by Sarah Price
“You were catatonic, Rosanna.” Reuben shifted his eyes away from hers, and she felt the color flood to her cheeks. “You barely spoke. You repeated the same chores over and over. And then you just laid there in bed, staring at the wall.”
Despite his words, she didn’t feel the familiar pounding of her heart. She pulled her hand free from his and pressed it against her chest. No tightening either.
Reuben didn’t seem to notice. “Doctor said you’ve been through a lot.” He still didn’t look at her, and she wondered if he was ashamed of her. Just a week after being chosen to be a preacher, his wife was put on medicine for depression! She knew that he’d have to tell other people. If not, the Amish grapevine would speculate, and imaginations would run wild. “He asked a lot of questions,” Reuben admitted. “When I told him about how much you’ve been through, he compared it to something called post-traumatic stress.”
This was a new term to her. She raised her eyebrows. “Traumatic stress?”
Reuben nodded. The serious expression on his face indicated that he was not teasing her or making this up. “The hard life with Timothy. His sudden death. The years of struggling.” He paused before he added, “Our sudden marriage. I’m sure that was an adjustment for you. I haven’t always been the most cooperative.”
She exhaled sharply, her breath escaping her lips like a soft puff of air, and shifted her weight.
“Even that awful neighbor woman.” This last part he added with restrained fury in his voice, his eyes blazing with hostility as he looked at Rosanna. “I should have addressed that situation from the very first time she said something to you.”
Rosanna had never heard Reuben sound so angry, not even the other week when she had contradicted him. “Turn the other cheek,” she whispered, a gentle reminder to both her husband and herself.
There was no visible reaction from Reuben at first, and she wondered if he had heard her.
“Ja, Rosanna,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “That doesn’t mean she couldn’t have heard a word or two from me. Now . . .” His voice trailed off and his shoulders fell, just a little, as if defeated. “Ja, vell, it’s never too late to deal with her kind.”
Reuben took a deep breath and struggled for a moment to find the right words. As she waited for him to continue, she looked at him—really looked at him. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, and his clothes were disheveled. It dawned on her that Reuben might have stayed by her side since Thursday.
“Everything just built up inside you. I’m sure that the vote and lot didn’t help.” He kissed her hand again. “That’s a shocking change of life for both of us, ja?”
She didn’t respond. She was still trying to digest what Reuben had said. Post-traumatic stress? That sounded like a made-up term, typical of the Englische, who wanted to label everything. She wondered what type of label people would give her now that she was diagnosed with depression. Even the Amish were not immune from tittering behind their hands about mental health issues.
“He put you on two medicines.” Nervously, Reuben reached out for the orange bottles sitting on the nightstand. When he shook one, the sound of pills rattling startled her. “This one to help you sleep. This other one,” he said, shaking it, too, “ja, vell, this one is an antidepressant.”
Rosanna sat up straight and stared at the bottles in his hand. “You know how I feel about taking Englische medicine! They take pills for every little thing.”
He shook the bottles again. “I know your aversion to medicines and all. But I had to make a decision, Rosanna. And the doctor assured me that these medicines are safe for you. The one, the antidepressant, takes a few weeks to feel the effect. He stopped by this morning to check on you. Said your blood work came back and that everything is normal. Gave me another prescription. I haven’t filled it yet.”
“What is it?” Rosanna asked.
Reuben reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small piece of blue paper. He squinted as he looked at it. “Ja, vell, I can’t read his handwriting.” He passed it to her. “Said it’s for anxiety. I wanted to talk to you a spell about that one first.”
She looked at the small blue lettering. She couldn’t read it, either. “Anxiety?”
He nodded, retrieving the paper from her. “If you feel anxious or overly upset over something.” His fingers fumbled as he slipped it back into his pocket. When it was safely tucked away, he finally lifted his eyes to look directly at her. She thought she saw tears along his eyelids. Once again he leaned forward and lowered his voice as he asked, “Have you felt anxious, Rosanna?”
Not wanting to answer, she looked away.
Reuben reached out to cup her chin in his hand and tilt her head so that she had no choice but to look at him. His eyes flickered back and forth, searching for an answer. When none came, he took a deep breath and released his hold on her. Leaning back in his seat, he nodded his head. “I thought so.” Once again he ran his fingers through his hair. “This is my doing. I knew it.”
Alarmed, she reached out, touching his knee. “Nee, Reuben! It’s not your fault—”
He interrupted her so abruptly that she withdrew her hand. “Ja, ja, it is. I’ve been awful busy at the shop.” He shook his head, working extra hard at fighting the buildup of tears. “And irritable, I reckon.” Standing up, he began to pace the floor. It reminded her of the previous Sunday night. “And now this whole preacher thing.”
It took him five steps to reach the wall and turn around and begin pacing the other way. “It’s a blessing, I understand that. The lot fell upon me. But it’s such a burden!” The word rolled off his lips with a ferocity that startled her. He clenched his hand into a fist and pressed his lips together. “We have to set examples now. All of us, and that includes your dochder.”
“Reuben . . .” Rosanna started.
He held up his hand to stop her before she could speak. “I know that’s a pressure. On all of you.”
“That’s not it.”
Whirling around, he stared at her, a wild expression on his face. Although he had already decided he was the one accountable for her breakdown, he wanted answers. “Then what is it?” Hurrying to the bed, he knelt beside her and grabbed her hands. “Please tell me, Rosanna. For the thought that I am an awful husband just tears me apart. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.” The tears fell freely down his cheeks. “I’d never harm you, Rosanna. You are more than a fraa.” He forced a smile, a tear lingering just above his lip. “You are my friend.”
His words moved her, and she knew that she, too, had tears in her eyes. “You are not a neglectful husband, Reuben, but I am an ungodly wife.”
He reached out to wipe her eyes. “Don’t say such a thing. That’s the depression speaking.”
She shook her head, softly at first. “You don’t understand . . . I haven’t told you about the night Timothy died. I could have prevented it!” She shook her head more vehemently now. “I saw the car coming up the hill, and I knew his buggy was just over the crest.” She pulled her hands free from his grasp. She felt a new sense of calm as she finally admitted the truth. “I could have stopped the accident. I could have signaled the driver to slow down.” She paused, searching for the strength to finish what she had started.
He waited, watching her with no expression on his face.
Finally she leveled her gaze at him as she spoke the words that she had denied, even to herself, for the past three years. “But I didn’t.”
No sooner had she spoken the words than someone knocked softly at the bedroom door. Reuben cleared his throat and stood up, his knees creaking. He averted his eyes, refusing to look at her, and backed away from the bed. Before she could speak further, the door opened, slowly this time.
Aaron entered with Cate following close on his heels. Rosanna forced a smile at her children, too aware of her husband’s back as he moved to the window and, lifting the shade so that more light could shine into the room, looked outside, deep in thought. Quietly, Aaron sat o
n the edge of the bed while Cate vaulted into the room, landing next to her mother. She rested her head on Rosanna’s shoulder.
While she answered Aaron’s questions of concern and listened to Cate begging her to get better soon, Rosanna kept an eye on Reuben. He didn’t move. His hands were behind his back, and his body was motionless. She wondered what he was thinking as he stared outside and contemplated what she had confessed moments before. A tugging at her arm interrupted her private musings, and she returned her attention to her children. Cate’s clinginess and Aaron’s concern required more from her than Reuben’s reaction did. After all, her children came first.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At first Rosanna couldn’t tell whether he was treating her differently because of her illness or because of her confession. Reuben seemed to tread ever so cautiously around her, speaking in soft tones as if trying his best not to upset her. It caught Rosanna off guard. Even when entering the bedroom during the day, he would knock gently on the door before opening it. This change, such a contrast from how he used to act, made her wonder about the depths of his disappointment in her.
Sometimes in the early morning hours she awoke to find him in a chair by the bedroom window, the shade lifted just enough so that a beam of light cascaded onto his legs. Even though the Bible lay open on his lap, he merely stared at it, a lifeless look in his eyes.
In those early morning hours when he didn’t know that she was watching him, Rosanna studied his profile. She really looked at him. Despite the wrinkle in his brow and the tired look in his eyes, he had a kind face, one that had weathered many storms and earned a lot of respect within the community. Now, however, she saw a hint of sorrow that had previously been hidden.
“You’re not at work again?” Rosanna asked softly.
Startled from his thoughts, Reuben looked at her. His blue eyes were bloodshot and tired. Without his hat on, and with his hair yet to be brushed, the wrinkles near his temples were more noticeable. He seemed to have aged in the span of just a few days, and Rosanna knew that her illness had caused him much grief in that time.
He shifted his weight on the chair and cleared his throat. “You’re awake, then.”
She nodded and sat up in bed.
There was a moment of hesitation, as if both of them were waiting for the other’s next move. Rosanna watched him, not knowing what to say. He watched her as if wondering what to do. Finally, he set the opened Bible on the table and pulled the chair beside the bed. When he leaned forward, he took her hand in his, a gesture that once again surprised her.
“How are you feeling, Rosanna?”
The touch of his skin on her hand combined with the question caused the color to flood to her cheeks. When was the last time someone had asked her that question? When was the last time anyone had noticed that she, too, had feelings and emotions that needed nourishing and attention? The truth was that she wasn’t certain how she felt.
When it was clear that he was waiting for a response, she finally managed to find a word, the only word that seemed to fit her current state of mind: “Foolish.”
He almost smiled, but she could tell that it was strained and forced.
“I’m sorry, Reuben.” The words popped out of her mouth before she was really certain why she was apologizing. Was it the buildup of emotions? Was it the breakdown of a protective wall? Or was it her inability to keep giving of herself any longer?
“Rosanna . . .”
She didn’t let him say anything else. “I . . . I never meant for any of this to happen, Reuben. I had only the best intentions when I married you.” She stared at the blanket that covered her legs. “It just kept building and building, a feeling of wanting to please everyone and feeling as if I could please no one.”
“That’s not true, Rosanna.”
She shook her head, adamant that she spoke the truth. “Everyone always seems to want something from me: Cate with her clinginess, the women from the g’may, even Gloria with her silly property line dispute. I feel like a shell of a person, filled with little broken pieces.”
“You are not broken.”
“And then the lot . . .” She lifted her eyes to meet Reuben’s. She began to feel despondent again. She felt panicked for a moment over the memory of her husband being chosen, not just from the g’may but from God. “With my ill thoughts and short temper, how can I ever live up to being a preacher’s fraa?” A tear fell from her eye and slowly trickled down her cheek. “I’m sure you are most disappointed in this.” A pause. “In me.”
“Now Rosanna,” Reuben said. There was a firmness to his voice. “You need to rest and get better. Stop thinking about these things. You heard what the doctor said: rest and give the medicine time to help you feel better.”
She didn’t remember seeing a doctor. She wondered if any of her family had come to visit while she was sleeping. The doctor’s sedative had been a godsend to help her regain her physical strength while the antidepressants worked on her mental needs. If only someone would help her with her spiritual distress. Now that Reuben was a preacher, she knew she couldn’t go to the bishop. It would be embarrassing for Reuben and the family.
“Why aren’t you at work?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nan is taking care of things at the shop.” There was a curtness in his voice, a distance that hinged on unhappiness. It made her wonder if her confession might have been the final straw.
Perhaps, she thought, this is too much for him . . . more than he signed up for.
By Wednesday afternoon Rosanna felt well enough to get out of the bed for the first time since she had fallen ill.
Just the previous evening, the doctor had stopped by and declared that she should be weaned off the sedative. In some ways, Rosanna knew she would miss it. Sleeping made her life easier. Reuben was too quiet, and she worried that her confession had shocked him into silence.
When she walked out of the bedroom, her hair pulled back in a bun and her dress properly pinned down the front, Reuben looked up from the table and lifted an eyebrow. It was an unspoken question, an inquiry as to whether or not she was certain about getting out of bed. She had thought that her coming out of the bedroom would be a sign for Reuben to stop worrying and return to his shop. Normalcy was needed in the house, she thought, and despite still feeling tired and drained, she knew that getting back into a routine would help her heal, both mentally and spiritually.
To her surprise, Reuben still showed no intention of leaving the house.
“I’m feeling a bit better,” she said, despite not believing her own words. “I’m sure you’ve much to do at the shop.”
“Nan’s handling everything,” he replied. He was focusing on the Bible again, studying Scripture and making notations on a piece of paper. “It’s better if I’m home, ja?”
Silence fell over the room.
He had always claimed that he wanted to be home more, even talked about taking her to Pinecraft during the winter months. Now, however, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was home because he wanted to be there or because he felt obligated to watch her. Either way, she wondered at the amount of confidence that he placed in Nan.
Sighing, Rosanna lingered near the counter, trying to assess where to get started. Everything looked orderly. She couldn’t help but wonder who had been cooking and cleaning. “Reckon I’ll make some bread today.”
He looked up from the Bible and gestured toward the bread bin. “Mary and Barbara dropped off some bread just yesterday.”
“Have there been other visitors, then?”
“Just the women from the g’may.”
In a time of need, Rosanna had always been the first to help others. Now, apparently, she was on the receiving end. She wasn’t certain how she felt about that shift in her position.
“Where’s Maem?”
Rosanna heard Cate’s voice from the other room followed by the slam of the screen door. Cringing at the noise, she waited to hear Reuben’s rebuke to her daughter. Besides his aversi
on to loud noise and unruliness, she knew he’d want to keep Cate from waking her. He had noticed that Rosanna was growing weary after the noon meal and insisted that she lie down for an hour. His concern had touched her, and she had acquiesced without argument. Although she had initially fretted over his attention to her care, she now accepted it freely, allowing herself to receive the very love she so often gave to others.
“She’s lying down now,” came his soft response.
“I want her to see it!”
Rosanna heard his chair scrape against the floor as he pushed it away from the table. Holding her breath, she waited. Would he chastise Cate for speaking so sharply? Straining to hear, Rosanna could only make out a soft mumbling followed by a giggle from Cate. Moments later the door shut again, and Rosanna heard Cate whistling for the dogs.
Curiosity got the best of Rosanna.
Quietly, she stole across the bedroom floor and slowly opened the door. The kitchen was quiet again. Reuben sat at the table with the Bible open before him. His glasses had slipped down to the edge of his nose, and his head was tilted down as he read passages. He paused to make a note in his journal.
Rosanna must have made a sound, because he looked up and, upon seeing her, smiled. “I thought you were resting a spell.”
“I heard Cate.”
“Ah.” Removing his glasses, he set them next to the Bible. “She’s back from the produce auction with Aaron. Wanted to share her stories, no doubt.”
“Produce auction?”
With a hint of pride, Reuben nodded. “Ja, that’s correct. Twenty pecks of tomatoes and twelve pecks of eggplants were sold. But I’ll let Aaron and Cate tell you the rest.”
Normally Rosanna canned all of their produce and gave the extra containers to the elderly women who no longer had gardens, or else donated them to the Mennonite church.
As if reading her mind, Reuben stood up and laid his hands on her shoulders. “And there’s enough for Mary King and your other women friends, Rosanna.”