"That doesn't mean that you shouldn't tell me," Jenny told her. "If you'll ill, we need to know."
"I'm not ill!"
Chris patted her hand. "Of course you're not. My grandmother had it and she lived for a long time after her diagnosis."
"What diagnosis, Chris? All she's said is she's having some trouble with her heart. She hasn't even said exactly what type of heart problem she's having."
His coloring was fair so even though his face was tanned from working the fields under the sun, there was a telltale reddening.
"You knew," Jenny accused. "You knew and you didn't tell me."
Hannah turned to Chris. "You knew?"
"Don't be angry at him," Phoebe said quickly. "He guessed. He saw my prescriptions and guessed I have congestive heart failure."
"Congestive heart failure," Jenny whispered, shocked.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Phoebe rushed to say. "I've been doing what the doctor told me to. I'm managing. You can't blame Chris."
"I found out a while ago," Chris said in his defense. "She's been fine so I forgot all about it."
"When?" Hannah wanted to know. "When did you find out?"
Chris hesitated. "That day you thought I was leaving town." Chris turned to Jenny. "So you see, not telling you didn't make any difference. Phoebe has been fine for a long time."
Phoebe nodded. "Exactly."
"Have you forgotten that she was just released from the hospital?" Jenny asked him. She turned to Phoebe. "Maybe it's time for you to move into the dawdi haus with us."
"Why?"
"So we can take care of you—"
"I don't need taking care of." Abruptly, Phoebe stood and walked over to put her cup in the sink.
Jenny looked to Matthew for support.
"Phoebe knows she is welcome in our home," Matthew said quietly. "She's been like a grossmudder to the kinner and me."
"This is my home," Phoebe said firmly.
"It is," Chris said. "That was what we agreed on when I moved in here after Hannah and I married and you sold us the farm." He smiled at Phoebe. "But it's more than a business deal. If this had been my house, I'd have wanted you to stay with us, Phoebe. You know I love you like a grandmother, too."
She gave him a fond smile and ruffled his hair. "I know.And I love you like a grosssohn."
Then she looked at each of them with her back straight and her eyes direct. "But I'm not sick and I'm not old," she insisted. "And I won't have anyone treating me that way unless and until I am."
There was silence. Phoebe had never spoken to them this way.
Then Phoebe glanced at Hannah. "What's wrong?" she asked, moving swiftly to her side.
Hannah looked even paler than she had earlier that day, Jenny saw.
"Doing it again," she gasped, using both hands to knead on her abdomen, as if it were a lump of dough she could reshape. "Kicking—kicking me under the ribs again."
"I'd say maybe it's a 'he' and he's going to be a football player but that game's not played in these parts," Chris told her. "Come on, let's get you to lie down and see if it helps."
He lifted her but she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I know you're strong. But I'm not letting you carry me up the stairs."
Chris staggered and set her back on her feet. "Well, maybe you're right—oof!" he cried and rubbed his stomach where her elbow had connected.
"I saw you grinning!" she retorted, glaring at him over her shoulder as she stomped to the stairs.
"Tread carefully," Matthew warned, trying not to smile. "And I don't mean be careful on the stairs."
"Yeah, yeah," Chris said.
"Chris!" Hannah called, her tone sharp.
His glance slid back to Matthew. "Yes, dear?"
"I thought you were going to come up here!"
"Yes, dear," Chris said and he hurried after her.
Matthew couldn't stop laughing.
"You're watching me."
Jenny glanced at Phoebe as she piled freshly baked oatmeal cookies in the cookie jar. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You keep looking at me like I'm going to collapse at any moment."
"You're imagining it."
Phoebe harrumphed. "I know what I see."
Jenny placed the top on the jar and turned. "Well, then, if I have—and I'm not saying that I have, then all you have to do is stay healthy and I'm sure I'll get tired of that and stop. Right?"
Her grandmother placed her hands on her hips and stared at her. "Sometimes you're just too smart for your own good."
"I never understood that phrase," Jenny said, trying to hold back her smile. "I mean, how can it be bad for a person to be smart? It seems to me that we should want to be as smart as we can be,"
Phoebe gave her a stern look. "You're trying to change the subject. What is it they call it in the Englisch world? You're being a smart Alex."
"Smart aleck," Jenny said. "It's 'smart aleck.' " She pressed her fingers to her mouth to still the giggles.
"You know what I mean."
Jenny sighed. "I do. But you're just going to have to put up with me. I'm still a work in progress. I'm still trying not to worry," she explained when she saw Phoebe look cnfused. "But I haven't mastered this not-worrying thing like you have."
She threw her arms around Phoebe. "You scared me so badly," she said. "You scared me."
She felt her grandmother pat her back. "I know. I know. Don't cry. I don't like to see you cry."
"I'm sorry." Jenny stood back and wiped away her tears with her hands.
Phoebe handed her the snowy handkerchief she always kept tucked in her pocket.
"I miss you," Jenny told her. "I miss us living together under the same roof."
"You don't have time to miss me with all that you do."
"I do," Jenny insisted.
"You see me every day. And I intend to be around for a long time."
"We don't get a say in that," Jenny told her, shaking her head and trying to smile. "Not even you get to make bargains with God."
"No," Phoebe agreed and she smiled. "You're right."
She patted Jenny's cheek as she gazed at her with her wise, faded blue eyes. "But I'm doing everything the doctor says and as much as I'd like to see my mann, I'd really like to enjoy this beautiful earth for quite a while longer."
She yawned. "Sorry. I'm feeling kind of tired. I think I'll go to bed early." She slanted a look at Jenny. "Tired. Just tired. Okay?"
Jenny nodded. She kissed her grandmother's cheek. "Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."
Two days later, Hannah surprised Jenny by visiting after the children left for school.
"I was just coming over," Jenny told her.
"I know. But I thought I'd warn you." Hannah took a seat at the kitchen table.
"I'm worried about Phoebe," she said without preamble. "She looks flushed like she has a fever and she's coughing.And all I could get her to eat this morning was a piece of toast with some hot tea."
Jenny frowned. "Sounds like she's coming down with a cold."
"She said so herself," Hannah told her. "Said all she needed to do was lie down for a little while and she'd be fine."
"I was coming over after I finished my baking." She glanced at the timer on the stove.
Hannah sniffed. "What's that I smell? It's not—"
Laughing, Jenny nodded. "It's cinnamon rolls. I made a second batch after the children left. Figured I'd bring some over to you and Phoebe."
"Did I ever tell you that you're my favorite sister-in-law?" Hannah nodded when Jenny held up the tea kettle. "Ya, I'd love a cup of tea."
"I'm your only sister-in-law," Jenny said, pouring them both a cup of hot water and getting out the canister of tea bags— regular for her, decaffeinated ones for Hannah, of course.
"The thing is, we have to be careful with what we say around Phoebe. I think we offended her the other day."
The timer dinged. Jenny drew the pan of rolls from the oven, placed them on top of the stove
and checked them, then shut off the oven. When she turned to get a plate, Hannah was right there, holding one out and grinning.
"Can I have that one?" she said, pointing to the biggest roll in the pan.
Jenny peered at it. "Looks like it has your name on it. But I haven't put the frosting on yet."
Hannah gave her the plate and resumed her seat. "Well, hurry. There are two of us waiting, you know."
"I know. That's why you ate at your house and then here, too."
Smiling, she got out a bowl and stirred confectioner's sugar and milk together to form a thick frosting. Slathering it on the rolls, she watched it melt down into the crevices.
Hannah cleared her throat, reminding Jenny of her impatience to eat it. Quickly, she cut out the roll Hannah had pointed to, placed it on a plate, and put it before her.
"You know, one of these days I might make that recipe for cinnamon roll French toast that Fannie Mae gave me."
"Ooh, you're killing me," Hannah said as she picked up the roll. "Imagine how incredible that must taste." She chewed and swallowed, then took a sip of tea.
Jenny wrapped up several of the rolls to take to Phoebe and made a separate package. She handed it to Hannah. "There's one in here for you and one for Chris. I trust that the one for Chris will make it to him?"
Hannah rubbed her abdomen. "Is he carrying this baby? Hmm? Is he?"
Rolling her eyes, Jenny took back the package and added another roll. Really, sometimes adults were worse than kids.
"I'm sure Chris is going to love it," Hannah said with a grin."Ready to go?"
Jenny knocked on her grandmother's door.
"Come in," she croaked.
Opening the door, Jenny peered inside the room. The blinds were shut, so it was dim, but she could see her grandmother sitting up in her bed, her back resting against the headboard.
"You sound awful."
"It's just a cold. You shouldn't be here."
"I've been around colds with the children," Jenny told her briskly. "It doesn't mean you automatically get one."
Walking over to the bed, she lay the back of her hand on her grandmother's forehead. "Oh, my, you're burning up," Jenny whispered, alarmed. "I'm going to get a thermometer."
"There's one in the cabinet in the bathroom there."
She'd never had reason to go into her grandmother's medicine cabinet before. Now, she saw the prescription bottles she'd never known Phoebe had. Quickly, she reached for the thermometer and shut the cabinet. No way she wanted her grandmother to think she was snooping and get upset with her.
When she returned with it and persuaded Phoebe to pop it into her mouth, Jenny found that her mother's intuition about how high her grandmother's temperature was based on her hand to forehead was correct: Phoebe's temp was 104.
"I think this is more than a cold."
Phoebe shook her head. "I'm going to take some aspirin and have a nap."
"I'll get the aspirin," Jenny said quickly. "You rest."
A nap? Phoebe taking a nap was as alarming as her having a temperature.
Hannah thought so, too, when she went to tell her.
"I think we should call her doctor."
Jenny bit her lip. "This is so hard. She's an adult. We can't treat her like a child." She sighed. "I better get back with the aspirin. I wouldn't want her to think we're out here talking about her."
"Since when is it wrong to care about someone?" Hannah wanted to know. "I don't get upset when someone does that with me."
"You mean like you immediately listened to us when we wanted you to go to doctor the other day when the baby was kicking under your ribs?" Jenny asked her as she held a glass under the running faucet,
Hannah sighed. "You had to bring that up, didn't you?"
Jenny added some ice to the glass of water and returned to Phoebe's room.
Her grandmother sat up when Jenny entered the room. She took the aspirin and drained the glass of water. "I'll be fine after my nap."
Jenny wasn't so sure about that but she stayed silent. "I think I'll stick around and help Hannah with some cleaning. You let me know if you need anything."
Nodding, Phoebe lay down and Jenny could hear her deep, even breathing before she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She went in search of Hannah and found her sweeping the floor in the living room. Or rather, Hannah was leaning against the wall and wiping her brow.
"Hot work," she said with a sigh when Jenny entered the room. "Pregnancy and late summer don't mix well."
Jenny reached for the broom but Hannah kept her hold on it. "Sit down and put your feet up. I can finish this."
"No, it's my house. You have enough to do."
For a minute they wrestled with the broom and then they stopped and stared at each other. Jenny was the first to burst into laughter and then Hannah joined her.
"Here, you win," said Hannah, wiping her eyes. "Far be it from me to keep you from your housecleaning mania." She sank down onto the sofa and sighed as she put her feet up.
"I know it's not easy being pregnant right now. Maybe it never is, no matter what season it is when you get close to delivery. I thought I'd stick around and help you while Phoebe naps, see how she's feeling when she wakes up. I'm wondering if I should take her to see the doctor."
"You think it's more than a cold, too."
Jenny nodded. "I do."
As if on cue, they heard Phoebe coughing.
"She sounds worse than last night," Hannah said.
Jenny swept faster. "I'm going to do the kitchen, too. You stay right there."
"I'll owe you."
Jenny turned so Hannah wouldn't see her wince. Everyone just seemed to assume she would get pregnant. What were they thinking? Hannah knew as much as Phoebe about her injuries, about what the doctors had said about possible repercussions with the internal injuries; Jenny's doctor had said only time would tell if she could get pregnant.
As Jenny swept the kitchen, she kept hearing Phoebe's coughing and wondered if she was getting any rest at all. She had her answer when Phoebe opened the door and peered out. Her eyes were glassy and her face flushed. "Where is Hannah?"
"In the living room resting. Did you need her?"
"No, I don't want to take a chance of getting her sick in her condition. I was going to get a glass of water in the kitchen."
Jenny touched Phoebe's forehead. It felt hotter than before. "I'll get the water for you but let's take your temp again first."
It had gone up another degree.
"Grandmother, I think it's time we took you to see the doctor."
The older woman opened her mouth, then closed it. She walked over to the bed and sat. "Fine."
Like her grandmother saying she'd take a nap in the middle of the day, her acquiescence was totally unexpected.
Jenny rushed to the other room and found Hannah staring at the ceiling as she lay on the sofa. "I can't sleep," she complained. "I keep thinking of all the things I need to do."
"You can call Phoebe's doctor and tell him we're bringing her in."
Hannah sat up. "She's worse?"
"And she agreed to go. That scares me. I expected to have an argument."
"Ya. I would have, too. I'll go call now."
Jenny returned to her grandmother's room and found her still sitting in the same place.
"I'm going to get Matthew to hitch up the buggy," Jenny said quickly. "You stay right here and when I come back I'll help you get dressed."
"I can get dressed by myself," Phoebe grumbled.
But when Jenny returned, Phoebe hadn't moved.
"Back so soon?" she asked, looking a little bewildered.
"It's just that you're not feeling well," Jenny soothed, reaching for a dress. "Here, I'll help you."
She'd always thought that the name Phoebe suited her grandmother for she was a tiny, birdlike woman who flitted around with such energy and bright-eyed enthusiasm. Now Phoebe seemed even smaller and more frail. She'd never seemed old.
Until now.
Even though she was sick, Phoebe insisted on going through the laborious motions of brushing and binding up her waistlong hair and putting on her kapp. But the effort cost her. By the time she finished she was white and her breathing was raspy.
There was a knock on the door. "Phoebe, are you ready?" Matthew called out.
Jenny opened the door. "She's ready."
"I'm sorry for all the trouble," Phoebe said as she walked past him.
"It's no trouble at all," he told her, gallantly taking her arm and walking with her.
When she stopped and started coughing, a hacking cough that left her leaning against the doorframe, he scooped her up and carried her to the buggy.
"I can walk."
Matthew slanted a look at Jenny. "I've heard that before."
"I—haven't been—carried in years. I remember when—" she broke off and began coughing again.
"Sounds like it might be a good story," he said as he lifted her onto the backseat of the buggy. "But I think you better save your breath and tell me sometime later."
"I think we should take her straight to the emergency room," he whispered to Jenny as they rounded the buggy.
"She agreed to go to the doctor, so we're taking her there. If the doctor thinks she should go to the ER, we'll go there."
The news wasn't good.
"Phoebe has pneumonia," the doctor told them. "I'm recommending that she go to the hospital."
"No hospital," Phoebe said firmly. "Where do you think I got it?"
"Now, you don't know that."
Phoebe sniffed. "No one is sick around me but a hospital's a hotbed of germs. I bet I got it there when I went to the emergency room. I want to go home." She looked at Jenny, then Matthew. "I want to go home."
"I don't think that's a good idea," the doctor interjected.
"They'll take care of me at home," Phoebe insisted. "I don't have to go to the hospital just because I have pneumonia. Fannie Mae had it last year and she didn't go to the hospital."
"I'd prefer it, considering the heart condition."
When Phoebe just continued to stare at him, he sighed, reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a prescription pad, and started writing. "I'll have the nurse come in and talk to you."
A Time for Peace Page 5