As Ruth lay in her bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, her fingers curled into the palms of her hands and dug into her flesh. Last night, she’d been released from the hospital in order to attend Martin’s funeral today. Mom and Dad had brought her home to stay with them, and the doctor had given Ruth a prescription for antibiotics and instructions to get plenty of rest. He’d said she could attend her husband’s funeral, but only if she used the wheelchair Dad had rented.
I don’t want to go to Martin’s funeral, Ruth silently wailed. I just want to close my eyes and never wake up.
Ruth’s mind took her back to the day Sheriff Osborn had showed up at the hospital, asking her to tell him what she remembered about the accident. Her brain had been foggy, but she’d been able to remember a few things—looking over her shoulder, seeing a truck bearing down on them, being rammed over and over. She’d told the sheriff that it had been dark outside and snowing. She hadn’t seen the license plate and couldn’t be sure about the color of the vehicle. What she hadn’t told the sheriff was that Luke had a truck he kept hidden in the woods, and she feared it may have been him who had rammed their buggy.
Tears stung the back of Ruth’s eyes. Could Luke have followed us on Christmas Eve? If so, why would he do such a horrible thing?
“I brought you a bowl of oatmeal and some toast with your favorite strawberry jam,” Mom said as she stepped into the room carrying a wooden tray in her hands.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve got to eat something. You won’t get your strength back if you don’t.”
Ruth shook her head. “I don’t care if I ever get my strength back. My husband’s dead, and I can never have any children. There’s nothing left for me to live for.”
“Ach, don’t say such a thing.” Mom placed the tray on the nightstand and seated herself on the edge of Ruth’s bed. “You have me, your daed, and the rest of the family to live for. We all love you, and we’re grateful to God for sparing your life.”
“Jah, well,” Ruth said as the bitter taste of anger rose in her throat, “I wish He’d taken me instead of Martin.”
Mom clutched Ruth’s hand. “It wasn’t your time to go, and you shouldn’t be wishing it were so.”
“What are you saying—that it was meant for Martin to die?”
“I can’t say that God meant for it to happen, but He did allow it, and we need to accept it as His will.”
Ruth swallowed hard and nearly choked on a sob. “I—I don’t think I can do that. Someone rammed our buggy on purpose, and they need to pay.”
“‘For we know him that hath said, Vengeance belongeth unto me, I will recompense, saith the Lord,’” Mom quoted from Hebrews.
“I know, but …” Ruth looked away, unable to finish her sentence.
Mom patted her hand. “Eat your breakfast. Folks will be arriving for the funeral soon, and Cleon will be up to carry you down so you can attend the services.”
Ruth gave no reply. She didn’t want to attend Martin’s services. Hearing the bishop’s words and seeing Martin’s body lying in that cold wooden coffin would only confirm that her husband was dead.
Abe directed his horse and buggy behind the long procession of black buggies heading down the narrow, hilly road leading to the Amish cemetery where Martin Gingerich’s body would be laid to rest. It was a raw, dreary day. The steel gray sky looked as though it might open up and pound the earth with pelting rain, but it was too cold for that. If the clouds dropped anything, it would be more snow.
Abe observed the frozen fields on each side of the road as a bone-chilling wind lapped the sides of his buggy. He felt as if he were reliving Alma’s funeral. It hadn’t been quite a year since her death, but it seemed as if it were yesterday. The death of a Christian was a celebration, because he or she had left an earth full of struggles and made it to heaven. Yet for the ones left behind, there remained heartache and a silent sense of loneliness that went beyond anything Abe had ever known.
“God will see you through,” Bishop King had told Abe the day they’d placed Alma’s body in the grave. “The Bible tells us in Psalm 147:3 that God ‘healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.’”
As Abe reflected on those words, he knew they were true. He still missed Alma, but with every new day, the pain became less. He was now able to find a sense of joy in the little things that occurred in his everyday life. His children, whom he’d previously taken for granted, had become more important to him, as well. His desire to help others during their time of need seemed stronger than ever before. Most of all, Abe’s personal relationship with God had taken on new meaning, for he spent more time praying and reading his Bible, which had strengthened his faith and given him purpose in life.
Abe glanced over his shoulder at his children in the backseat. Despite his sorrow over losing a good friend, he knew life must go on.
When Abe stepped down from his buggy a short time later, a blast of frigid air hit him full in the face, and he shivered. Lord, help Ruth’s body to heal, ease her sorrow over losing her mate, and as she regains her strength, please give her the same sense of peace You have given me.
Martha stood behind her sister’s wheelchair, listening to the bishop’s final words and watching Ruth’s shoulders tremble as she fought to control her emotions. This horrible tragedy that had befallen Ruth wasn’t fair. She and Martin had only been married a short time. They’d had their whole lives to look forward to until Martin’s life was cut short.
Martha blinked against stinging tears and the biting December wind as she thought about her sister’s injuries. Ruth had always wanted children. Martha was sure that having the hope of giving birth to babies of her own and then having it dashed away had only added to Ruth’s agony over losing her mate.
How would I feel if I were in Ruth’s place? Martha asked as she listened to Bishop King read a hymn. If the man I loved had been taken from me, would I accept it as God’s will or become bitter and full of self-pity?
When Martha had gone to the hospital to see her injured sister, Ruth had said she hoped whoever was responsible for Martin’s death would pay for his transgressions. She’d said she couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive that person.
Martha shuddered as a group of Amish men sang a song while the pallbearers shoveled dirt into the grave. What if Ruth never got over her bitterness and self-pity? How could she find inner peace if she didn’t forgive?
Grace clung to Cleon’s arm as they stood behind her parents, who had positioned themselves behind Ruth’s wheelchair, one on the left, one on the right. Mom’s hand rested protectively on Ruth’s shoulder, and Dad had his arm around Mom’s waist. Knowing one of their daughters had suffered such a great loss and seeing Ruth having to witness the burial of her husband had to be hard on Mom and Dad.
I can still remember how lonely and sick with grief I felt when Wade died, Grace thought ruefully. At least she had been left with a child. Ruth would never know the joy of having children of her own.
Tears trickled down Grace’s cheeks. I had a child and gave her up because I was afraid I couldn’t make it on my own. She sniffed and reached up to swipe at the tears. All of the regrets in the world wouldn’t change the past. Now she and Cleon had Anna and baby Daniel to raise.
She glanced down at her daughter, who stood like a statue between her and Cleon. They’d left the baby with Abe’s sister today, which meant they would have to get Daniel as soon as the graveside service was over so Grace could feed him.
Grace’s thoughts were pulled aside as the bishop asked the congregation to silently pray the Lord’s Prayer, which meant the service was almost over. Martin’s mother stood a few feet away with her husband and their five eldest children, all of whom were married and lived in other parts of Ohio. Flossie wept openly, and Elmer patted her back. Martin’s funeral had to be hard on them, too.
When the service was over and the people had started for their buggies, Ruth let out a piercing cry and slumped over in her wheelchair.
Dad and Cleon grabbed the handles of the chair and pushed it quickly toward Dad’s buggy. This day had obviously been too much for Ruth.