The Calling

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  “Better not ask her that,” Luke said. “I told her she looked terrible and she snapped my head off.”

  Bethany frowned at her brother. “I’m ready for this heat wave to break.”

  Rose nodded. “It’s supposed to rain Tuesday or Wednesday. Here’s the phone number to reach me at Delia Stoltz’s. Leave a message and I’ll call back.” She put down the pencil and looked out the window. Tobe had returned from saying goodbye to Naomi, escorted by Galen, and went to wait by the car.

  Galen came into the kitchen to say goodbye. “Better get going, Rose, if you want to beat traffic.” He looked at the boys wolfing down pancakes at the kitchen table. “You two, finish up with breakfast. I’ve got some fence repairing that’s waiting on you.”

  The boys let out a whoop. Luke and Sammy were always glad to have something to do that involved hammering and making noise. Luke rolled up the last pancake, shoved it into his shirt pocket, and shot out the door so fast he made Bethany blink. Sammy followed, a little slower.

  Rose smiled as she watched the boys run through the privet to Galen’s. She turned back to Bethany and Mim. “Listen, girls, we’ll try to get back to Eagle Hill as soon as we know what’s going to happen to Tobe.”

  “Mom, do you think he’ll have to go to jail?” Mim asked.

  Bethany saw Rose and Galen’s eyes meet over Mim’s head. Rose’s eyes said, This is so complicated. How do I answer?

  Galen stepped in. “Tobe says he’s telling the truth. He’s confessing to any wrong he might have done. The rest is in God’s hands. God’s good hands.”

  Rose shot him a grateful look.

  It was strange, that wordless communication between a man and a woman who loved each other, the silent signal of caring, the way they checked in with each other. Would Bethany ever have that with someone? Or was she destined to make terrible choices? Like her father did. Like Tobe still was. Maybe it was a Schrock family trait. Fixed.

  A few minutes later, Bethany and Mim waved to everyone in the car as it drove down the driveway. Galen went back to his farm. Watching the car turn onto the road, Bethany stroked Chase’s thick fur, trying to stamp down the worry she felt over Tobe.

  “Bethany? Are you listening to me?”

  She startled. She hadn’t even realized Mim was still beside her. “What?”

  “I said I’m going to be up in my room working on my Mrs. Miracle column. It’s due for Tuesday’s edition and I’m way behind because of the community garden work. You can still drop it by the newspaper office, can’t you?”

  “Yes, sure, I’ll take care of it. By the way, I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

  “Where are you going? I thought you had to work at the Sisters’ House.”

  “They canceled me for tomorrow—they have the Sisters’ Bee at Edith Fisher’s and it makes them nervous when I’m working in the house and they’re not around to supervise.”

  “I thought Naomi wanted you to join that quilting bee.”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Besides, I’m going on an errand with Geena tomorrow.” She hadn’t actually asked Geena yet, but she was hoping it would be all right. “I’ll be gone most of the day. You’ll be okay, won’t you?”

  Mim looked a little worried. “All day? Watching Luke and Sammy all day long?” She scrunched up her face. “Luke? All day long? He doesn’t pay me any mind.”

  “Galen and Jimmy can be in charge of those two.” She frowned. “Don’t you have a column to write?”

  Mim ran up the porch steps and disappeared through the kitchen door.

  Chase nudged Bethany’s hand, then stood there staring up at her with a worried look in his big round eyes. She bent down to rub his ears, his favorite thing. “Try not to fret, old pal. Tobe will be home soon.” But she wasn’t sure of that at all. She chewed on her lip, thinking. What if Jake went free and Tobe ended up in jail? Wouldn’t that just beat all?

  Again the thought of Jake Hertzler filled Bethany with such a huge prickling of red spikes that she almost couldn’t catch her breath. She still couldn’t get her head around the news that he had stolen money from her father’s company. How could he do such awful things? Her family had been good to him. Anger added to anger.

  It seemed to Bethany that a chain of actions, of people offering trust to Jake without expecting him to earn it, had resulted in the trouble they were facing. She should never have introduced Jake to her father . . . her father should not have given Jake access to so much of Schrock Investments before he knew him well—he had left the cat to guard the cream. Tobe shouldn’t have accepted Jake’s rationale about the diminishing money at the bank when he sensed something wasn’t adding up. Jimmy Fisher should never have trusted Jake so easily when buying a horse from him . . . and of course she was at fault for falling prey to Jake’s charms. The start of it all was Jake Hertzler.

  All her life, Bethany was taught to love her enemies. Jake had become her first true enemy. How could she forgive him? It wasn’t over—Jake kept on hurting the people she loved. She hated him, even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to hate, that it was a sin. And she hated herself for harboring such darkness.

  Standing there with the morning sun pouring down hard on her head, Bethany had half a mind to stomp to the phone shanty and call him. Why not? Why shouldn’t she? She would! She would call him and tell him just what she thought of him.

  Hands shaking, she dialed the number for Jake’s cell.

  As she waited to see if the number still worked, if it would connect, the first wave of doubt floated along. Maybe it wasn’t smart to call Jake and tell him off. Maybe she should hang up. Tell him off. Don’t tell him off. Back and forth she went, a battle between anger and good sense.

  But the call connected and clicked right over to voice mail. She took a deep breath and banished those niggling doubts. “Jake, this is Bethany. Bethany Schrock. My brother Tobe came home. He told us what you did to my father. To all of us. He said you were trying to frame him by giving those books I found for you to that SEC lawyer.”

  She felt a surge of fresh anger, invigorating anger. “How could you? How could you be so cruel to people who trusted you? My father, my brother, all the investors—and then Jimmy Fisher and that horse.” She was on a roll. It felt good to tell Jake just how she felt. She never had before. It felt so good! “You’re not going to get away with this, Jake. It’s catching up with you, but fast. People like you think they can do anything to Plain people because we won’t defend ourselves. Well, you’re wrong. Tobe’s going now to tell that SEC lawyer everything you’ve done.”

  She stopped and sighed, the fight slipping away from her. “Shootfire! What’s the point? I’m just wasting my time. You don’t care about anybody but yourself.” She slammed the phone down and marched out of the shanty. She was officially done with Jake Hertzler.

  If Mim had more time, she would ponder what was going on with her sister lately. One minute Bethany was fine, the next minute she was distant and preoccupied, the next—she was stomping mad. But there was no sense in stewing over Bethany’s mental state. At least not at this moment. Mim had to get her Mrs. Miracle column prepared for today’s deadline. Just saying the word filled her with a secret delight. She had a deadline!

  Under her bed, she kept a box of the Mrs. Miracle columns that she cut from the Stoney Ridge Times newspaper. It wasn’t easy to collect them because her family didn’t subscribe to the newspaper. But . . . the sisters at the Sisters’ House did. They loved to read, anything and everything. Whenever Mim was over at their house, she would tiptoe around the house, hunting for the latest edition of the newspaper—which was never in the same place twice—tear out Mrs. Miracle’s column, fold it carefully, and tuck it into her dress pocket.

  A few days ago, Ella came up behind her and caught her in the act. “Do you need scissors, dear?”

  “Uh, no,” Mim said, cheeks burning. “Just something I wanted from the paper. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Ella was looking right at the
Mrs. Miracle column in Mim’s hand, right at it! Then she gazed at her for a long, long moment with an inscrutable look on her face. “Well,” she said at last, “we are a reading household. Papa always wants us to have good reading material. But I don’t suppose he’ll miss one column.”

  How strange, Mim noticed, for Ella to talk as if her papa was nearby. He must have passed decades ago. Then the wave of guilt hit—Mim hadn’t realized the sisters ever actually read the paper, only collected them, and she certainly never meant to lie to anyone, especially Ella. That, she decided right then and there, was the last time she would take the column from the sisters. She’d find another way to collect those columns. Maybe she could ask Bethany to get them from the receptionist at the newspaper.

  In her bedroom, Mim pulled the manila envelope out from under her mattress and set the typewriter up on her desk. She dumped the letters on her bed.

  Dear Mrs. Miracle,

  I have been happily married to “Phillip” for ten years. We have a nice-sized farm where we grow beets.

  Last spring, a neighbor lady, recently divorced, asked if Phillip would teach her how to use a tractor. At the end of each day, Phillip goes over to give her tractor lessons. It has been three months and he is still teaching her to drive a tractor. Each time I mention that the neighbor lady has had enough time to learn how to drive the tractor without help, he says she is a slow learner. He comes home late and is very tired. I am starting to feel suspicious that more is going on than driving lessons.

  Gratefully,

  Beet Farmer’s Wife

  Dear Beet Farmer’s Wife,

  If your neighbor lady hasn’t learned how to drive a tractor by now, she should consider getting a horse. It would be much easier for her.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Miracle

  Dear Mrs. Miracle,

  Nancy and I have been best friends since we were girls. We’ve never kept secrets from each other. Recently, I found out that Nancy’s husband, who is a dentist, is having an affair with his dental hygienist. Should I tell Nancy? Is it ever wrong to keep a secret?

  Signed,

  Wringing My Hands

  Dear Wringing,

  Would you want Nancy to tell you if she knew your husband were having an affair?

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Miracle

  Mim was particularly proud of that answer. It was inspired! She had no experience with marriage or affairs and didn’t want to mislead anyone. This answer put responsibility for the decision back on Wringing. Yes, that was an ideal answer, and she felt it would prove beneficial to her many readers. She always tried to choose letters for the newspaper column that many readers could relate to.

  She opened another letter to read:

  Dear Mrs. Miracle,

  I thought I had something special with my girlfriend, but then she broke up with me.

  I stayed in bed. I fought with friends who meant well. Once, I got into a fist fight that I knew I would lose just so I could feel a different type of pain, but nothing hurt more than my broken heart. It’s been seven months and I still have not moved on. I think I’m ready. I finally shaved. But my heart still races with anxiety when I think of losing my girlfriend. I mean, I was really in love.

  Just Wondering What to Do Next

  Mim felt stupefied by the letters about broken hearts. She thought she understood love—after all, she loved Danny Riehl and planned to marry him one day—but she did not understand what brokenheartedness felt like and she hoped she never would. It sounded awful. It sounded like a person’s heart had been ripped open, without anesthesia, and was bleeding inside his chest. Mim couldn’t imagine how dreadful it would be to have a truly broken heart. She set Just Wondering’s letter aside, unsure of how to answer.

  She read through the stack of letters from last week’s pouch and placed them into piles on her bed: Answer, Don’t Answer, and I Have No Idea How to Answer.

  She almost missed a small envelope at the bottom of the pile. It was from Stuck.

  Dear Mrs. Miracle,

  Sometimes I feel like leaky dynamite—just waiting for the spark to make it explode.

  Yours truly,

  Stuck

  Mim leaned back against her bedframe, holding the letter in her hand. How in the world should Mrs. Miracle handle that?

  14

  Early Tuesday morning, Bethany wiped her feet on the mat before stepping into the guest flat’s bright living room. It was hard to believe this was the same dreary space, filled with old junk, that it was a few months ago. Rose had transformed it and she’d done it on a shoestring budget. Now it was a cheerful space with buttery yellow painted walls, white woodwork, a large window that let in bright light. The window overlooked Rose’s flower garden near the barn. The transformation was amazing. The guest flat was much cooler, too, than the house above it. “Geena?”

  “In here!” Geena was in the bedroom, packing up. “You’re just in time to give me a hand. I thought I’d move my things up to the house so I can clean the guest flat when we get back later today.”

  “You don’t have to clean anything,” Bethany said. “You’re our guest. Mim and I have it down to a routine.” She plumped a pillow. “Besides, if the heat wave doesn’t break, I’m sure those folks will cancel.”

  “Supposed to rain tomorrow.” Geena looked around the room and grabbed her purse. “Well? Ready to go meet your mother?”

  Bethany took a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  An hour or so later, they were driving into Hagensburg. “At the next street make a right onto the bridge,” droned the GPS in Geena’s car.

  “Almost there,” Geena said.

  This might be a huge mistake, Bethany realized. Over the years she had learned to live with her mother’s abandonment. Why did it need to change now?

  Bethany felt her stomach lurch. Coming here had been a bad idea. A really bad idea. And she found herself simply wishing she could talk to . . . not to Geena, not to Rose, but to Jimmy Fisher.

  Where had that idea come from? Why would she feel a longing for the counsel of Jimmy Fisher, of all people? What might he say to a complicated situation like this, anyway? What could he possibly know?

  A ridiculous notion! But she could almost hear his voice: You’ve gone this far, Bethany. Don’t lose courage now. You need to get your answers if you’re ever going to get through this gray stretch in your life.

  The car stopped in front of an old but cared-for house with wooden ramps leading up to the front door. Bethany took in a deep breath. This was it. This was where her mother was. An eerie sense of something lost moved through her chest, cold and hollow.

  Geena turned off the ignition. “Let’s go get your answers.”

  They pressed a doorbell button and waited until someone came to the door. An older woman, skin like chocolate and hair like a salt-and-pepper Brillo pad, looked Bethany up and down as if she recognized her.

  “We’re here to see Mary Schrock,” Geena said at last. “She might go by the name of Mary Miller.”

  The woman was still eyeing Bethany. “Didn’t expect you folks till the end of July.”

  Bethany was confused. “I’ve never been here before.”

  Now the woman looked confused. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Mary’s daughter. I’d like to meet her.”

  The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh Lawd—jez like that boy that come ’round here awhile back.”

  “My brother, Tobe.”

  “Child, whatever you’re looking for, you ain’t gonna find it in your mama.”

  Shootfire! Everywhere Bethany went, she hit the same brick wall. Everybody thought they knew what was best for her. “I’d like to decide that for myself.”

  Geena put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am, this is Bethany Schrock. She’d just like the chance to meet her mother. That’s all. Seems like a daughter should be able to meet her mother.”

  The woman fixed her gaze at Geena, as if she jus
t noticed her. “And who are you?”

  “I’m the Reverend Spencer. A friend of the family’s.”

  Something changed instantly in the woman as soon as she learned Geena was a minister. It was like a free pass. She opened the door wide. “Mary’s in her room.”

  Bethany and Geena followed behind the woman. They went through a room where a few elderly women sat on the couch, watching television. Only one noticed Geena and Bethany and stared at them.

  “Mind if I ask,” Geena said, “what kind of home is this?”

  The woman stopped and turned toward Geena. “It’s a home for ladies with mental health issues.”

  “What kind of mental health issues?”

  “Bipolar, manic depressive, clinical depression, psychotic, schizophrenia, paranoia—”

  “So my mother runs this home?”

  The woman looked at Bethany as if she had a loose bolt. “Say what?”

  “I thought you were taking us to her office.”

  The woman’s face softened in understanding. “Oh, baby. No, no, no, no, no. She ain’t running the place. She’s a patient. She’s been here for a long, long time. Longer than I’ve been here.”

  Everything went upside down. A funny tingling feeling traveled through Bethany, starting with her toes. By the time it reached her head, she felt she might faint. The room started to spin and she dipped lower, as if her knees might give way, but Geena grasped her around the shoulders.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  Bethany nodded. She had to be strong. She just had to. She took a deep breath. In, out.

  Geena turned to the woman, still holding Bethany’s shoulders. “Why is Mary here?”

  The woman’s back went up. “ ’Cuz it’s better than an institution. We try to make it homelike. Most of the staffers have been here for years and years. They know all these patients. They treat them like family.”

  “I meant . . . what’s the diagnosis?”