An Empty Cup

by Sarah Price

  For the rest of that day she had felt like a ghost, barely making her way through her daily routine. After breakfast she spent almost two hours at the sink, staring into the soapy water as she washed and rewashed the breakfast dishes. She just wasn’t certain if they were clean enough, and the warm water, which she refreshed three times, felt good on her skin. Once or twice she caught Cate staring at her, but her daughter never asked if there was something wrong.

  She always washed their Sunday outfits on Monday, but when it was time to do the laundry, Rosanna had lifted her hand and motioned to Cate that she should do it without her. For a moment Cate appeared as if she might talk back, but after a long pause she changed her mind and marched out of the room—insolent but without a complaint.

  For the rest of the morning Rosanna had focused on sweeping the house. Her mind wandered. When she grew tired, she sat down in the reclining chair and stared out the window. She had to be reminded when it was the dinner hour, and afterward she repeated the same dishwashing routine as the morning. By this time Cate had realized that her mother was too deep in thought to notice anything, especially her. She happily slipped outside, disappearing for a few hours with the dogs.

  Suppertime crept up on her, but without being reminded, she managed to slice some bread and put out cold cuts, butter, reheated corn, and applesauce. She barely ate anything. Neither Aaron nor Cate noticed.

  At six o’clock, Reuben finally returned. He set his hat on the counter and walked to the sink to wash his hands and face. He looked weary after a long day that had started over fourteen hours earlier. As he dried his hands and face, he noticed the covered plate of food that Rosanna had set aside for him. Setting the towel next to it, he commented that he had visited with one of the other preachers and ate some supper with him. Then he sighed and walked away.

  Rosanna didn’t respond. She merely sat on the sofa, her hands resting on her lap. She had watched him enter, wash his hands, and push aside the covered plate. And then she had watched him retreat to his recliner with his Bible and a notebook. He never noticed that she hadn’t spoken, nor did he notice the lifeless look in her eyes.

  For the rest of the evening, he devoured the Word of God and made notations in the margins of his Bible. Occasionally he wrote something in the notebook, but for the most part he read. Twice he scolded Cate for making too much noise. His sharp words and cutting tone indicated that he wanted complete silence in the room.

  Annoyed, Cate made a face and quickly left the house, choosing to play with the dogs rather than be reprimanded again. When she slipped through the screen door, she let it slam shut. The noise caused Reuben to look up and scowl.

  “You have to do something about her,” he snapped. His irritation was aimed at Rosanna this time. “She’s far too willful!”

  Rosanna did not comment.

  For a while, quiet returned to the room. Rosanna sighed and lifted her eyes, noticing that Aaron still sat at the table, observing his stepfather. Clearly he was not quite sure what to make of this change in Reuben. Usually so even-tempered and thoughtful, his stepfather no longer exhibited those traits.

  Rosanna glanced from Aaron to Reuben, now more worried by the concerned look on her son’s face than about herself. She knew that he was just as tired as Reuben. While Daniel helped with the early morning and late evening chores, Aaron had been left to manage the farm by himself. From Cate’s chatter earlier, Rosanna knew that she had used her kick scooter, dragging one of the dogs on a leash, to go visit a friend at a neighboring farm. Her daughter was resilient; her father had taught her survival. But Aaron was different. Rosanna felt a wave of guilt for having abandoned him that day. She made a quiet promise to help him more in the future.

  As if reading her mind, Aaron met her gaze. His blue eyes studied her face, and she thought she saw them narrow, as if noticing something for the first time. His gaze flickered to Reuben’s head, just barely visible over the back of the recliner. Then he took a deep breath and met Rosanna’s eyes again, but just for a moment. He stood up, quietly pushed the chair back under the table, and left the kitchen.

  For the rest of the evening, Reuben pored over the Bible, sometimes reading aloud and other times mumbling to himself. Rosanna sat at the small desk in the corner and wrote some correspondence by the soft glow of a lantern.

  The next two days weren’t any better. Reuben barely slept and left before Rosanna awoke, which meant that she needed to help Aaron with his chores. Cate didn’t go to the shop. Not only because she hadn’t been invited but, Rosanna suspected, because she wanted to avoid the bitter sting of her stepfather’s increasingly short temper.

  To make matters worse, the Englische neighbors had begun to drop off clothing donations. Black and white garbage bags full of used clothing started to accumulate by the side of the barn. The neighbors—mostly women—would wave to Rosanna if she were outside. Some stopped to visit for a few minutes. As the pile of bags increased, Rosanna began to feel overwhelmed. She had expected a few donations. From the looks of it, the generosity of her neighbors had far exceeded her expectations.

  “How many clothes can Englische have?” Cate quipped, staring out the window as yet another car pulled into the driveway.

  Rosanna sat at the table, her head in her hands. She knew she would have to sort through those bags and—if her experience with the first bag was a telling sign—half of the clothing would need to be washed and the other half thrown away. Although Rosanna and Cate had been fairly specific, given the old, worn sheets, towels, and even shoes they were finding, their neighbors apparently hadn’t realized that it was a clothing drive for making quilts.

  “One shoe?” Aaron laughed as he dug through a bag that he’d brought inside. “Who donates one shoe?”

  “Englische, that’s who!” said Cate.

  Rosanna frowned, but didn’t have the energy to reprimand her daughter. Her arms felt heavy and her head hurt.

  “Would you two post a sign out there? At the end of the driveway? No more donations, ja?” Rosanna stood up, supporting herself for a moment by holding onto the back of the kitchen chair. “And Aaron, you go with Cate to the garden. Needs some weeding, but I don’t want her alone out there.”

  “You feeling all right, Maem?” Aaron asked.

  Leave it to Aaron to pick up on her pain, she thought. She tried to force a smile, but the muscles in her face refused to move. “Nee,” she finally admitted. “I need to lie down for a spell.”

  Rosanna caught the look that passed between her two children: a look of concern. Even when she was sick with a cold, she rarely went to her bedroom to rest during the day. She usually worked right through her illnesses.

  Not today.

  That had been six hours ago. Now, as she lay in bed staring at the dancing shadows on the wall, she realized that it must be dusk. Reuben must have returned home. With no supper on the table and Lord knows what state the kitchen was in, he had obviously realized that something was wrong. She vaguely remembered hearing someone at the door, most likely peeking into the bedroom to check on her. She pretended to be asleep and, to her relief, no one had disturbed her.

  She watched as the room grew darker, the sun gone at last from the sky. It comforted her, the darkness. She felt as if she could breathe again. Darkness hid the pain along with the endless amount of work and the infinite requests for help. From baked goods to cleaning bees, from sewing circles to canning parties, Rosanna couldn’t handle the constant expectation of giving. It made her feel as if she were drowning, gasping for air as her body sank lower into a dark abyss, the circle of light above her slowly growing smaller and smaller as she disappeared into the bottomless pit.

  She had no idea how much time had passed when she finally heard the door open, slowly at first. A beam of light flooded the room as it opened wider. Refusing to turn her head, she stared at the wall and focused on her breathing.

  “Rosanna?” Reuben’s voice. She recognized it, but he sounded so far away.

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p; “Rosanna, I have a doctor here,” she heard him say.

  Only one set of footsteps entered the room. She suspected it was the doctor.

  “Mrs. Troyer . . .” An Englische doctor. Of course it was an Englischer. After all, most Amish practiced holistic medicine, relying on herbs that could be grown in the garden. He clearly had little experience around the Amish. Otherwise he would have known that the Amish didn’t use titles like Mr. or Mrs. Only the bishop, deacon, and preachers were sometimes called by their titles.

  He moved across the room and set a bag on the floor. “Mrs. Troyer, can you hear me?”

  She felt weak and didn’t respond. Her lips were dry and her mouth parched. The bright light shone in her eyes, and she winced.

  “Mrs. Troyer? Can you tell me what’s bothering you?”

  She turned and studied him for a moment. A balding man with gray hair over his ears, he looked like a typical Englischer. He had narrow shoulders and a paunch belly, but the wrinkles on his tanned face indicated that he spent time outdoors. To her surprise, he was dressed modestly. His white shirt was crisp and clean, and his black slacks had a crease down the middle.

  “Both Aaron and Cate say she’s been like this all day,” Reuben said from the doorway.

  The doctor shone a small pen-shaped flashlight into her eyes. She winced again. Using a stethoscope, he listened to her heart and lungs, asking her to breathe slowly. She already was. When he asked her to take a deep breath, she couldn’t. Her chest was too tight.

  She felt a slight pressure on her arm as he slid on a blood pressure cuff. The sound of the Velcro was loud in her ears. His warm fingers touched her wrist, feeling for her pulse as he pumped the cuff, the band on her arm tightening. When he released the air, the band loosened, and a soft hissing noise filled the room. Finally, she felt him place a tight band on her arm and then a slight pinprick.

  When the doctor finished examining her, she heard him putting away his instruments. She glanced at him and saw him staring down at her. He scratched at his neck; there was a perplexed look on his face.

  “There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong,” he finally said, more to Reuben than to her. “At least not physically. I drew some blood and will have it analyzed. However, I suspect that the issue might be something else.”

  “What’s wrong with Maem?” Rosanna heard Cate ask from the kitchen.

  Still standing in the doorway, Reuben shushed Cate and ordered her to go outside.

  “I’m suspecting depression,” the doctor said.

  “Depression?” Reuben sounded surprised.

  “It’s more common than you think, and you did mention that she has been through quite a bit of change in her life.”

  “That was three years ago!” Reuben stumbled over his words. “Well, then we were married last October.” A long pause. “And then the lot . . .” His voice trailed off, and he remained silent for a few long moments.

  “I’m going to suggest an antidepressant,” the doctor said as he picked up his bag and walked toward Reuben. “We’ll start it at a low dose and gradually increase it over the next few . . .” The door shut, and the room was instantly black again. She couldn’t hear the doctor’s voice anymore, and she was glad for the silence. It helped her concentrate on nothing. Nothing meant no worries. Nothing meant no cleaning. Nothing meant no cooking. Nothing meant peace and quiet.

  Peace.

  Quiet.

  She shut her eyes and listened to the sound of nothing.

  It was the only thing that made her happy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Reuben sat on a chair by her bed, the worn Bible on his lap as he studied Scripture. His glasses slipped to the edge of his nose, and he reached up automatically to push them back so that he could see properly. The onionskin paper made a gentle whooshing sound each time he flipped to the next page.

  Quietly and without detection, Rosanna watched him. Five minutes passed, maybe more. Time seemed to stand still while she stared at her husband as he read the Bible. At first, it intrigued her. He barely moved, appearing almost like a statue. The only motion that proved he was real and not a mirage or an image was the motion of his finger turning the page.

  Sunshine came through the open window. The green shades had been rolled back to let in the light. Rosanna’s head felt heavy and light at the same time, as if it were filled with giant cotton balls. It took time to shift her gaze away from Reuben and focus on the window. The light hurt her eyes, and she winced, waiting for them to adjust to the brightness. When she could finally see properly, Rosanna noticed small dust particles floating through the rays. She watched them fall toward the floor and sighed, knowing that she’d have to dust mop the floor.

  Reuben startled at the noise of her breath. Quickly he shut the Bible, his thumb keeping his place as he reached for a bookmark on the nightstand. He set the book on the bed next to her legs and leaned forward. His tired blue eyes, bleary from lack of sleep, stared into her face.

  “You’re awake.”

  It was as much a question as a statement, and she detected genuine concern in his gentle voice. The expression on his face mirrored his tone.

  “Why did you let me sleep late?” she asked.

  He smiled, a soft smile that contained a hint of sorrow.

  Did something happen? Rosanna tried to think back to the previous night. Her mind was blank. The last thing she remembered was a car in the driveway. And the bags of clothing. She groaned. Too many bags of clothing. She lifted her body and sat up in the bed, noticing how quick Reuben was to place a second pillow between her back and the headboard.

  “It’s Saturday,” he said. “You’ve been sleeping for two days.”

  “Days?”

  He nodded. “Doctor put you on a strong medicine, Rosanna. A sedative.”

  She didn’t understand. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  The door burst open, and Cate ran into the room, interrupting their conversation without a second thought. She raced to the bed and threw her arms around her mother’s shoulders, nestling her head into her neck. “Oh, Maem! We were all so worried!” she cried. “Especially me!”

  “Cate! Leave your maem be!” Reuben said.

  Cate ignored him as she hugged her mother, an unusual display of emotion from the usually stubborn and independent girl. Rosanna hesitated before she lifted her arms and put them around Cate’s shoulders and held her tightly. When she realized that Cate was crying, her tears falling against Rosanna’s skin, she lifted her eyes and stared at her husband.

  She didn’t want to hear any more about what Reuben had to tell her. At least not while Cate was in the room. There were some things best not shared with the children. A sedative sounded serious. After all, sedatives were to calm people. For her entire life Rosanna had been taught to rely more on nature and less on pharmaceuticals. Her mother had practiced holistic medicine, using herbs to cure ailments. She had even called Englische medicine “toxic” and “poison.” While Rosanna didn’t really believe that, she had never felt the inclination to use man-made drugs rather than God-given ones.

  But she knew what a sedative was, and clearly whatever this doctor had prescribed had knocked her out. Even if she didn’t feel that she needed a sleep-inducing medicine, it was obvious that the doctor was concerned enough to prescribe something, and Reuben, while knowing her preference for holistic cures, was concerned enough to administer it to her.

  When Cate finally released her, she wiped at her eyes and held her mother’s hand. “Are you going to stop washing dishes and sweeping the floor now?”

  “Cate . . .” Reuben said the single word as a warning.

  Rosanna felt confused. She looked at her daughter and noticed that her eyes were wide and full of fear. The only other time she had seen such fright on Cate’s face was the day that Gloria and Camille verbally attacked them. What had caused her daughter to be so fearful? And what was Cate talking about?

  “I . . . I don’t understand,” Rosanna said.
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br />   “Never you mind now, Rosanna.” Reuben tried to soften his voice, but despite his best efforts, it sounded strained. “Cate, why don’t you run out to the garden and tell your bruder the good news, ja?”

  Cate glanced in his direction but never looked directly at him. Rosanna noticed that something akin to anger flashed in her daughter’s eyes. That, too, surprised her. Obviously Cate did not want to leave her mother’s side. However, she knew better than to argue with Reuben. Reluctantly she slid off the bed and moved toward the door. Lingering there, her hand on the knob, she cast one last look over her shoulder at her mother before she shut the door behind her.

  “What is going on?” Rosanna asked, her mind foggy. Her head felt heavy, and she lifted her hand to her forehead. A few stray strands of hair were stuck to her skin. Her hair was down, a single braid over her shoulder. She wondered who had done that. “I don’t understand any of this, Reuben.”

  Reuben moved his chair closer to the side of the bed and reached for her hand. The gesture startled her almost as much as Cate’s embrace had. Neither of them were overly affectionate. She let him lift her hand, and clutching it, he squeezed it gently. To her further surprise, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the back of her fingers. His beard whiskers tickled her skin.

  “Doctor thinks you’ve been depressed, Rosanna,” he said slowly. “Everything else seems just fine. Even your blood work.”

  “He took my blood?”

  Reuben pursed his lips and studied her with his eyes. “You don’t remember, then?”

  She shook her head, too aware that it was uncovered. She felt naked sitting before him without her prayer kapp. In fact, she felt even more uncomfortable that she was in bed during daylight hours. Try as she could, she couldn’t remember what her last memory was. The ride home from worship? Reuben’s sleepless night? His cutting tone in the morning? “Nee, Reuben,” she admitted. “I don’t.”