First, though, she went over and touched her mother’s shoulder, still aware that Mamm hadn’t spoken or even raised her head. She smiled down at her. “You’re so quiet,” she whispered.
Mamm blinked back tears as she looked up at her.
“Mamm, are you all right?”
Her mother smiled weakly. “Not to worry. I’m just pondering this passage.” She pointed to Galatians chapter six, verse two: Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. “Still awful worried for Barbara. She’s nearly heartbroken over . . . well, what’s happened to our bishop, comin’ so quick on the heels of everything else.”
It was like Mamm to think of others before herself. Rose guessed poor Barbara must carry the burden of her husband’s silencing. How could she not?
“I want to have them over for supper . . . show our support,” Mamm said, glancing up at her own mother, Rose’s Mammi Sylvia. “Just don’t know what we’ll talk ’bout . . . ya know.”
“There’s always the weather,” Rose said, going to wash her hands before testing the vegetables in the stew pot. She wouldn’t for the life of her mention the power Nick held in his hands regarding his foster father—if he were to join church and become an upstanding Amishman. After being gone this long, there was little chance of that.
Mamm returned to her reading, caressing the Bible’s cover like a mother stroking a child.
When it was time for dinner, Mattie Sue cheerfully guided her father in the back door and into the kitchen. She helped him stuff his gloves into his coat pockets, then hung up his jacket and scarf before leading him to the bench, where she plunked down right next to him, looking mighty pleased.
Her mother’s child. Rose carried the pan of corn bread to the table. Then she went back to the drawer for the black ladle and placed it deep in the tureen of delicious stew. Looking at Mattie Sue sitting there with her father, Rose wondered whether, if the tables were turned and if Hen were the one suffering from the aftereffects of a serious accident, Brandon would care for her, despite their vast differences?
Rose hated to judge, even in her thoughts, but she had a hard time picturing that.
“My partner, Bruce Kramer, is stopping by to drive me to Quarryville later,” Brandon stated. “I’ll take Mattie Sue along.”
Dat and Mamm glanced at each other. “Does Hen know?” asked Dat.
“I told her this morning, before she left,” Brandon replied, his unseeing eyes blinking rapidly.
“Aw, we can’t leave Wiggles alone,” Mattie Sue said, her face wrinkled in concern. “He’ll cry, Daddy.”
“Then he’ll have to cry,” Brandon said quietly, turning to Mattie Sue. “Dogs need to learn to be alone sometimes.”
“We’ll watch your puppy for ya,” Mamm volunteered from across the table. “Be glad to.”
Dat straightened in his chair. “Mattie Sue can stay here, too, while you’re gone,” he said.
Brandon surprised Rose by nodding in compliance. “I thought it was time she saw my office. But we can do that another day.”
Rose sighed, grateful there wasn’t going to be an argument between Brandon and Dat. She took her seat next to Mamm and her grandparents, opposite her niece and brother-in-law, and bowed her head when Dat gave the silent table blessing. O Lord God and heavenly Father, bless us and these bountiful gifts, which we do gratefully accept from your loving and gracious hand. . . .
At the end of the prayer, Dat cleared his throat, and Rose raised her head, glad to see Brandon had kept his hands in his lap during the prayer. Hen had said recently that he typically fumbled about for his silverware during the table blessing, even though Mattie Sue always reminded him to pray before eating.
Mattie Sue must’ve noticed her father’s more reverent attitude, because she looked with wide eyes across at Rose, then up at her father. “We’re having stew, Daddy,” she announced.
“Nice and thick,” Rose added, letting him know he could manage this meal pretty easily.
“Smells great.” Brandon offered a rare smile. “So does the corn bread.” He touched his slice lightly with his left hand after Mattie Sue told him where it was on his plate. His right arm would still be in a cast for a few more weeks, according to yesterday’s doctor visit. Hen had given the family an update last evening.
“Daddy’s getting along real gut,” Mattie Sue told them, grinning at him. “Ain’t so?”
Brandon colored slightly at the comment, then thanked Mammi Sylvia, who filled his bowl with the vegetable beef stew. It certainly was heartier than usual; Mammi must have had Brandon in mind when she made it.
Mamm leaned forward slightly in her wheelchair. “Son, it’s so nice to have you join us for dinner,” she said softly, pausing before she added, “You’re welcome anytime.”
“Denki, Mammi Emma,” said Mattie Sue.
“My daughter and I appreciate it, Emma,” Brandon said, a small smile on his lips as he seemed to recognize Mattie Sue’s efforts on his behalf.
A lull followed when the only sounds were the clinking of spoons against bowls and the soft thud of water tumblers on the table. Then Brandon surprised Rose by speaking again. “Emma,” he said, “I understand you’re scheduled to have back surgery next week.”
“That’s right.”
“I do hope it goes well.”
“Denki, so kind of you, Brandon.”
He paused, his spoon buried in the stew. “How have you managed the pain . . . all these years?” His words came cautiously.
“Well, I have to say it hasn’t been easy.” Mamm breathed out in a little hiss, as if she was trying to keep herself in check, suffering right at that moment. “Think of taking a crumb from a piece of bread and nibbling it, one small piece each bite,” she replied. “Sometimes you just have to live an hour or so at a time, trusting the Lord will help you through. I don’t know any other way, really.”
“My wife can’t tolerate pain medication,” Dat added, “which makes things even more difficult.”
Mattie Sue piped up. “But Beth’s prayers—and her dream—helped Mammi Emma want to go to the doctor again. Ain’t so, Mammi?”
“Now, Mattie Sue.” Brandon touched her arm.
“No . . . no, it’s all right,” said Mamm quickly. “She’s quite right.” She explained how Beth Browning’s dream of her healing had spurred her to seek out professional help at long last. “The dear Lord used that girl’s dream—and prayerful spirit—to open my eyes.”
Rose held her breath at Mamm’s words. Truth was, they were all praying for God to open Brandon’s eyes, as well. And not only his physical ones.
“You’ve been so gracious in your suffering,” Brandon said. “Hen says you’ve never been anything else.”
“The Lord helps Emma each and every day,” Dat stated. He patted Mamm’s hand.
“Surely does,” Mammi Sylvia said, shaking her head.
“Don’t see how she could’ve managed this long otherwise,” Dawdi Jeremiah added, holding his bowl out for seconds. Rose quickly reached for the ladle.
“I don’t, either.” Brandon shook his head, as if in awe.
Rose hadn’t expected this sort of response from Brandon at all. And for the rest of the meal, he seemed subdued. Several times, Mamm talked to him exclusively, attempting to draw him out.
Rose smiled to herself, grateful for Brandon’s kindly responses to Mamm’s sweetness.
Has Brandon’s heart begun to soften?
While she worked at Rachel’s Fabrics, Hen found herself recalling yesterday’s follow-up doctor visit. It had offered Brandon some encouragement, but not what he’d wanted to hear: Patience and rest were strongly emphasized. “Clearly more time is needed,” the doctor had insisted.
“I feel trapped . . . like this will never end,” Brandon had confided to Hen afterward. His vulnerability had surprised her, and she reached to touch his arm as she drove him home.
“I don’t blame you, hon. If this had happened to me, I don’t know what I
’d do.” Now, recalling the short-lived moment, Hen realized they had been almost companionable.
Most days the strain between them was an enduring undertow. Both seemed reticent to address the fact their togetherness might be only temporary.
She caught herself sighing frequently, especially on days when she worked at the fabric shop—the very thing she’d fought so hard to do. Yet the hours at work put even more distance between herself and her wounded husband. Hen considered their dilemma as she shelved dress material or rang up orders at the cash register.
It seemed Mattie Sue was their one and only link to happiness, their only chance to fleetingly reconnect. Mattie Sue would surprise them by saying the sweetest or funniest thing at the dinner table or as Hen and Brandon tucked her into bed. And helpless not to burst into gentle laughter, they found enjoyment for a second . . . only to return to tiptoeing around each other and their volatile issues. Hen was holding her breath in so many words, waiting for the day when Brandon could once again lay eyes on her “dowdy” dress and apron.
Now, before heading back to Salem Road, she stopped in at the Quarryville library. With the cold, she’d resorted to driving her car again today. Brandon had suggested she reconsider selling it, at least while he was staying with her. So, to be more agreeable, she’d put the sale of her car on hold. After all, Brandon already had to adapt to Amish life in so many other ways.
While she stood in the checkout line at the library, Hen sorted through the books her sister had requested—each one featured a young woman pining over a forbidden or lost love.
Poor Rosie, will she ever find happiness?
Hen wouldn’t think of faulting her sister for wanting to lose herself in a sweet love story. There were times when she, too, was tempted to escape into a good book. How might my life have turned out had I married a nice Amish boy?
But it was too late to rewrite her own story. She must be true to her marriage vows.
Later, after placing the library books in the front seat next to her, she started the car and drove through Quarryville, aware of the horses and buggies on the main street.
While stopped at the traffic light, she glanced over at the parking lot for Brandon’s land development office and noticed him getting out of a car. She watched her husband wait for his friend and partner to help him into the building. Where was Mattie Sue? She looked at the car, thinking she might be in there. But no, her daughter hadn’t come. Why not?
Perhaps Mattie Sue had been invited to stay at the main house. Maybe some of the younger Petersheim grandchildren had come to visit. She hoped so. She hadn’t known what to make of Brandon’s plan to take her to his office in the first place.
Turning her attention back to her husband, Hen was struck again at just how dependent he was on others. Her heart ached for him as she recalled his words at the doctor’s office.
“How soon will I see?” he’d asked, and Hen’s jaw clenched as she waited for the kindly doctor’s answer.
“It’s rare for cortical blindness to hang on as long as yours, but we still expect sight to return within a few weeks,” the man had replied.
The day before the appointment, Brandon had told her he’d contacted his attorney brother when last at the office. Hen worried his plan for their divorce was still on his mind. She’d hoped by now that he might have reconsidered legally dissolving their union.
She recalled her father’s pointed question to them last fall, before Brandon’s accident. “Did ya ever think there might be something each of you can surrender?” He maintained it was the only way to save their marriage.
Yet while each knew precisely what they wanted the other to give up, neither Hen nor Brandon had budged. So here they were, merely marking time, still at square one. With or without Brandon’s sight, Hen thought as the light changed to green.
While Rose and Mammi Sylvia were busy making laundry soap that afternoon, Rose’s older brother Mose dropped by to talk with Dat in the front room. Father and son greeted each other warmly, then continued talking at a volume easily heard in the kitchen. Dat was saying he’d gladly help Mose’s brother-in-law organize a farm sale in the next few weeks, while in return, Mose offered to assist Dat and Aaron with the building project over at the Brownings’ place. “It’s only right.”
This seemed agreeable to Dat. And later, when Mose and Dat came into the kitchen, Mose poked his head between Rose and her grandmother. “Say, Rosie, we’d like ya to come for dinner next Sunday noon.”
It seemed odd to be invited clear out of the blue, especially singled out like this. But since it was a no-Preaching day and she knew of no family plans, Rose accepted.
“Ruthann’s goin’ to make her famous pecan sticky buns for dessert,” he added on the way to the back porch. “She’ll have them all warmed up for ya.”
“Yum,” Rose said, thinking of the mouthwatering rolls. “No one makes ’em better.”
“Don’t be late,” Mose said, his eyes twinkling.
She wondered why he was teasing her. “Who else is comin’ to dinner, Mose?”
“Well, the children will be there, of course.” He grinned and Rose suspected he and Ruthann had cooked up something for her with a fellow.
“Anyone I might not know?” she dared to ask.
Mose chuckled. “Now, Rose, don’t ya go spoiling all the fun. But ya might want to wear your for-gut dress.”
Her brother opened the back door and waved at her before she could get any more out of him. Truth be told, she was actually a little curious.
Rose finished helping Mammi Sylvia strain the melted fat through the muslin, storing it in the usual stoneware. Then as Rose prepared to add the lye to some cold water they’d already set aside, she surprised herself with the realization she didn’t mind Mose and Ruthann’s setup. Not at all.
After Hank Zook, almost anyone would be interesting!
Hen was surprised to see the front room all redd up when she returned from work. Mattie Sue’s books and toys had been picked up and put away. She kept her coat on to check the stove and saw that the wood had burned down to mere embers.
Where’s Mattie Sue?
She went to the back door and looked out. Rubbing her hands together, she recalled Brandon’s plans to take their daughter to the office today. But she hadn’t seen Mattie Sue earlier with Brandon outside his office.
A nagging worry rippled across her mind, and she stared out at the snow-covered yard. Then, squelching it, she felt sure Mattie Sue was over with her grandparents next door. Where else, since she hadn’t gone with Brandon as planned? Hen would go over and double-check to ease her mind right away.
As she opened the back door to do just that, Hen’s father waved to her from the sidewalk. “Didn’t want ya to be anxious about Mattie,” he said, a knowing look on his ruddy face.
“Was starting to wonder.”
“She’s been with Rose most of the day.” He paused, coming to the door. “By the way, Brandon’s taking a real interest in your mother.”
“Oh?”
“He stayed around after the noon meal. I was surprised Emma didn’t even bother to take her usual rest, she was so happy to accommodate him with a visit before he left for town.”
Hen found this interesting. “I hardly know what to say.”
“Your mother was awful glad he stayed.”
“It’s wonderful he did.”
He gave a nod. “I’ll go an’ tell Mattie you’re home.” He waved again and Hen closed the door.
“Well, for goodness’ sake.” Hen couldn’t imagine what Brandon and Mom had to talk about, although in some sense they did share a life of confinement. Could it be they’d found some common ground?
Turning from the door, Hen pondered this and what a chance to get to know her mother could mean for Brandon. She tried not to get too excited, yet it was promising.
She decided to unwind a little by making a nice hot meal for her family. Immediately Hen set about cooking one of her husband’s favorites, wi
shing she’d planned ahead better for the dessert. Still, she was glad to have on hand all of the ingredients for a good cut of Swiss steak and gravy, as well as scalloped potatoes. Come to think of it, she hadn’t made this meal since Brandon had first come to the Dawdi Haus to visit.
Not once, Hen thought sadly, determined to dote on him in whatever time they had left together.
Hen listened at supper as Brandon described his morning trip to the stable with Mattie Sue as an adventure.
He reached across the table to clasp their daughter’s hand. “What a good little tour guide we have here.”
Mattie Sue bobbed her head, eyes dancing. “I showed Daddy all around the barn, Mommy . . . the new calves, too.”
“I learned about feed, watering, birthing . . . you name it,” Brandon added.
“My dad must’ve been there, as well,” said Hen.
Brandon nodded.
“I wanted to go to the hayloft, but Dawdi said we had to wait till Daddy can see again to climb the ladder,” Mattie Sue said.
“Sounds like you had a gut time, then?” Hen asked.
“We’re goin’ again, ain’t so, Daddy?”
Hen held her breath, wondering if Brandon might reprimand Mattie Sue for using the familiar dialect.
“I don’t see why not,” he replied. Then he announced, “I wore your father’s oldest work boots today.”
“Daddy looked like an Amish farmer!” Mattie Sue giggled. “They fit him, Mommy.”
Brandon laughed. “Let’s just say I clunked around in them.”
Mattie Sue looked so fondly at her father across the table, it broke Hen’s heart.
More details of the barn tour came out over the next half hour as they devoured Hen’s chocolate chip cookies. After drinking her milk, Mattie Sue excused herself and went to the back door to look out at the rising moon. “Goody, it’s snowin’ again!”
Brandon remained seated at the table. “Well, remember Dawdi Sol said it would.”
Dawdi Sol? Brandon had never before permitted Mattie Sue to refer to Hen’s grandparents in Pennsylvania Dutch, let alone utter the words himself. Hen was so surprised, she almost missed what Brandon said next.
The Mercy Page 4