The Mercy

by Beverly Lewis

  “I’m so happy for you.” An answer to prayer!

  “Like I said the other night, Hen . . . I appreciate what you’ve done for me all these weeks.” His eyes searched her face, her hair, as if marveling at what he saw.

  She stiffened, shielding her heart from what more he might say. “Mattie Sue and I were glad to help you during your recovery,” she said softly. “We were happy to be here for you.”

  Here . . . She wondered if she should’ve said it differently.

  “Well, I can take care of myself now. I don’t want to put you out any longer, Hen. It’s obvious you love this life.”

  Not without you. She could not speak for fear of crying.

  Neither of them spoke for a time. It was painful sitting there, feeling suddenly disconnected from him when they should be rejoicing. Yet Brandon remained attentive, his eyes drawing hers.

  “Mattie Sue will be so thrilled tomorrow when she realizes you can see,” Hen said at last.

  “I can’t wait to take a look at her,” he said. “She’s sleeping, right?” He moved away from the table.

  “Go on upstairs . . . you won’t wake her.” Hen smiled. “You’ll be surprised how much she’s grown in the past few weeks.” We all have, in one way or another. . . .

  Hen found Brandon peering into the open refrigerator early the next morning, already dressed for the office. His five-o’clock shadow was quite unmistakable; even though he could see, he’d opted not to shave yet again. Had he decided to grow a beard?

  “Good morning,” she said, still wearing her bathrobe and slippers. “You’re up early.”

  “Need to get caught up with some things at the office, now that I can see again.” He closed the refrigerator door.

  It was true that he’d missed much at work during his recovery. Even with Bruce’s assistance, there would be a lot to tackle. “Will you need a ride?”

  “Bruce is coming by for me—I gave him a call from the hospital yesterday. But thanks for asking.”

  She recalled the tiffs they’d had over her balking at driving him. So why did she mind that he wasn’t asking today? “What would you like for breakfast?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Well, what if I cooked for a change?”

  “You seriously think you can use a cookstove?”

  He grinned and glanced at the old stove. “You know me too well. If it’s going to be edible, I guess you’ll have to cook.” He went to the cupboard and pulled out three plates, still eyeing her mischievously. “Pancakes or waffles would be great, thanks.”

  “I’ll put the order right in,” she said. It did her heart good to see him get around on his own. Surprised, she watched him set the plates around. Never before had he offered to help in the kitchen, let alone do something like this spontaneously.

  Soon Mattie Sue came wandering downstairs in her cotton nightgown, her hair disheveled, eyes bright. When she spotted her daddy setting the table, she frowned for a split second. Next thing, she was flying to him, hugging his knees, laughing, then crying. “Daddy . . . you’re all better!” He reached down and picked her up with his good arm, laughing with her. She cupped his face in her small hands, her nose nearly touching his. “You can see me, can’t ya, Daddy?”

  “I sure can.”

  “That’s like God answering Beth’s prayers for Mammi Emma. It’s just the same!”

  Brandon smiled. “I stared at you for the longest time while you were sleeping last night.” His eyes filled with tears and he kissed Mattie Sue’s cheek. “This is the best day of my life.”

  “Me too, Daddy.” Mattie Sue kissed his cheek over and over until she began to giggle. “You can see the calvies now,” she said. “And Dawdi and Mammi and . . . pretty Mommy.”

  “Sweetie, let’s get washed up for breakfast,” Hen said, embarrassed.

  Mattie got down and hurried over to Hen, who was flipping a pancake. “We should have a party, ain’t so?”

  “Honey, Daddy has to go to work soon.”

  Brandon intervened, motioning for Mattie to go and wash her hands. “We’ll have a breakfast party, how’s that?” he said, hurrying her along.

  After breakfast, Hen and Mattie Sue washed up and dressed for the day. Hen looked at her green work dress and hesitated before putting it on. Thoughts of Brandon filled her mind as she picked up her room and helped Mattie do the same before heading back downstairs to bake an angel food cake, knowing that Bruce would have stopped by to pick Brandon up some time ago.

  The teakettle hummed steadily while she placed the cake in the oven, then wiped the counters clean. At the far end of the kitchen, over near the back door, she saw a note and picked it up. Thanks again for everything, Hen. —Brandon

  “What’s it mean?” she whispered, looking around.

  Trembling, she ran upstairs and discovered that his things were gone from his room. Did he mean to return later, after he collected some fresh clothes? But if so, why not say as much? Oh, she didn’t know what to think!

  Based on their conversation last evening—and the fact that he’d chosen to sleep again in the guest room—her fears began to compound. It was just as likely he’d moved back to town permanently and planned to push forward with the divorce.

  As Hen left his temporary room, she noticed her open Bible on the table beside the bed. Apparently he had been reading it since his sight was restored. She wondered if his sudden interest was an outgrowth of having talked to her mother or to Bishop Aaron. Whatever it was, she was grateful. God was surely at work in his heart, just as Rose had said recently. And yet . . .

  Hen wasn’t sure what, if anything, to tell Mattie Sue. “O Lord, help me know your wisdom,” she prayed before looking in on her daughter, playing quietly in her room. Not saying a word, she made her way slowly downstairs to check on her cake, realizing the depth of misery she’d put Brandon through back in October. That miserable day four months ago when she’d packed up and left him.

  I understand now the terrible pain he felt.

  She shuddered as she grasped the gulf that separated her from her husband, in spite of their love. It was of her making, after all.

  Only a few days ago Brandon had voiced his concern. “What has changed?” he’d asked her rather pointedly.

  What, indeed?

  Solomon’s sleep had been fitful last night, so he’d put his time to good use, praying for Emma as he often did in the wee hours. This far removed from the hospital, he simply had to entrust her to God’s care. Feeling all in today, he was relieved not to be in charge of driving horse and carriage as he put on his coat and hat, then reached for his woolen scarf.

  At that moment, Hen called to him and stepped inside.

  “How was your night, Dad?”

  “Oh, as gut as one might expect.”

  Her expression toward him was tender. “I worried you might rest poorly.” Then she sighed and abruptly turned to look out the window, not making an effort to remove her heavy shawl. “Dad . . .” Her voice broke. “Brandon’s things are missing. I think he’s moved out.”

  “I saw him earlier. Noticed he was getting around all right—must be seein’ fairly well, jah?” Sol had pondered Brandon’s departure but wouldn’t tell his daughter he’d seemed in a rush to get going. “Didn’t quite expect it to happen this way.”

  “Expect what?” she said, frowning. “Do you know whether Brandon’s going back to town to live?”

  “Well, he had a duffel bag and some other things tucked under his good arm,” Sol admitted.

  “Did he talk to you before he left?”

  “Just to poke his head into my woodshop and say thanks.”

  “That’s what I came to find out.” She turned to go and paused to look back at him thoughtfully. “I’m so sorry for all the pain this has caused you and Mom. The whole family, really.”

  Sol nodded, but he would spare her what he was thinking—Brandon’s suggestion that Hen return home to get her obsession with Plain life out of her system had backfired terribly.
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br />   “I wanted to go along with you to see Mom.” Hen sighed. “But I doubt I would be much support for her.”

  “Oh, she’ll understand.”

  “Will you tell her Brandon’s moving home?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ll let her know his sight’s returned—she’ll be mighty glad ’bout that.”

  A sweet yet sad smile flitted across Hen’s face and she waved good-bye.

  Sol slipped on his gloves and headed out to the driveway to await his driver, his heart heavy.

  As they pulled into Gilbert Browning’s lane, Sol could see the progress the other Amishmen had made just since the day before yesterday, when Sol and Aaron had helped to finish framing in the extra room. “It’ll be done in no time,” he remarked to the driver before getting out.

  Gilbert was outdoors, walking briskly about the perimeter of the addition. He wore a thick black overcoat and black earmuffs, and there was a spring in his step. Sol told him the good news regarding the surgery and asked him to relay it to Beth. “For Emma’s sake.”

  “I certainly will,” Gilbert said, nodding. “Beth was up praying in her room awhile yesterday, so I know she’ll be glad to hear this.”

  “Let her know we appreciate her prayers, won’t ya?”

  Gilbert’s smile deepened and he said he would. “I know she’ll spend a good part of the day thanking the Lord now.”

  “We can all learn from that, jah?”

  Gilbert shook his hand heartily. “Thanks for stopping by, Solomon. Beth will be thrilled.”

  With that, Sol wandered over to talk with the bishop, saying he’d try to get back to help some this afternoon. “If there’s sun left.” But Aaron was adamant that he not rush away from the hospital. Even so, Sol had given his word to pitch in and help.

  When Sol entered the door leading to the ICU, he wished he’d brought Rose along. The girls were so good with their mother, especially when she was ailing so. He thought of all the years Rose had sat by Emma’s bedside, so long she’d nearly sacrificed her chance at marriage. Now, though, he guessed from the few asides Mose had given him that she had been introduced to someone, although he knew very little about the new prospect from Bart. A fair distance away, he thought with some regret.

  When Sol arrived at his wife’s room, he found Emma in a far worse state than prior to the surgery. Her face was blotchy red, like she’d suffered an allergic reaction. Her bun had come undone in the night, and he leaned over to kiss her tear-streaked face. The doctor had warned them that postsurgery pain was unavoidable, but Sol hadn’t expected this level of distress. He asked if she’d been given anything to ease the pain.

  “Jah, morphine,” she whispered. “It’s made me really nauseous.” She added she didn’t know which was worse, the excruciating pain or the wrenching stomach and vomiting, enough to worry the nurses about her stitches.

  “Ach, Emma,” he said, his heart breaking as he noted the angry rash on her face also covered her neck and forearms.

  “The doctor’s orderin’ something without a narcotic for me. And something to soothe my stomach.”

  They’d taken great care to warn the hospital before the surgery about Emma’s past problems with pain medication, but Sol realized communication sometimes broke down in the shuffle between doctors. Still, he didn’t like it one bit.

  She’s replaced one pain with another.

  Praying silently, he asked God to intervene. Then Sol tried to occupy Emma’s mind by reading the Bible aloud. When the nurse came to administer the new medication and after Emma seemed calmer again, he told her Brandon’s good news.

  Her face lit right up. “Brandon can see? Oh, thank the dear Lord!”

  Sol only smiled, not sharing about their son-in-law’s departure, or that it appeared he and Hen were right back to where they’d started last fall. No need to burden Emma with all that today.

  Rose Ann had seen Brandon outdoors earlier, wearing his tan overcoat—one sleeve hanging limp—and dress shoes when Bruce parked in front of Hen’s Dawdi Haus. Brandon had walked right to the car, placing his duffel bag in the backseat just as any sighted person would, to the obvious amazement of his partner, who’d gotten out to assist him only to discover that Brandon needed no help.

  Guess he doesn’t need Hen’s help any longer, either, Rose thought sadly as she pitched hay to the field mules with Mose and Josh, working in Dat’s stead. All the while she breathed a prayer for Hen and Brandon . . . and for Mamm.

  Rose had just returned to the house when she spotted Barbara Petersheim through the window, arriving by horse and carriage. Feeling mighty blue, she removed her work boots and welcomed her mother’s friend with open arms and gratefully accepted the chicken casserole and a side dish of succotash. Aunt Malinda Blank, Mamm’s older Maidel sister, had also stopped by with a pot of chili right after Dat left with the van driver, so they were well fixed for supper.

  “Denki!” Rose kissed Barbara’s cheek and put the casserole on top of the cookstove, covering it with dish towels.

  “It oughta stay gut and hot right there, ready to eat.” Barbara’s cheeks were redder than Rose had seen them.

  “Mighty cold out, ain’t?”

  Barbara patted her plump hands together as she moved closer to the stove. “I’ll say.”

  Rose invited her to sit and warm herself. “I should’ve gone to see Mamm today,” Rose said, her voice husky. “I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings yesterday.”

  “Well, how’s that?”

  “Because I didn’t go in to see her after she was out of recovery. Oh, Barbara, I just couldn’t!”

  Barbara reached for her. “Dear girl, listen to me. Your Mamma surely understands; I just know she does.” Barbara stroked her hair like Mamm had when Rose was a little girl. “We must give your mother into the Lord’s care. Can ya do that, Rosie?”

  Rose nodded, but she missed Mamm something awful and told Barbara so. “It’s goin’ to be weeks till she’s home again.”

  “Well, sure. But think how wonderful it’ll be for her to live without pain . . . if the Lord God wills it.”

  “Oh, I pray it’s so.”

  “Your Dat’s with her today, I s’pose.”

  Rose said he was. “Hen wanted to go, but she’s stayin’ with Mattie Sue.” She didn’t say Hen’s husband apparently had returned to the world. Barbara would find out soon enough about Brandon’s leaving.

  “You’ll visit once she’s out of the ICU, jah?” Barbara asked.

  “I surely will.”

  Barbara rose out of the rocker with considerable effort. “Do you need any other help today, Rose Ann? Cleaning or whatnot?” Barbara looked her over, then her gaze drifted to the work boots in the utility room. “You’re helpin’ out in the barn, I ’spect?”

  “Jah, till I got so cold I thought I might just turn purple.” Rose laughed softly. “Good thing Dat’s not here to see, ’cause he’d tease me for sure.”

  “Let your brothers do the outdoor work.” Barbara patted Rose’s cheek. “You take care of yourself, hear?”

  “I’m tryin’.”

  “Well, if you’re sure you’ll be all right, I’ll head over to Gilbert Browning’s with food for the men building the addition.”

  “No need to fret over me,” Rose said, following her to the back door. The cold seeped in through the cracks. “I hope you have your lap robes for the carriage.”

  “Jah, ain’t but a short ride though.”

  Rose watched till Barbara was safely inside the carriage. Shivering again, she closed the door, hoping her brothers wouldn’t think she was avoiding her barn chores. The minute she got herself warmed all through, she would go back out and finish up. Then later, Rose would check on Hen to see how she was faring, pained as she surely must be. Rose determined to do her best to console her sister. What else could she do?

  By Saturday afternoon, Hen felt practically sick with grief. Mattie Sue had sobbed when Brandon hadn’t returned last night for supper. Hen had he
ld her darling close, letting her cry as Wiggles tilted his furry head, observing them, his tail as still as a twig.

  Hen had tried to conceal her emotions from Mattie Sue thus far. She was thankful for Rose’s help and listening ear. Such a precious sister! Hen hoped she hadn’t put a damper on her sister’s joy—later today was to be the first real date between Rose and her prospective beau.

  Presently, Hen kept busy mending socks for her father. As she worked, she thought of her mother. Hen and her father had talked at length that morning before he left for York. He seemed to have high hopes for getting Mamm into a rehabilitation facility in Lancaster and was working toward that end—much more convenient for the family, too. Hen longed to see her mother again, not for her own consolation, but to offer comfort.

  It is in giving that we receive. She thought of the prayer she’d found tucked into her mother’s Bible years ago.

  Hen’s mind turned back to Brandon. If only I’d given more. It seemed like days since Brandon left, but alas, only yesterday he’d packed his things and left his short note. She’d never known such misery . . . such painful uncertainty. It was all she could do just to go through the motions of a normal day.

  With both Brandon and Mom gone, the world was strangely empty. Hen stared out the kitchen window at the drive, hoping to see Brandon pulling up to the house.

  He’d felt trapped in his blindness, he had told her.

  “Well, he’s free of that now,” she said. The realization made her both happy for him and sad for herself.

  Despite Mamm’s hospitalization and Brandon’s leaving, Rose could not quell her excitement for the upcoming evening as she dressed for her date with Isaac. She looked forward to seeing him again and refused to let herself feel guilty about it.