“I heard ya talking ’bout Nick, just now. ’Least I thought it was him.”
Mamm had such good ears.
“Has the Lord put it on anyone’s heart to pray for him?” she asked.
“I’m sure Barbara and the bishop do,” Rose ventured. She, too, had prayed many times for her friend, though she wasn’t ready to say so.
“Lyin’ here, night after night, giving my pain up to God,” Mamm said, squeezing Rose’s hand, “I pray for Nick.”
“Do ya, Mamm?”
“Well, the Lord cares ’bout him. He’s lost, ain’t so?”
It was hard not to remember the times Mamm had spoken out against him, back when he lived amongst them. Rose agreed Nick was in need of God’s help. But even if he were to return and make a full confession, he would forever carry the mantle of responsibility for his brother’s death . . . even though the People would offer forgiveness.
Despite that, all this talk about Nick had stirred something in her, something she’d thought was buried. Maybe she wasn’t ready to start seeing a new fellow. Rose had placed Isaac Ebersol’s letter on top of Nick’s in her dresser drawer on purpose. But now she really didn’t know what to think.
Just when I was looking forward to meeting Isaac come Saturday. Yet Rose honestly wondered if he, or any young man, could ever make her forget Nick Franco.
Rose scanned the semiprivate waiting room at the York hospital Thursday. Except for Brandon, everyone wore Plain garb. Her family and the Petersheims huddled together for support on this day Mamm had been so anxious for. The day brought its own set of concerns, though hopefully the surgery would bring about the longed-for result of a life free of chronic pain. Like going through a long tunnel to get to the other side, thought Rose.
Each member of the family had taken a turn with Mamm prior to her being wheeled through the double doors and down the corridor. They gave a gentle hug and promised to uphold her in prayer. Dat had squeezed Mamm’s hand more than once, telling her they would stay put for the duration of the surgery—possibly four to six hours—waiting for the doctor’s report. “Don’t worry none, jah, Emma? God is with you,” he’d said. “Ever near . . .”
Now five hours had already passed and Mamm was still un conscious behind those big doors, and no one had come out to say she was all right. “Are things goin’ as expected, do ya think?” Rose whispered to Hen, who sat next to her.
Hen shook her head slightly, apparently deep in thought.
Dat looked as though he might be wondering the same thing, over there across the room with Rose’s brothers and the bishop. Mose and Josh talked quietly in Deitsch while Eli flipped through magazines, restless as anything. The many ham-and-cheese sandwiches and soft pretzels Mammi Sylvia had kindly sent along with them were long gone, consumed by nervous eaters.
As for herself, Rose had lost her appetite. She wished for one of her library books from home—a lighthearted love story might help her block out this tense moment. But then again, such reading material might’ve offended her father on such a solemn day, and she wouldn’t have done that for the world.
She sat between Hen and sister-in-law Suzy, who’d come in her husband Enos’s stead, as he’d awakened with a fever and congestion and didn’t want to expose Mamm or other hospital patients. There they waited—six of her brothers, Suzy, and Hen with Brandon. It was a peculiar situation, given that Suzy had always found it difficult to forgive Hen’s marriage to an outsider. Even now, Suzy was unable to disguise her displeasure, refusing to so much as even look at Hen or Brandon.
Brandon, on the opposite end of the plaid sofa, was more talkative than usual, conversing particularly with Aaron. He seemed more relaxed than normal this morning, yet Hen’s face was drawn and somewhat pale. Barbara, Mamm’s closest friend, seemed the least distressed of all of them, offering a real source of comfort.
Still looking about, Rose took in the artificial greenery, including an off-kilter tree that ascended behind one of the overstuffed leather chairs. She wished Mattie Sue had been able to come along. Each day Mattie spent with her daddy was one less day to pine for him, if and when he should leave the farm and return to their home in Quarryville.
Next to her, Suzy again opened her basket of embroidery, fidgeting. She smelled like lilacs, and Rose wondered why her sister-in-law had worn cologne today. Had she forgotten they might be cooped up together in the same room? The air in the space felt mighty stale and close.
Rose folded her hands in her lap and glanced back at the doors over yonder, wondering when someone—anyone—would have the courtesy to push them open and tell them what was happening on the other end of that long hallway.
Sol had been biting his nails—one of them nearly down to the quick. He watched the clock on the wall, its minute hand jerking forward second by second. It felt like ages since they’d taken Emma away from him, the needle in her vein hooked to a bag of liquid. The vision still pained him. They were going to operate on her spinal cord, for pity’s sake! What had possessed him to let his fragile wife endure such a thing? What?
He straightened a bit, regaining control of himself. It was his role to be strong for his children, grown though they were. He was their rock, second only to the Lord—the Rock of Ages. Again he relinquished the results of Emma’s surgery to almighty God in prayer. Even so, he was a man with a heart full of love . . . and worries. And fear was setting in.
“Dat, do you want to get something to drink . . . or a snack, maybe?” Mose leaned over and asked.
“Ain’t hungry.” Sol shook his head.
“Nothin’ at all?”
“Couldn’t think of eating.”
Sighing, Mose reached behind his head and rubbed his neck, apparently needing something to eat or drink himself. Or some fresh air.
“Go ahead, if you want.” Sol eyed his other sons—tall, strapping fellows.
Mose shook his head. “Nee—no. Denki.”
Joshua got up and headed for the snack area. Then the younger boys, Eli and David, followed. They’re anxious, Sol decided, closing his eyes to rest them for a time.
He let his mind wander back to last night, when he’d held frail Emma close before they’d fallen asleep. Emma had been the brave one, he recalled. Brave and stoic, saying he mustn’t fret. “Remember what the doctor told us.” He’d needed to hear it from her. No one could reassure him like his wife.
She’d said something else, too—wanted him to let Beth Browning know how the surgery went. Sol had promised her he’d stop by tomorrow morning. It was the least he could do.
Looking now at Brandon, whose right arm was mending in its cast, Sol noticed Hen sitting closer to him than usual. Sol hadn’t witnessed much affection or even companionship between them before. But today was different—or was Hen just feeling awful needy right now? No, the more he regarded them, the more he sensed the intangible spark between a man and the woman who loves him. Had something changed?
He let his eyes drift over the whole lot of them, these dear ones who cared so much for Emma and for him. How thankful Sol was to God for each life represented here. I’m a blessed man.
High over the main window, the sun shone through a decorative transom, making for an eye-catching design. He stared, drawn to the radiance, scarcely able to keep his eyes from it.
Then, as he watched, the light reflected through a prism of sorts and resulted in a miniature rainbow. Colorful rays danced before him like a heavenly promise. He embraced it as a sign that all would be well.
But when yet another hour came and went, Sol’s former fear came back even stronger and camped at the door to his heart.
Hen’s gaze skittered around the attractive room. There were so many people crammed into the space, she thought unexpectedly of Preaching service. How very crowded it always was there, too. She shifted where she sat—she needed to get up and move around but didn’t want to leave and miss hearing the surgeon’s report. There had been times when she fully understood the expression “climbing the
walls.” This was such a time.
Her attention focused on Brandon. His eyes were closed again, but earlier he’d seemed to enjoy conversing with Dad and her brothers. If she had known the surgery would last this long, she might’ve suggested her husband remain at home after all, resting as his doctor had so strongly advised.
She recalled the many prayers she and her family had offered up for him. What was God’s will for her husband? She felt torn between her concern for Brandon and her mother.
Leaning back into the sofa, Hen remembered how healthy and full of life Mom had always been before her accident. Hen regretted how she’d essentially abandoned her frail mother for Brandon, fully expecting Rose and Mammi Sylvia to pick up the slack. Oh, she regretted so many of her choices through the years.
Had she always been so self-centered? Why was it so hard to empty herself of her tenacious will? Her selfishness? To reach out wide to embrace family, friends, and others? Hen felt as if the choices she had made had turned her inward, her way of seeing the world as murky as Brandon’s own weeks of darkness.
Her mother had written to Hen after Mattie Sue’s birth, thrilled to welcome another grandchild into the family. Yet despite the kindly letter, Hen had withheld her baby from her parents, not visiting them at the farm, expecting them to see her on her own terms—at her modern house in town. Wincing at the thought, Hen turned to look at her father. They deserved so much better from me.
Hen’s breath caught as she observed her dad wipe his eyes with his blue kerchief, his hair looking too neat for this time of day. His lower lip quivered as he slowly bowed his head, and she wished she was sitting over there next to him. Lord, give Dad strength for this difficult day, she pleaded. And guide the surgeon’s hand, I pray.
Some time later, the long-expected surgeon pushed through the doors, still wearing his green scrubs. He removed his white cap and explained the reason for the extended time in some indecipherable remarks, focusing his attention mainly on Dat. Rose was nevertheless heartened when he stated that the surgery had been as successful as could be hoped for. Now they’d have to wait and see if Mamm would be free of pain, once her body healed from the operation.
Dat and Joshua rose and shook the man’s hand, thanking him. They were told that once Mamm was settled in the ICU, Dat would be permitted to see her. “And anyone else who is family.” The surgeon’s face cracked a rare smile when Dat informed him that they were nearly all family. Bishop Aaron and Barbara almost are, of course, Rose thought.
Just knowing her mother could start to mend now, Rose began to feel somewhat lighter. She headed for the snack area to purchase a package of peanut butter crackers to share with Suzy or Hen. On the way back to the waiting area, she stopped at the water fountain to relieve her thirst.
Forty more minutes passed before they were encouraged to relocate to yet another waiting area. And goodness, the gawks they received as they moved through the hospital corridors! Rose assumed they were a spectacle, because these hospital folks were far enough removed from Plain communities that they didn’t often encounter Amish. One English visitor looked like her hazel eyes might pop right out of her head as she stared.
The new waiting area was even smaller than the first, and Rose stood for a while near a window, thankful to see the sky again.
After Dat and Joshua had visited with Mamm briefly, Dat asked Hen if she’d like to go in next. Observing this rotation, Rose decided it was best that she not go in after her sister, even though she wanted to with all of her heart. She just felt so queasy and light-headed at the thought of the drainage tubes and IV and other equipment attached to her mother. Her oldest brother had looked ashen when he returned to the waiting room. He’d had to lean forward for a time, his head in his hands.
“Tell Mamm I love her,” Rose whispered to Hen, who clasped her hand. She seemed to understand without Rose saying more and tiptoed away to Mamm’s room.
Brandon was up pacing the floor, running his hand along the wall to steady himself. It struck Rose that he might like to go in, as well. She slipped over to Dat and whispered her suggestion.
Dat rose quickly and fell in step with Brandon, placing a hand on his shoulder. Brandon brightened, obviously grateful for the unexpected invitation.
When Hen emerged from the room, Brandon was ready and eager to visit Mamm. When he leaned near and told her what he wanted to do, Hen nodded and accompanied him into the room. The door closed behind them.
Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes and she looked away, trying to conceal her emotions. She was so struck by whatever good and lovely thing was happening between Hen and her husband.
He’s truly part of the family.
Hen was pleased at Brandon’s request to see her mother. She stood next to him beside the slightly elevated hospital bed. Carefully, she folded the sheet down and straightened it near her mother’s chin, aware of the sounds of various machines and monitors. Leaning over, she lightly kissed Mom’s forehead, then smoothed her hair at the part, seeing that the bun was still pretty well intact. As she straightened, she noticed Brandon appeared to be smiling down at Mom, as if he could actually see her.
Hen patted her mother’s hand, her heart pounding at the possibility that Brandon’s sight might be clearing some.
“Thank you for sharing your courage with me, Emma,” Brandon said. “The pain you’ve endured . . .” Brandon paused a moment, seemingly searching for the right words. “I want you to know you’ve been a great help to me, and I appreciate it.”
Mom tried to nod her head. “That’s all right, son. Thank the dear Lord we’re this far, ain’t?”
Son. There it was again.
“We don’t want to tire you out.” Hen squeezed her mother’s hand. “You rest now, all right?”
A slight smile spread across her lips. “You both take care, ya hear?”
“You too,” Brandon was quick to say.
“I’ll visit you again.” Hen threw a kiss toward her mother as they made their way to the door.
“Don’t worry one little speck, Hen, dear.”
Hen couldn’t promise that, but she would do her best to trust for healing. “She’s going to need lots of rest,” Hen remarked to Brandon in the hallway. “I’m surprised the doctor allowed us to see her so soon after the surgery.”
“I’m glad he did,” Brandon said, his eyes blank now. “You can be glad she came through it so well.”
Hen agreed, wishing she might find strength in her husband’s embrace, needing the support. But she drew a deep breath and guided him back to the waiting area, wondering if his time of dependence upon her was coming to a close.
Sol thought primarily of Emma during the ride back to Quarryville . . . and to Salem Road. Thankfully, the driver was not a talkative chap, and Sol leaned against the headrest, his eyes closed for a good part of the drive home. His heart was with his precious wife, lying alone in the hospital bed. He had wanted to stay right with her all the night long, as he always did at home. He could sleep while sitting in a chair, couldn’t he?
Yet here he was, riding home at Joshua’s insistence. “You need your rest, Dat . . . she’ll be well cared for.” Hen had agreed and encouraged him to return to the farm for the night, as well. Even so, it had been hard for him to leave the ICU. Leaving Emma behind.
If he remembered correctly, his wife would remain in the intensive care unit for three days, then be moved to the recovery area on another floor, in a semiprivate room. After that, an ambulance would transport her to a nearby rehabilitation facility for about three weeks, assuming all went well. Once she could return home, she would need up to nine months of rehab treatments, two to three times a week.
Will all of this make a difference for Emma, Lord? he prayed. If it did, then the day’s trauma to her body would be worthwhile in the long run.
As for Sol, he would visit her nearly every day. Already his sons had lined up with others to help with his barn and field chores. Being it was winter, though, he had less to think abou
t . . . till early spring, when the plowing and planting would begin.
“You all right, Dad?” Hen asked from the seat behind him.
He nodded with a slight sigh.
“Just checking.”
He didn’t feel up to saying much, but he knew Hen cared for him deeply. Rose, too, dear flower that she was. He didn’t blame her for not being able to spend a few minutes with Emma. It was hard on all of them, seeing her like that.
But now, Brandon . . . of all things! He’d noticed him make eye contact with Hen several times today. If Sol wasn’t mistaken, Brandon’s sight had returned somewhat, albeit briefly, while they were waiting. Sol was too weary to ponder the implications of this, yet he hoped Aaron’s visits had softened Brandon’s heart toward the things of God . . . and ultimately toward Hen, as well.
That evening, after Mattie Sue was tucked into bed, Hen returned downstairs to the kitchen and found Brandon sitting at the table, hands folded as if in prayer.
“Brandon?” she said. “Are you all right?”
He raised his head, and she saw the unwavering gaze on his handsome face.
She felt the weight of his silence.
At last he spoke. “Hen, I can see clearly right now.”
“Oh, this is such good news!”
He smiled fleetingly. “All day long, my sight’s been on and off. I didn’t want to say anything . . . didn’t want to detract from the surgery.”
“I thought perhaps you could see Mom when we were in her room.” She went to his side and they embraced. “This is just wonderful,” she said, pulling out her chair and sitting near him.
He reached for her hands and leaned forward at the table. “I keep waiting for the shades to fall again . . . like before. But so far, so good.” He looked around the kitchen, his gaze lingering on Mattie Sue’s coloring pages arranged neatly on the gas-run refrigerator. Then, turning, he looked past the cookstove, toward the small front room, where he’d spent many hours snuggled with Mattie Sue and Wiggles. Once again, his gaze found hers. “I was beginning to think this day might never come.”
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