The Missing

by Beverly Lewis

  “Here’s your coffee, dear . . . just the way you like it.”

  “Thanks.” Heather turned, smiling her gratitude.

  “Wouldn’t you like something more? Something to take with you, just maybe?” Marian sounded somewhat concerned.

  “Not this morning, but thanks anyway.” She did not go to sit at the table as usual but rather carried the mug back to her room and set it on the coaster on the dresser. Scrutinizing her well-scrubbed face, she began to apply eyeliner and mascara, then brushed her still-damp hair again.

  By the time she arrived at the doctor’s office, Heather was pleased to see only two cars in the designated parking area. The many times she’d accompanied her mom to the doctor, to the oncologist especially, had led her to realize doctors were primarily aware of their own schedules, or so it seemed. But if you were the first patient of the day, now that was a plus. And as Heather stepped up to the receptionist’s window, she could see by the sign-in list that she was indeed the first.

  Off to a good start . . .

  Grace found Mamma’s note tucked under Dat’s pillow when she made his bed that morning. She didn’t bother reading it again but set it on the small round table next to the bed, wondering if Dat—or Mammi Adah—might have an idea about Mamma’s need to locate a particular midwife. And why one so far from home? Might such a woman be able to help Mamma with midlife issues? Grace had never been so befuddled.

  Smoothing the top quilt, she looked about the room. Was there something of Mamma’s here, in the bedroom she’d shared so long with Dat, that might point to her need to go away? Was there anything at all that offered a clue, besides the missing poetry books?

  Hesitantly she opened the dresser drawers that had belonged to Mamma. Finding each one empty, she went to the foot of the bed and lifted the lid on the blanket chest. Surely there was something she’d missed before, hidden in the crevices or beneath the coverlets.

  But she found nothing. At least nothing that hinted at an answer.

  When she’d closed the lid, she again ran her hand over the bed quilt, sighing. Oh, Dat, she thought, I’m so sorry for you. What might I have done differently?

  Downstairs, Mandy was stirring up the waffle mix, having offered to make breakfast the night before. “It’ll give you time to check on Willow,” she’d said. Grace gave her a peck on the cheek and hurried outdoors, under the tall trees Dat had planted years ago. Shady as umbershoots, she thought, breathing in the freshness of morning. She noticed the first few blossoms on the trumpet creepers, their bright orange trumpet-shaped flowers climbing the newly painted white trellis Adam had nailed to the back of the house years ago. Mamma had always called them hummingbird vines, because they attracted the lively little birds the whole family enjoyed watching.

  In the spring and summer, Mamma had liked to sit in this shaded yard, delighting in the many types of birds that called and flitted from branch to branch in the cool of the morning. Come evenings, if Mamma wasn’t already settled in the front porch swing, Dat sometimes carried lawn chairs out to the backyard for Dawdi and Mammi, as well. The four of them liked sitting there, all lined up, drinking root bear or meadow tea, tired from the day yet with contentment on their faces. Always it was Mamma and her parents who carried the conversation, with only an occasional nod of the head from Dat—if that.

  Her musing over Mamma quickly turned to dismay when she walked into the barn and saw Willow sprawled out on the bed of sawdust, her injured leg drawn up close to her barrel. Whatever the vet had attempted must not be working.

  Touching Willow’s mane, Grace blinked back tears. “Such a dear pet.” Gently she massaged the injured leg, mindful of even the slightest reaction. She and Dat had taken time last night to ice the limb, alternating cold and hot applications. Her father had assured her stable rest was the best way to heal Willow’s leg.

  Adam had also come out to check on Willow, although he’d seemed particularly keen on talking about Yonnie. He’d wondered aloud how Grace felt about his helping Dat.

  Grace hadn’t owned up to Adam how she felt. She suspected her brother was still licking his wounds, so to speak, from her decision to release Henry from their engagement. It was clear, though, that Adam assumed Yonnie was quite interested in her. “Taken with ya, really,” her brother had said almost accusingly.

  Grace wondered how he had gotten that idea. For Becky’s sake, he’d better keep such thoughts to himself. Now she finished massaging Willow and gave the horse a pat, fairly sure Mandy was ready to serve the waffles. Making her way back to the house, she pulled on the rope a single time, to ring the dinner bell. Once was enough, as the menfolk would be mighty hungry.

  She moved back indoors to pour coffee, thinking again of Mamma’s absence. More than a dozen times a day, she caught herself turning to ask her mother a question, momentarily forgetting. Or she’d think of something just before retiring for the night and want to share it with her mother. Why’s she wandering around Ohio? And why can’t she talk to one of the midwives here?

  Grace was ever so glad to hear her father and brothers coming in the main door. The familiar clunkity-clunk as they removed their work boots in the hallway brought her comfort. Soon they’d come stocking-footed into the kitchen for Mandy’s nice hot breakfast. She stood back, eyeing the table. Everything was set as it should be. And when Dat, Adam, and Joe were washed up for the meal, she was surprised to see the corners of Dat’s smile spread clear across his tanned face.

  “You and your sister outdid yourselves,” he said quietly, going to sit at the head of the table.

  She wanted to show her gratitude for her father’s unexpectedly kind remark but said nothing as she took her seat. The spot where Mamma had always sat since Grace could remember remained achingly unoccupied.

  After the silent blessing and their unison, “Amen,” Grace said she’d seen how feeble and ailing Willow was this morning.“Can’t something more be done?”

  “No change overnight,” Dat said in a low voice.

  “Well, Yonnie’s certainly giving his know-how a try,” Joe piped up, across the table. “Yesterday he talked to her and just a-stroked her a gut while.”

  “What does he know about horses that we don’t?” Adam eyed his brother. “I say, best not to get your hopes up”—and here he looked directly at Grace. “Willow’s had many gut years. Isn’t that what counts?”

  Grace’s heart sank at this, but she nodded.

  Dat said not a word, and they began to silently enjoy breakfast—Dat and the boys all smacking their lips in appreciation. She was terribly conscious of the occasional sound of neighing, sad and pitiful, coming from the barn. It wasn’t right to let the animal suffer so. Poor, dear Willow . . .

  She rose to pour another cup of coffee for Dat, struggling not to cry. Just as she was returning to the table, Adam suggested, “Maybe you could scoot over and sit in Mamma’s place . . .fill in the gap a bit.” Across the table, Mandy and Joe were focused on refilling their plates with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and hot oatmeal—they hadn’t seemed to hear Adam’s startling remark.

  But Grace was even more stunned when Dat gave his subtle consent with a quick nod of his head. His instant agreement served to heighten her fears. For some unknown reason, he must not believe Mamma was returning home soon.

  Grace said nary a word, glancing instead at her mother’s place on the wooden bench between her and Dat. Why was her brother suggesting this now, on the heels of Mamma’s letter? After all, she’d written that she missed them. Didn’t that count for something?

  Adam urged her again, “Why not, Grace?” The question annoyed her. Adam, too, seemed to disbelieve their mother would ever return. Makes not a whit of sense . . .

  Truth was, she felt reluctant to slide over, even though her father had given his approval. Yet being a single young woman, she was expected to obey her father and older brother.

  “It’s a hard reminder that she’s gone, is all,” Adam explained softly.

  “Dat?
” She looked his way.

  He drew a long breath, then gestured with his head. “You and Mandy can both move over . . . for the time bein’.”

  Without hesitating further, Grace did as she was told. She moved her plate and utensils, and Mandy followed right behind her, sitting in Grace’s usual spot. Looking across at Adam, and then glancing at her father, Grace felt slightly disoriented, but she continued with her meal. She felt ever so strange sitting there.

  Dawdi Jakob and Mammi Adah walked in just then, joining them late for breakfast—Mammi made the excuse that Dawdi hadn’t been feeling well. Then, sitting down on the opposite side of the table, they gave Grace a stern look.

  “Why’s Gracie sittin’ there?” Dawdi asked with a disapproving frown.

  “Can’t hurt nothin’, Jakob,” her father spoke up. “There’s a vacancy at this table.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Dawdi grumbled.

  Later, after breakfast was done and Grace walked back with her grandparents to their side of the house, nothing more was said. For that, Grace was greatly relieved. It wouldn’t do to question Dat further. After all, they were in a state of transition—“flux,” Dawdi Jakob had said recently. And no one, not even her father, knew how to get things back to normal.

  chapter

  seven

  Grace and Mandy were finishing up the breakfast dishes when Yonnie flew into the driveway in his courting buggy. “Show-off,” Grace said under her breath. Mandy must’ve heard because she shrugged before reaching for the next dish.

  It was apparent Dat wasn’t surprised by Yonnie’s return. In fact, by the way they came out of the barn to greet him, Joe and Dat actually seemed to be expecting Yonnie.

  Grace turned away, not caring to discuss her surprise with Mandy, who was staring at her now with curious brown eyes. Wanting to complete the chore of redding up the kitchen, Grace hastened to scrub the sink, then rinsed it thoroughly. That done, she moved to the stove and wiped it down.

  “You all right?” Mandy said.

  “Of course.”

  Mandy forced air through her pursed lips. “You sure don’t look it.”

  Her sister most likely assumed Yonnie’s showing up again annoyed her. But Mandy couldn’t possibly know why that would be, unless she, too, had observed Yonnie’s interest in Becky, then his leaving alone after the last two Singings. “I’m just fine, really,” Grace insisted.

  “Ain’t foolin’ me, Gracie.”

  “Will ya bring up some potatoes for me?” Grace asked, hoping her sister might take the hint and leave her be. Besides, it was past time to start preparing the noon meal—thick and hearty beef stew—so it could simmer while she did her other chores.

  Without another word, Mandy headed for the steps to the cold cellar. Relieved, Grace went to the window, still wishing she had concealed her emotions better. It was then she noticed the Spanglers’ big dog—the golden Lab she’d played fetch with yesterday—tearing through the sheep pasture. “For pity’s sake, no!” She rushed to the kitchen door and was thunderstruck to see Yonnie heading across the barnyard. He slipped beneath the fence and pushed his straw hat back on his head, strolling briskly toward the middle of the field.

  The terrified sheep were all huddled together in the far corner. Some of the pregnant ewes would be so frightened they might birth too early, and that would never do. Dat needed every single one of the new lambs this season, just as he did any other springtime. The lambs were their main source of livelihood.

  Yonnie crouched low in the middle of the pasture, holding out his hand to the excited dog. Although Grace couldn’t be sure from where she stood observing, she thought he might be talking to the Labrador.

  She continued to peer out, her nose almost touching the screen door. “Well, I’ll be . . .” The dog ceased its barking and moved slowly toward Yonnie until he was licking his hand, and then Yonnie’s face, nearly knocking his hat off. “Unbelievable,” Grace whispered.

  “What is?” Mandy asked, startling her as she came up from behind.

  “Over there.” She pointed to Yonnie, now leading the neighbors’ dog by his collar, up the hill toward the Spanglers’ house.

  “Ach, that dog’s been watchin’ the sheep for several days now,” Mandy replied. “I wondered if this might not happen.”

  Grace, too, had noticed the dog’s interest in the sheep—just yesterday, in fact. “It’s a gut thing someone was there to calm that Lab,” she said, thinking of the ewes.

  “You mean the lion tamer?” Mandy teased.

  Grace gave a small smile. “He sure has a way with them.”

  “Well, with dogs, anyway.”

  They laughed at that. Then Mandy said she’d seen Yonnie carrying one of their sickly lambs yesterday. “ Dat says Yonnie’s keen on savin’ the weakest of them. You know which one?”

  Grace knew. Adam and Joe had continued bottle-feeding the pitiful creature after Yonnie left. “Mandy . . . did Dat say anything ’bout needing extra help?”

  “Not a word. Why?”

  It was Grace’s turn to shrug. “Just curious.”

  “Ain’t troublesome, havin’ Yonnie Bontrager here . . . is it?”

  “Why would ya think that?” But it was a strange predicament, and Grace knew full well that Mandy was smarter than she was letting on. Still, Grace was weary of talking about the boy who’d hurt Becky so badly. She wondered what Becky must be thinking. Surely she saw him coming this way. She simply could not let her dearest friend wonder if Yonnie was sweet on her. Not for the world!

  Once Mandy emptied her apron full of potatoes onto the counter, she left to assist Mammi Adah with a pile of mending. Grace breathed a sigh of relief, letting out her pent-up frustration as she chopped potatoes for the stew. That Yonnie—he’s a charmer, for sure. Goodness, but sweet Becky was the perfect choice for him. How could he not know this? Quite unexpectedly, Grace realized he might’ve broken her heart, too, if she’d let him a year ago.

  What would happen if the object of Becky’s affection kept coming to help Dat in Mamma’s absence? For now, Grace could only hope Yonnie wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to stay over for the noon meal. Like he’s hired help—or worse yet—family! Mandy’s teasing she could take; it was her brother Adam’s seeming disapproval that truly bothered her.

  The young receptionist and subsequent nursing staff were so friendly, Heather was caught off guard. As a result, her apprehension slowly began to subside as she followed the brunette nurse down the hall to the examination room. Instead of the typical stark décor of a doctor’s office, the room was enhanced by earth tones and a skylight, which lent a bright and tranquil feeling. Sinking into the comfortable chair, Heather willed herself to relax.

  She was equally impressed with Dr. Marshall, a pretty, vivacious blonde with an infectious smile and twinkling blue eyes.“First of all, I want you to call me LaVyrle,” she began. “I hope we’ll become good friends.”

  Encouraged, Heather nodded. “I’m counting on you to help me,” she said. “I’ve been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, stage IIIA. That’s why I’m here.”

  “A confusing disease, to be sure,” Dr. Marshall said. “Rituxan is the conventional medical treatment for B-cell lymphoma—it’s a monoclonal antibody that targets the CD22 antigen on the surface of the lymphoma cell.”

  “A complicated name for chemo, right?” Heather talked about the horrors her mother had endured. Then she said, “Believe me, I’m not interested in that.”

  LaVyrle leaned back in her chair and offered an understanding smile. “You may know that our bodies have the amazing ability to fight off cancerous cells, given the right kinds of foods.” She went on to describe the effects of a poor diet.

  “Obviously, I’ve been the product of my parents’ lousy eating habits,” Heather admitted.

  “That’s true of most of us. But remember, it’s never too late to start anew.”

  “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” Suddenly Heather felt less alone.


  LaVyrle gave her a brochure about a health lodge. “Perhaps you might want to consider my wellness program. It’s the most effective way I know to help undo the harm done by eating poor-quality food or from exposure to environmental toxins. Think of it as jump-starting your own personal program to health.”

  A ten-day commitment? She scanned the information, surprised to learn that the lodge was located in the vicinity of the Riehls’ tourist home. “Thanks. I’ll read every word.”

  LaVyrle smiled. “Before you decide on that, I’ll need to order a battery of blood tests to help me move ahead with a plan tailor-made for you. I want to know exactly what we’re facing.”

  Heather attempted to disguise her surprise at being subjected to yet another test. Needles are anything but natural.

  Following the appointment, Heather sat waiting to be called into the lab for blood work. Dr. Marshall’s nurse had asked her to refrain from wearing perfume or hair products at her next clinic visit. Besides several patients, some of the staff members were allergic.

  She thumbed through a nutrition magazine, intrigued by an article about enhancing the immune system.

  “Heather,” the nurse called.

  She rose and carried the magazine into the lab with her, reopening it again to the article. Reluctantly she pushed up her sleeve for the blood draw, wishing she’d requested her medical records from home. Except that this clinic was searching for things her regular clinic hadn’t even considered, like thyroid deficiencies, potential liver enzyme irregularities, or a possible toxic overload of heavy metals. Even mercury from eroding dental fillings could compromise the immune system, she’d learned.

  She winced as she anticipated the initial poke, followed by the steady stream of dark blood into the vial; she dreaded needles. But she had been surprised at the forty-something doctor’s vibrant demeanor. Heather could sense how much the optimistic woman loved her work. Best of all, LaVyrle believed she could help her beat her illness. The road to good health seemed to stretch ahead.