“Mom, years ago when I was in Stoney Ridge, living at Windmill Farm—I came away with a belief in God. I’ve let it sort of get crowded out. Gone dormant.”
Crowded out. Dormant. That’s exactly what she had done with God. Kept him there, but pushed off to the side of life. She hadn’t needed God . . . until now. “Me too, Will. It’s time to change that. I don’t think God wants to be a bystander.”
Will laughed. “Amos Lapp told me one time that if you weren’t paying attention to God, then God had a way of getting your attention.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Hadn’t this last month been a wake-up call for Delia? Awful events—yet, she wouldn’t change a thing. If cancer and Charles’s affair were what it took to feel this close to God, to have these kinds of conversations with her son—it was all worth it.
“By the way, if you happen to see that vet who was treating the colt, would you get her phone number for me?” He cleared his throat. “I have a question or two for her . . . about one of my classes.”
She grinned. She thought there was a spark between those two! “I’ll see what I can do.”
20
Breakfast was scorched scrambled eggs, orange juice with frozen lumps that hadn’t dissolved, and undercooked pancakes. There were rumblings of thunder and lightning, which meant the boys had to remain inside until school started.
And that meant that Mim couldn’t concentrate on her book. Luke and Sammy were stomping around their bedroom, which was next to Mim’s. They were like a hurricane, Mim thought. Those two would never stop joshing each other and trying to outdo each other. Finally, downstairs, Bethany had enough of the big thumping sounds. She told them to clean up their rooms and throw their collections out. Usually, Bethany barked commands that nobody obeyed. But she was serious about getting rid of those collections. She complained they were stinking up the whole upstairs and she couldn’t stand them one more minute. Those boys collected all kinds of things—anything useless. Birds’ feathers, pebbles, eggshells, snake skins, the skeleton of something that might be a bat. They were regular packrats.
The boys burst into Mim’s room without a knock. “We need you to make a sign for us,” Luke announced. Sammy nodded.
“What kind of a sign?”
“We want to sell stuff.”
“That’s ridiculous. No one will buy your useless stuff. It’s junk.”
Luke was insulted. “They might.”
She put down her book. “I’m all for you cleaning out your collections and I’m all for you making money, but you need to find a way to make your things desirable to someone else.”
Sammy brightened. “Like . . . buried treasure?”
She laughed. “Oh sure! Just tell folks you’re selling rare antiques and your junk will sell like that.” She snapped her fingers in the air. She was joking.
The boys looked at each other, then their faces lit up like firecrackers and they vanished back into their bedroom.
“I was joking!” she called out.
Later that night, Mim lit the small oil lamp on her desk. There were definitely moments when she missed flipping a switch and having electric lights, but she couldn’t deny that there was no pleasanter light than the soft glow of an oil lamp. She read once that whale oil gave off the nicest flame, but she didn’t know where a person would buy whale oil.
She couldn’t sleep tonight, not with her mother away in Philadelphia in a hospital with her grandmother. Too many worries bounced through her mind. Tomorrow would be a very big surgery for her grandmother. She might die. Mim hoped she wouldn’t die, but she might. In such important matters, Mim always felt it was best to prepare for the worst.
She uncovered the typewriter and polished her glasses. Then she set to work on answering Mrs. Miracle letters. She found the questions about love to be the trickiest to answer. Love was a mystery. How could she try to explain the shaky-excited feelings she got whenever she was in close proximity to Danny Riehl?
Dear Mrs. Miracle,
My boyfriend cheated on me. Should I cheat on him to teach him a lesson?
Signed,
Angry in Arizona
Dear Angry,
I am sorry to hear that your boyfriend had such bad judgment. But no, you should not cheat on him to teach him a lesson. Two wrongs don’t make a right. However, I do think you should break up with him and find a new boyfriend. A faithful one.
Very truly yours,
Mrs. Miracle
Satisfied, Mim pulled the letter out of the typewriter with a flourish and folded it. She typed the address on the envelope, put the folded letter inside, licked it, stamped it, and set it on her nightside table. Time for the next letter:
Dear Mrs. Miracle,
I would like to know, according to all your experience, if love can overcome everything.
Lonely in Love
Dear Lonely,
If love is true, it will overcome almost everything.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Miracle
Mim stopped and stared at the page. Wasn’t that the answer to her own dilemma? If Danny were her true love, then even if he moved away, that wouldn’t change anything, would it? She smiled. Mrs. Miracle had solved her problem. She took out a blank piece of paper, rolled it into the typewriter, and started typing . . .
Dear Mrs. Miracle,
My mother doesn’t see me. She doesn’t hear what I say. She thinks she does, but she doesn’t. She is busy with my grandmother, my sister, and my brothers. I would welcome your exceedingly wise counsel.
Very truly yours,
Miss Invisible
Mim pulled the paper out of the typewriter and held it up. To see a problem in black and white made it seem less like a conundrum and more like a situation waiting for a solution. Almost like a math formula. Not quite, but almost. No wonder she was so inspired in her new role as Mrs. Miracle.
Rose felt such a shock at the sight of Vera getting wheeled out for surgery that she had to steady herself against the wall. The pre-operative area was a large, busy room. Nurses and doctors were rushing here and there, machines beeped, worried families gathered in clumps and murmured quietly, gurneys slid by with patients on their way to surgery. One of those gurneys held Vera. Seeing her mother-in-law with head shaved, tubes going everywhere, a big IV bag filled with saline by her side—the sight made Rose’s stomach twist. For Vera’s sake, she tried not to let on how she felt. It was no time to be weak. She squeezed Vera’s hand as she walked alongside the gurney.
The orderly stopped the gurney at the operating door and gave a nod to Rose. “This is as far as you can go. Wish her well.”
Rose leaned over and brushed a tear leaking down Vera’s cheek. “I’ll be praying the entire time and I’ll be here when you get through it.”
Vera squeezed her eyes shut. “Dean’s the lucky one. He’s missed a lot of heartache.”
“He’s missed a lot of joy too.”
Vera opened her eyes. “I wish I could be as strong as you.”
“Why, Vera, you’re the strongest person I know,” Rose said, in a gentle tone. “I couldn’t manage without you. We’ve weathered all kinds of storms together. We’ll get through this one too.”
“Rose, I don’t really think you’re the worst daughter-in-law in the world.”
“I know you don’t.”
A sharp little spark lit Vera’s eyes. “The first one Dean brought home—she was the worst.”
Rose sighed.
As the orderly pushed Vera’s gurney through doors that led to the operating room, Rose decided to try to find a quiet place, maybe a chapel, to pray. To pray away some troubles that just weren’t willing to leave.
Trust, from Galen, came slowly. When Delia Stoltz asked him if he would like to drive to the hospital with her, he hesitated. His mind raced through all the potential disasters that could occur in his absence with Jimmy Fisher in charge. He knew he kept Jimmy on a short tether—he thought the boy had a talent for horses, but he also knew his tend
ency toward the lazy when unsupervised. And if Bethany happened by, Jimmy couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand.
But Galen did see glimmers of maturing in Jimmy. In fact, he was learning so quickly and developing into such a skilled hand that Galen felt a little guilty for holding him back from more responsibility.
Still, leaving Jimmy Fisher in charge of his Thoroughbreds for an entire day? The boy couldn’t even keep track of the one horse he had bought.
It was Delia who said just the right thing to convince him to set aside his worries and go to the hospital. “I think Rose might need to have a special friend like you by her side.”
Galen looked at her sharply but didn’t answer right away. He had never so much as mentioned Rose’s name to anyone—how could Delia know Rose was on his mind? It was disturbing to him to have one’s thoughts suddenly plucked out of the air. Women could smell feelings as a dog could smell a fox.
Would Rose be glad to see him? He wasn’t really sure. But he knew he needed to do this.
A full day of waiting stretched out in front of Rose. To wait and wait. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and was starting to feel a little weak, close to tears, as the what-ifs crept into her mind. What if Vera’s brain was damaged in the surgery? What if the tumor was cancerous? What if she didn’t survive the surgery? Vera may not be the easiest person to live with, but she was family. She was loved.
Sitting on that uncomfortable chair in the sterile room, Rose felt so alone. Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat ached. A deep sense of loss rose up in her, so forceful, woven of so many memories. Vera had a saying: Oh, das hahmelt mir ahn. Calling to mind poignant memories with such vividness that they brought pain.
Such scenes rolled through her mind: Dean’s happiness on the day he brought Rose home to meet Vera, Tobe, and Bethany. The children’s small faces, so hopeful as they looked at her, eager to have a new mother. Luke and Sammy as toddlers, wrestling like two bear cubs. Serious Mim with her arms filled with books. The children’s shocked faces as they stood by their father’s graveside, newly turned earth, the raw wind cutting through their coats—Mim hated wind from that day on. Bethany’s stoic face—she never shed a tear for her father. Not that day, not since. Someday, Rose knew those tears of hers would need to spill.
But after the funeral . . . they all buried their grief and carried on. Got back to the business of living. That was the way of things.
Too much. Sometimes, it was just too much.
The whoosh of the automatic doors startled her and she raised her head. She hadn’t known she was crying until she felt the air from the outside cool the wetness on her cheeks. In strode Galen King with his black hat on, coming through the doors as if he walked through that hospital door every day of his life. In one hand was a cup of coffee, in the other was a brown bag.
“Are you all right?” he asked, peering at her with concern. “Are you okay, Rose?”
She nodded, still not quite trusting herself to speak. The truth was that she had never felt so glad to see anyone. All her nervousness and sadness squeezed right out of her. “Galen!” she said at last, whispering the words. “How did you get here?”
“Delia Stoltz drove me in. She dropped me at the door and went to park. She’s going to go see if she can find out how the surgery is going.” He handed her the coffee. “We thought you might need a little moral support.”
She took a sip of the coffee. A dollop of cream, just the way she liked it. “I’m glad you’re here, Galen. I have to admit I’m scared of today’s outcome.”
He looked at her with one of those quiet smiles that touched only his eyes and said, “You always seem as calm as a dove.”
“That’s on the outside,” Rose said. “On the inside, I’m a bundle of raw nerves.”
He sat in the chair next to her and stretched out his legs, crossing one ankle over the other. “There’s no outrunning fear. It comes on you and you have to face it.”
She just looked at him, then, taking her time and thinking. He held her eyes, then looked away, as if embarrassed. He lifted the brown bag. “Delia stopped by a store and bought a package of one-bite doughnuts.”
He opened up the bag of cinnamon sugar one-bite doughnuts and offered one to Rose. She found them amusing. Delicious too. As Galen filled her in on the news from Stoney Ridge, she found herself feeling weepy again. She knew what it had taken for him to give up a day of work just to sit here with her. He was not a man who sat and kept vigil.
She wasn’t sure what the end of the day would bring, but she decided that from now on, she would savor sweet moments, like this one, as much as she could. Like one-bite doughnuts.
Galen and Rose had gone for a walk outside to get some fresh air. Delia stayed in the waiting area, flipping through an old copy of People magazine. They had invited her to walk with them but she said no. It was an ideal opportunity to give them time alone. There was precious little of that in their lives.
Delia had a sense about matchmaking and she could just see that there was more to Galen and Rose’s relationship than friendship. She didn’t think they realized it yet—certainly not Rose—but Delia could see it clearly. Galen and Rose spoke the same language, thought the same thoughts. True, he was younger than Rose, but in all the important ways, he seemed older.
As they drove in this morning, she had expected it to be a silent drive, but Galen was surprisingly talkative. Granted, she peppered him with questions, but he didn’t freeze up like she thought he would. He answered her questions about his horse training business, Naomi’s headaches, his other sisters and brothers who had married and moved away. The very fact that he steered any and all conversation away from Rose only led Delia to believe that he was in love with her.
Time passed in an instant. The last thing Vera remembered, she was fighting back tears as her hair was getting shaved off. She had never had her hair cut. Not once in her entire long life. And this morning, it was all shaved off.
An instant later, she woke up in a recovery room, feeling like a hen caught in the middle of a killing neck twist. What had happened? Her head was bandaged in gauze like a foreigner’s head wraps. She saw such a thing once on a bus trip she took to Sarasota, Florida, to visit her cousin. What was the word for it? And underneath the gauze that was wrapped around her head were staples and glue. Staples!
There was one bright spot she hadn’t expected: brain surgery was relatively painless. The nurse explained that even though there were many nerves in the brain, they were nerves that thought, not nerves that felt. “You’ll be off those pain meds by tomorrow,” she told Vera. “And I think you’ll like the effects of the steroids the doctor will give you to control swelling. They’ll make you happy and hungry. You might even like our hospital food.”
Vera opened one eye to peer at the tray she had brought. “Doubt it,” she mumbled. “That would take more than drugs.” Who ate blue Jell-O? Before she left this hospital for home, she might try to get into the hospital kitchen and show the cook a thing or two about how the Amish managed to cook for big crowds.
Then that fine-looking doctor came in and asked her to count backward from one hundred. She couldn’t. Each moment of silence that passed caused Vera’s fears to grow. She had never been good at arithmetic. He asked her what day it was and who the president of the United States was right now. How should she know? She never voted. Rose did, but she never did.
Tears started to fill her eyes. The doctor’s hand clasped hers and squeezed. “Right now there’s tissue swollen from the surgery,” he explained. “As the swelling goes down, everything will improve. It’s too soon to worry, but I’m not expecting significant implications from the surgery.”
It was never too soon to worry, Vera thought bitterly. How infuriating to have this invasive, frightening surgery, only to have it do nothing for her! She was in worse shape than she was before she had it. She should have never agreed to it.
The doctor wrote down a few things on her chart and told her he would be
back later in the day to check on her. Then he sailed out of the room and left her alone with beeping machines.
A turban. A turban. That’s what the gauze on her head felt like.
She remembered!
After the surgery, Rose was allowed into Vera’s intensive care room for ten minutes. No longer. Vera looked peaked and drawn, but there was some fire in her too. “Get me out of here,” she whispered to Rose.
“Not quite yet. As soon as Dr. Stoltz says you can go home.”
Amazingly, that could be as soon as a few days, he had said, when he came into the waiting room to tell Rose that the surgery had been successful. He had walked through those swinging doors in his blue scrubs, a big grin on his face, and stopped abruptly. In the waiting room was not just Rose, but seven Amish people from Stoney Ridge, a crowd, peering at him with concerned faces under their black hats and bonnets. “Everything went very well, better than expected,” Dr. Stoltz told the group, sounding satisfied. “We won’t know more until she wakes up. I’m hopeful for a complete recovery as the swelling recedes, but, of course, I’m not the ultimate healer.”
“I believe that position is already taken,” said a woman’s voice from the back of the Amish crowd. It came from Fern Lapp.
Fern had organized a Mennonite driver to take a few church members into Philadelphia and stay with Rose during the surgery. At the sound of her voice, Dr. Stoltz’s dark eyebrows shot up and his entire countenance changed. That serious, extremely confident man suddenly seemed like a small boy who’d met up with a stern librarian with an overdue book in his hand.
But then, Fern Lapp—thin as a butter knife, wiry and active—had that effect on nearly everyone, with one exception: Vera. Those two women tried to outdo each other in everything: quilting, cooking, baking, gardening.
Fern offered to stay the night at the hospital so Rose could return home and rest. The driver was waiting in the parking lot for Galen and the others. “I’ll stay the night so you can go on home,” Fern said, after Dr. Stoltz made a hasty exit. “You look terrible. Awful. Like something the cat dragged in.”
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