23

The next day, sitting on my secondhand couch, I texted Paisley and Autumn and invited myself to see them in Wilmington the next week, if possible. Both had to work the night before Thanksgiving, so they wouldn’t be going home to Philadelphia, but they both had the next day off.

Plan to be here by late Thanksgiving Day, Paisley texted back. We can hang out on Friday.

The next thing I did was pull out the piece of paper from the diner in Somerset. I stared at the number for a long moment, guessing it was the woman’s cell phone number. I hated making phone calls. I was tempted to text her—but I couldn’t do that. I’d been awful enough as it was.

I dialed the numbers slowly. A woman answered. “This is Shari.”

“Hi,” I said and then quickly explained who I was.

“Oh, hello. I’d given up on you ever calling.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, dreading what she’d say next. Would she blame me for her husband’s death? I fought back against my fear and kicked into Nurse Leisel mode. “I’m so sorry your husband didn’t make it.”

“His name was Sonny.”

I said I remembered. “What did he die from?”

“A massive heart attack.”

There wasn’t anything I could have done to stop it. I hoped she realized that.

She continued, “The doctor said even if he’d been in the hospital when it happened, they probably couldn’t have saved him. He had severe blockage. Ninety-nine percent.”

I winced. “Did he have any symptoms? Prior to that night?”

“Looking back, yes. A few times he’d had shortness of breath. And he thought he had the flu a few days before, but not much more than that.”

“He was so young,” I said.

“Yes,” she answered. “And he had no family history of heart disease, that we know of.” She paused a moment and then said, “Do you remember he had a heartbeat when the ambulance arrived? Because of the CPR?”

“Yes.” I swallowed, not trusting myself to say any more.

“He was still alive when he reached the hospital—at least his heart was beating. They put him on a ventilator to keep him breathing until his parents arrived. His daughter from his first marriage, who is twenty now, and his ex came from Cleveland. And my parents also, although they live close. We all got to say good-bye. . . . It meant so much. And, you know, I hope it meant something to him too.”

I read between the lines. He was brain-dead by then. The blockage had been bad enough that it prevented any oxygen from getting to his brain, even though the CPR brought his heartbeat back. But she was right—at least it got him to the hospital and onto a ventilator.

“We were all able to tell him good-bye because of you.”

“But I couldn’t save him,” I said.

“No. But I was able to run my hand through his hair one last time. To hold him.” I could hear the tears in her voice. “All three of his kids curled up on the bed beside him. I used to have a strained relationship with his ex, but not anymore. We’re the best of friends now. And our children will always have each other.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“We all thanked God that you stopped by the diner that evening. The pastor even talked about you at the funeral, saying that even though things didn’t work out the way we wanted, God put you there to ease our pain and make letting go of Sonny a little bit easier.”

I swiped at my eyes with my free hand.

“So thank you,” Shari said. “And please don’t feel bad about him not surviving. You have a gift. I felt that as you worked on Sonny, as you directed those other men, as you did your thing. And as you spoke with me and my children.” Her voice grew stronger. “And it means so much that you called today, it really does.”

I didn’t want to burden her with all I’d been through the last six months, especially when it paled in comparison to her own pain, but I did manage to say, “You can’t know how much this means to me, to hear your story.”

Her voice was strong as she said, “Life is so unpredictable. If there’s someone special in your life, hold him close.”

I sighed. “There isn’t.”

“Well,” she said, “when there is, don’t ever take him for granted.” I thought of Mildred and John. Joe and Martha. Jessica and Silas. Marie and Gordon. Even of Mamm and Dat. And now Mamm and David. Marriage had been wonderfully designed. It was a blessing.

After we said good-bye and ended the call, I felt a freedom I hadn’t since Jessica called to tell me Marie was in the hospital. God had been at work the evening I stopped at the diner. His ways weren’t our ways, but He hadn’t abandoned Shari and her children. And He hadn’t abandoned me either.

Years ago, when I was fourteen or so, a woman in our district had come to see Dat. Her husband had died in a buggy accident the year before, then her oldest son had been arrested for selling drugs. She’d been caring for her mother who had dementia, along with her younger children too, trying to make ends meet. She believed God was punishing her. There wasn’t anything specific she believed God was angry with her about, just generally who she was.

Dat reminded her of the story of Job. Then he quoted from Matthew 5:45, “. . . for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.”

He explained to her, “Sometimes we’re tested, but that doesn’t mean we’ve done anything wrong. You need to take care of yourself as best you can to get through this.” He talked with her about watching her diet, getting enough exercise and sleep, expressing her feelings, and reaching out for help. After she left, he went out to the barn. I was sure he’d gone out there to call the bishop to arrange more support for her. The next day, I noticed that Marie made a meal for the family. Men in the district soon put a new roof on her house. Dat went and visited her son in jail. And I saw the woman sitting on her porch, writing in a notebook. Perhaps that was her way of expressing herself.

What did it mean for me to take care of myself? I reached for my laptop. The professional challenges I’d longed for were missing from my life. I had to apply for a different job. I opened my computer, logged onto the Lancaster General website, and then applied for a job in the ICU. Sure, if I got it, I’d bump into Stephen now and then, but the job would be worth it.

As I closed my computer, I felt a little less numb. A little more alive.

I pulled Dat’s letter out of my purse and read it again, slowing down as I reached the end. And then reread, Don’t give in to fear . . .

Did he see me avoiding conflict because I was fearful? Had I, like Mamm, written superstitions into my own story?

Perhaps we had more in common than I thought.

Marie, Gordon, Caden, Aenti Suz, and I all went to Silas and Jessica’s for our Thanksgiving meal. John joined us. Afterward, during dessert, Aenti Suz said she had an announcement to make. “I’m going to be leaving in two weeks.”

I smiled. “Where?”

“The mission organization your Dat went to Haiti with also works with an orphanage that needs help right now. I’ve also contacted a nonprofit that helps support an orphanage in Vietnam. I may go there next.”

With wide eyes, Marie asked, “What does Bishop Jacobs say?”

“I have his blessing,” she answered. “I’ll fly, of course, but he allowed your Dat to fly to Haiti too, so it wasn’t as if he could tell me I couldn’t. Arden and Jessica will be renting out the Dawdi Haus full-time.”

“Will you come home?” I asked.

“Jah,” Aenti Suz answered. “Eventually.”

“She’ll stay here.” Jessica grinned. “We have plenty of room.”

Aenti Suz nodded.

“And I’ll mainly be the one looking after the Dawdi Haus,” Jessica said. “I’ll clean it and change the sheets and towels and all of that while Aenti Suz is gone.”

“What a wonderful thing for you to do,” John said to Aenti Suz.

As the conversation continued, my heart fell a little. I wished I could go with her. Perhaps I could sometime for a week’s vacation. But once I had my student loans paid off, I’d have more opportunities to do that sort of thing.

Jessica was giving Marie and Gordon an update on the farm and the finances. “I’ve convinced Arden to wait a year as far as selling the herd. Supply has gone down, but we might make it with the help of the income from Aenti Suz’s endeavor. If not, I’m willing to let go of the dairy.”

Aenti Suz began telling all of them about when her father added the current dairy business back in the late 1940s. I smiled at the thought of Joe and Martha building up the farm. Soon it would be Milton taking charge. The Bachmann farm would continue, with its joys and challenges, one generation at a time.

I left soon after that and headed for Delaware. Rain poured from a dark, dark sky as I drove, and my car was shaken every now and then by blasts of wind, but at least it wasn’t snowing. When I stopped for coffee and a break from the weather, I noticed I’d missed a call from David’s number in Chester County. Had Mamm called to wish me a happy Thanksgiving? That surprised me, but maybe she was missing her daughters. I figured she’d already left the phone shed as I called back to leave a return message. But to my surprise, she answered.

Without even saying hello, she said, “I just got off the phone with Jessica—we’d planned ahead to talk today. She told me you broke up with Stephen.”

“That’s right,” I answered.

“What were you thinking?”

It wasn’t as if she really knew him. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“He was Mennonite. Didn’t that matter?”

“I thought you wanted me to marry an Amish man,” I teased.

“I gave up on that,” she said. I guessed it was easier for her to tell people I was going to join the Mennonite church and marry a doctor than to say I was Englisch. At least then I was still on that imaginary line, straddling both worlds.

“I’m not going to join the Mennonites,” I said, surprising us both with my sudden decision. “I’m sorry, Mamm, that I’m a disappointment to you, but I’ve been living in fear ever since I moved back from Pittsburgh, and I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to feel as if God is going to punish me at every turn, and I don’t think you should either.”

“I don’t feel that way,” she said. “The Bible tells us not to fear.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“It also tells us not to be unequally yoked. I hope you don’t go back to dating that Nick.”

“I wouldn’t be unequally yoked if I did—”

“You’re acting just like before. You’re not listening to me.”

I sighed. “Could we start again?” Before she could answer, I said, “Happy Thanksgiving! How are you and David doing?”

Her voice softened a little. “Just fine. We had a good dinner with his kids. . . .” She told me about his infant grandson and how she’d sat in the rocking chair with him for half of the afternoon.

I let her go on for a while and then said, “Well, I need to get going. I’m on my way to Wilmington to see Paisley and Autumn.”

“Englisch friends?”

“That’s right,” I said. “Let’s talk soon. Or maybe I’ll come up to visit. Would that be all right?”

She hesitated, but then said it would.

After we said good-bye, I held my phone in my hand. And then I did what I’d wanted to do for the last week. I texted Nick.

Hey, Happy Thanksgiving! How is the Air Force? How do you like your first assignment?

I imagined he would reply eventually, even if tersely, although I couldn’t help but think of when he texted me the second time I took my boards. I hadn’t texted him back. Then again, his manners were better than mine. I was sure he’d reply.

But I was wrong. He still hadn’t answered by the time I reached Paisley and Autumn’s apartment. And not while we went out for Thai food. And not while we stayed up late watching old movies—Mean Girls and The Princess Diaries. Their goal was to make up for my “wacky childhood,” as they called it.

All through the night, the wind continued to howl as the rain poured even harder. Friday morning, the bad weather continued with torrential rain, relentless wind, and falling temperatures as we headed out for a late brunch. Nick still hadn’t texted.

“Why do you keep checking your phone?” Paisley asked.

Before I could respond, Autumn asked, “So what happened with that doctor, anyway?”

“Oh, that,” I answered. “It’s been over for forever.” I gave her a sassy look. “Over a week.”

She laughed. “And how is Nick?”

I sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

We ate at a café in downtown Wilmington that reminded me of the one up the street from where I’d lived in Pittsburgh, which of course made me think of Nick again. Afterward, as we walked through shops, my phone buzzed.

“Oh, good,” Autumn teased. “Maybe it’s him.”

It wasn’t. It was an alert from Mennonites Serve. There was flooding in northern Kent County, Delaware, along the river, and they were sending a team because there was an Amish settlement in the area. Availability was down because of the holiday weekend, and they needed all the volunteers possible.

I quickly texted back, saying I could meet the team there.

Perfect. The team lead texted me the address and said she’d see me soon.

I explained to Autumn and Paisley what the text was about.

“That’s cool,” Autumn said. “Let’s head back to the apartment so you can get your stuff.”

A half hour later, I was on my way south, wondering if Nick was at his folks’ in Lancaster County or at Dover Air Force Base. As a Red Cross volunteer, he might have been summoned to the flooded area too.

The going was slow because of the wind and the rain, and there was standing water across the road in several places with detours in place. Once I neared my destination, the traffic signals were all out, as were the lights in the businesses and houses. I saw several trees toppled across houses and cars. I drove on through the howling wind and rain, hoping it hadn’t been foolish of me to come.