curt nod, then turned to Dan and Anneke. They hugged each other and Wilma cooed over Anneke and lovingly stroked Dan's cheek.
As I watched mother and son together I thought of all she had lost. Thought of my own relationship to Nicholas and how fiercely I wanted him to be mine. All mine.
I didn't agree with her methods, but I felt a connection.
Dan pulled away and came to my side, slipped his arm around me, and gave me a gentle kiss. “I love you,” he said quietly, laying his forehead against mine.
“I love you, too,” I breathed, the words settling into my heart.
Judy urged me to sit down while the kids set the table and she and Wilma moved with purpose and calm through my kitchen finishing supper, delegating tasks—all done with the carelessness of experts.
Half an hour later we squeezed ourselves around the table, Dan at the head, me at his side. Nicholas still clung to me. I still savored his neediness.
As we all settled in, Dan looked from me to our kids to his family gathered around the table. “This is wonderful,” he said. Then laughed lightly. “I'm not a speech maker, so, thanks for coming. For being a support.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But I mostly want to thank our Lord for letting us keep Nicholas a while longer.” He looked at me. “We don't know how long anything lasts, but I know Leslie and I have learned to appreciate each day we have together.”
Of course, my throat choked up, and of course, all I could do at that touching moment was give him a silly smile and then look around at our family, blinking furiously.
But when Dan started praying, I let the tears flow. Happy tears. Thankful tears.
When he was done, people got caught up in the serious business of taking food out of bowls then passing them around. Conversation ebbed and flowed, punctuated by the clink of cutlery on china and I savored the belonging. I still didn't recognize all the names, and many of the stories were unfamiliar, but this time I didn't mind. In time I would “get” them.
“Judy, did you make trifle for dessert?” Dan asked, leaning back from the table after lingering over second helpings of his favorites.
Judy clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes two horrified circles above her fingers. “I forgot. It's on the table at home and everything.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, you know what they say, brain cells come and go, fat cells stick around.”
“Oh, no… Aunt Judy… I love your trifle… What about dessert…”
Dan sighed. “What's a good turkey dinner without the promise of chocolate afterward?”
“I could go home…”
“Don't bother, Judy,” I said, “that's too far,” though part of me hoped she would pooh-pooh the comment and get up anyway. But she shrugged and stayed where she was.
A thought slipped into my turkey-tired brain. I weighed it, measured it, then thought, well, why not.
“I'll be right back,” I said to Dan. I ran upstairs and ducked into our cupboard, then came back downstairs carrying my once precious cargo.
“If anyone's interested, I have a box of Lindor chocolates. I believe there's about two hundred and fifty here. More than enough for seconds and thirds.”
I could see Dan doing some quick calculations. He knew exactly how many I had bought and how many I should still have.
“What can I say?” I quipped, flashing him a smile. “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.”
But while I was trying to be smart, the teenagers whipped the box out of my hand and in seconds were inhaling the chocolates like they were air. Minutes later the box returned to me, half full, or half empty, depending on your point of view. It was like watching six months flash before my eyes.
Dan dug in the box and came up with a handful of chocolates as well. “Thursday, Friday, Saturday…” he intoned as he laid them out beside his plate.
“What are you talking about?” Judy's puzzled glance went from Dan to me.
“Tell you some other time,” I said, digging out a handful myself. I could always buy more if I needed to.
If.
After checking Nicholas for the seventeenth time, I finally settled into bed.
“Are you done now?” Dan asked with a playful grin as I scootched into his arms and wriggled a moment, trying to get the pillow just right.
“For now.” I pulled in a long breath and looked up at the ceiling, my eyes flickering over the water spots, barely discernible in the half light of the bedside lamp. I didn't think I would come to a place in my life where I would be happy to see their familiar shape. “Today was a good day.”
“Today was a good day,” he agreed.
“I like your family,” I said.
“I do, too.”
“In fact, I love your family. Judy is funny, Gerrit is kind, and Dayton is one of those solid people you can count on. The kids are nice. When Gloria has her guard down, she's a good person.” My exuberance drifted off. What to say about Wilma? Would he notice that I left her off my little mutual-admiration-society list?
“It's going to be hard to leave,” he said quietly.
I drew in a long, slow breath. “We don't need to talk about that yet.” In the dimmed light coming in from the hallway, I saw a half-smile curve his lips.
“No. But we're going to have to face reality sooner or later.”
“We've had our share of reality,” I said, giving him a kiss. I slipped my arms around him and held him close, thankful for him, thankful for where we were now in our marriage. My love for him had been weighed and tested, and with the help of family and community it had held. “Let's live out some fantasies for tonight,” I whispered.
“We could eat some more chocolate,” he said suggestively.
“We'll save that for another fantasy,” I giggled. Then kissed him again. And again.
Chapter Twenty-one
You'll be drowning in zucchini come fall.” Kathy yanked out another weed and threw it on the pile at the end of the row, then crouched back on her heels. “You'll be able to single-handedly supply the county with the stuff.”
“I planted zucchini?” I asked, as I zeroed in on a plant. It rose above the rest, drawing attention to itself. Plus it stank. I guessed it was a weed and pulled it out. “One of the sisters must have put it in. I hate that stuff.”
“Embrace the proliferation, honey. Whoever planted it put in a whack. And my goodness, could you have planted any more pumpkins?”
I looked up at my friend crouched in my garden a few rows down from me, her hair leaping up in glorious disarray. “I thought it would be fun to have some jack-o'-lanterns at Halloween.”
“You have some scary idea of fun. Well, I'm done,” Kathy said, getting to her feet and brushing the dirt off her pants. She walked over to Nicholas, who sat quietly in the bench on the side of the garden. “Hey, buddy, how are you doing?”
He lifted his hands to her, and she easily swung him up in her arms. He looked pale, but each day brought some new improvement. Some small triumph.
“He's going to be all right, isn't he?” The worried note in Kathy's voice resonated with the niggle of concern that lay tucked in a dark corner of my mind.
“The doctors gave him a clean bill of health.” I dug out my last weed and looked over the garden, pushing my damp hair back from my forehead. All tidy until the next onslaught. I felt a rush of well-being that had everything to do with Nicholas watching us, Kathy helping me, and my garden's neat tidy rows growing and producing. Another miracle. “It's the only decent bill we have in our house these days.”
“Tell me about it. We always have more month than money at our place. But we struggle on.”
Kathy said this with a sigh of resignation, but at the sam
e time I knew, as Judy had also said, that she wouldn't trade her life for anything. I looked over the yard again and smiled. Each time I left and came back, it was as if tiny tentacles caught and anchored me here. It wasn't paradise, but hey, what is? And even though it wasn't paradise, it still had its snake. Keith had phoned this morning demanding his money. When Dan had hung up the phone, he told me he had to go to town this afternoon to ask the lawyer what the reality was and what our final options were. I said I would come with him, for moral support. But all morning the meeting with the lawyer hung over me like a dark cloud. Questions and possibilities flew through my head like errant Ping-Pong balls. Finally I couldn't sit still, couldn't concentrate, so I took the kids outside and sought refuge in weeding the garden.
Kathy, who had come to babysit, found me crouched between the peas and the potatoes and pitched in. Nothing like pulling weeds to cement a friendship.
I glanced over my shoulder at the house, thinking of all that had happened since I reluctantly moved here. Thinking of what could happen if we stayed.
“If you were to paint this house, what colors would you use?” I asked Kathy, pushing my hair back from my face.
Kathy's eyebrows lifted only a fraction but she gamely played along. “It's a great style. You'll have to work with the shingles.” She stopped, tapping her finger on her chin. While she contemplated my house, I heard Carlene's shriek and Anneke's laugh. Familiar sounds, softened by the open spaces around us.
Home.
“I'd go with a dark taupe-y beige, sage shutters, and dark grape trim,” Kathy said, glancing over my shoulder as if to check my reaction. “Would up the resale value.”
I ignored her last comment as I imagined the changes. “I'm liking that.”
Anneke's shrieks grew louder, and in seconds we were surrounded by three children demanding something to drink. Something to eat. So, to the house we went.
“Wow, look at all the chocolates,” Kathy said, zeroing in on the bowl on the dining-room table. “You win some kind of prize or something?” She unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth, sighing in bliss. “I love these. My favorite waste of time.”
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