ABRAM CLOSED THE BARN DOOR BEHIND HIM AND WALKED toward the house, shining the flashlight in front of him as he tried to sidestep the standing water still in the yard. Once he hit the sheets of plywood leading to the ramp, he picked up the pace as he neared the porch, but paused at the front door. He didn’t want to lie to his wife. But he also wasn’t going to burden her with the truth. Abram was surprised that the creditor man was calling so late, but he was even more startled by the way the man had spoken to him.
When Abram had hit his credit limit on the only credit card he had, he’d gone to a place in town that loaned people money. He’d been so grateful to the man who’d helped him and thanked the Englischer repeatedly. But now the same fellow was calling because Abram was a week late making a payment. Abram had explained that he hadn’t been able to work much, that his wife had been in the hospital, and that he would make the payment when he got paid the following week. The man told Abram that was unacceptable and that if Abram didn’t pay on time, they’d take him to court. Abram had never owed anyone money, so he explained to the man that he promised not to be late again if he could just give him some extra time this once. The man had grumbled but eventually said that would be okay.
He opened the screen door and walked inside, deciding to head toward the kitchen. He shined the flashlight toward the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of orange juice, freshly squeezed and left at the house by Sarah’s mother. Abram’s mother-in-law had kept the refrigerator stocked while Sarah had been away. He drank from the pitcher, knowing Sarah didn’t like it when he did that, but hoping that she’d be asleep when he got through stalling. But she was sitting up in bed with the lantern lit when he shuffled back into the bedroom.
“What’s wrong?” She tucked strands of long red hair behind her ears.
Abram wanted to lie, but he decided on a version of the truth that he hoped both God and his wife would be okay with. “I borrowed some money while you were in the hospital. It was a man at the company calling to talk about payments.”
Sarah stared blankly at him for a few moments. “How much money?”
Abram swallowed hard, avoided her gaze, and got back in bed. “Not much.” He cringed, reckoning that not much could mean different things to different people. To Abram, twelve thousand dollars was a lot. He’d only had a five-thousand-dollar credit limit on his credit card, and he’d hit that amount when he purchased his first round of supplies for the remodel.
“How much is not much?” Sarah turned her head toward him, frowning.
Abram shrugged. “Just enough to finish up the modifications on the house.” He rolled onto his side and faced away from her, squeezing his eyes closed, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions. Abram had already asked Mr. Hinkle at the hardware store if he could work extra hours for the next few months, and the older man had said he could.
“I could have made do, Abram,” Sarah said softly in a trembling voice.
Abram rolled over to face his wife. She was still sitting up in bed, the lantern on beside her. “I don’t want you to make-do, Sarah. I love you, and I want things to be as easy as possible for you. The house needs to be accessible, especially when we have kinner. Don’t worry about the money. It’s my job to worry about that.” And I’m a little worried. But not only was it his job to take care of his family, he owed Sarah—for the rest of his life—for putting her in a wheelchair.
“We decided when we got married that we were a team.” Sarah folded her arms across her chest. “Did that change?”
“Nee, of course not. But as the head of the household, I’ll handle the money.” Abram waited for the argument he suspected was coming. He closed his eyes, hoping she’d let it go.
“You sound like mei daed and the elders, pulling that card—head of the household. I thought we were going to be different, a team.”
Abram kept his eyes closed. “We are a team. Let’s go to sleep. We’ve got worship service in the morning.”
Sarah stared at her husband, tempted to push the issue, but she reminded herself that she wasn’t the only one adjusting to changes. She extinguished the lantern and scrunched herself down into the covers, moving her legs with her arms. For the past few weeks, her legs had become more and more foreign to her, like she needed to introduce herself to her own limbs. Hello, I’m Sarah. You must be my legs. I can feel you, but you’re useless to me.
She rolled onto her side and snuggled against her husband, surprised that he was still mentioning children. How did Abram think she would take care of a child? And surely he didn’t still want four kinner like they’d talked about.
As good as it felt to be in her own bed with her husband, she was still having trouble falling asleep. But when she finally did, she dreamed she was running. Through a field. But then suddenly she stopped at the edge of a cliff. A little voice in her head screamed, “Jump.” When she turned around, she was back in her house, pulling herself along the living room floor toward the stove. She woke up crying.
After a few brief naps during the night, she decided to get up early and familiarize herself with her new kitchen. Maybe she’d surprise her husband by having breakfast ready when he woke up, showing him—and herself—that she could function effectively, even from a wheelchair. In the darkness, she reached for her wheelchair and pulled it as close to the bed as she could. The wheels swiveled, allowing the chair to be pulled in any direction. Glancing at Abram, she considered waking him for help, if only because her arms were sore from lifting her weight, but she decided to make the attempt on her own.
She surprised herself by getting into the seat without making too much noise. She wheeled herself to the bathroom, then turned on her flashlight. After she’d brushed her teeth, she shed her nightgown and eased on a freshly pressed dress that was folded over a hanger, noticing the hook in the bathroom had been lowered. It took forever to get the dress on, but she felt a sense of accomplishment once it was done, and she quietly left the bathroom. The flashlight didn’t offer as much light as a lantern would have, but everyone was in agreement that it wouldn’t be safe for Sarah to balance a lantern in her lap as she used both arms to wheel herself around.
When she got to the kitchen, she found some matches and lit the lantern in the middle of the dining room table, happy that she could sit comfortably at the table, and that Abram hadn’t felt the need to shave some height off the legs. Then she rolled to the lowered cabinets and lit two more lanterns, brightening the room enough to start breakfast. She raised the green blinds on the two windows in the kitchen so she’d be able to see the sun rise, then rolled herself to the refrigerator. Surely over time her arms wouldn’t be so sore. She pulled the refrigerator door open, but had to stretch to reach the eggs, which were pushed toward the back on the top shelf. For all her husband’s planning, he hadn’t thought about the challenge of reaching into a full-sized refrigerator.
But as she glanced around her modified kitchen, she couldn’t complain. Abram and Johnny had worked hard to make her life easier, and she was going to do her best to stay positive. She latched onto the carton of eggs and placed it in her lap, then found a package of store-bought bacon. Her father wouldn’t like that, but Sarah was thankful her mother had stashed some in the refrigerator. Most of the meat Sarah and Abram had was kept in a frozen storage locker in town, the way it had been done for generations. Many of their people had opted to run small deep freezers using propane, like it was done with the refrigerators, but Abram and Sarah wanted to keep some things the way they had been done by generations before them. As she glanced at her legs, she realized she and Abram might need to rethink that. Hitching the horse for travel wouldn’t be easy for her, maybe impossible. But for today, she decided to take baby steps. She moved a stack of cookbooks, clearing a space on the counter to prepare the eggs.
“Look who’s up early.” Abram walked into the kitchen, wearing a pair of boxers and a white T-shirt, rubbing his eyes. “Need some help?”
“Nee. You go get ready for worship service. I’ll have breakfast ready soon.”
Abram yawned, but she caught a hint of a smile. “Ya, okay.” He nodded at the cookbooks Sarah had put together before the accident. “I bet you’ll sell a lot of those.”
Sarah shrugged. “Maybe.” She’d enjoyed designing the covers and gathering her favorite recipes, but there were a lot of Amish cookbooks for tourists to choose from.
Abram dried off after his shower and breathed in the smell of bacon cooking. Smiling, he slipped into his Sunday slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt, then took a wet rag and wiped down his black shoes, which were dirty from the recent rains and mud. He tossed the rag into the basket in the laundry room before heading to the kitchen, but when he rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly. Sarah’s face was in her hands, her shoulders shaking. In her lap sat a half carton of eggs, most of them broken. On the floor were two or three in a pile of yellow mess. She didn’t say anything, but took one hand and pointed to the spill. Abram took a few slow steps toward her and squatted down, gently putting a hand on her leg.
“It’s okay, Sarah.” He paused when she still didn’t look up. “It’s just eggs. There will be at least a dozen more in the barn when I go out to collect them.”
She slowly lifted her head, her face wet with tears. “It’s not your job to collect the eggs. It’s mine.” Her voice was barely above a shaky whisper. “I cleaned up as best I could, but I couldn’t get them all. I can barely reach the floor to wipe up the mess.”
Abram hurried to the counter and found a roll of paper towels. “Everyone drops eggs sometimes.” He hurried to sop up the mess, collecting the shells in one hand, wiping with the other. “And you know how much I like bacon. I can make a meal on just that.” He smiled as he looked up at her. “No crying over spilt milk, so no crying over dropped eggs either.”
Sarah’s lips curved upward a tiny bit and she sniffled.
“See, there’s my beautiful girl.” Abram tossed the eggs into the trash can, then took the carton from her lap. “Four unbroken. And that’s all we need for a fine breakfast.” He set the eggs on the counter, wet a kitchen towel, and handed it to her. She wiped the egg from her dark green dress. Abram wet another towel and cleaned the floor, then stood up. “Gut as new, mei lieb.”
Sarah wheeled herself to the stove where a pan was already waiting with a dab of butter, and she cracked the four eggs into the skillet while Abram poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. He’d considered offering to finish cooking breakfast, but he sensed Sarah wanted to master the task since she’d gotten up early.
A few minutes later, his wife set a plate with two fried eggs and four slices of bacon in front of him, then made a plate for herself. After they said the blessing, Abram allowed himself a moment to soak in the beauty of the woman he’d married.
“Dark green is your best color, and you look beautiful this morning.” He’d told her that same thing a hundred times, but she’d never looked prettier than at this moment. “That color makes your eyes look even greener than normal.” He shoveled a bite of egg into his mouth, and he was happy to see her eating as well, a hint of a smile on her face for a second time this morning, despite her earlier upset.
A cool breeze swirled through the house, and as the sun came up, Abram felt a sense of peace. God would provide, and he was anxious for worship service so he could give thanks and praise that Sarah was home. He forced away the recollection of the accident, promising himself to focus on the blessings to be thankful for. In time, he would find a way to forgive himself for not being more alert that day, for not keeping his wife safe the way he should have.
Abram stood up and offered to help Sarah clean the kitchen, something he’d done the first week of their married life, but she shook her head. “Nee, I’ll do it.” She put their plates in her lap and wheeled herself to the sink.
“I don’t mind.” He picked up the butter and stowed it in the refrigerator, noticing Sarah didn’t have her socks and shoes on yet. “I can finish cleaning up while you get ready for worship service.”
Sarah filled the sink with soapy water with her back to him. Abram was still getting used to everything being lower, but his wife was scrubbing the dishes with ease, so he felt good about the job he and Johnny had done. Now, he’d just have to find a way to pay for it.
“I’m not going to worship service,” she said without looking at him.
Abram stroked the fuzz on his chin, barely enough to call a beard yet. “Are you sick?”
“Nee, I’m not sick.” Sarah scrubbed egg from one of the plates, then rinsed it and put it in the drying rack. Abram could only recall one time that Sarah had missed worship service. She’d had the flu. “But you should go,” she said as she washed the other plate.
“Is—is something else wrong?”
She shook her head.
Abram thought for a few moments and shrugged. “I don’t think the Lord would fault me for staying home to play hooky with mei fraa, just this once.” He chuckled, but stopped quickly when she spun that wheelchair around in a way he didn’t know she was capable of, her eyes blazing.
“I want you to go, Abram. Go to worship service.”
He swallowed back his anger at her tone of voice, but mostly he was hurt. He’d known from day one that they’d face a lot of challenges in their lives, but maybe he’d underestimated the time it would take for them to settle into their new married lives in a way they hadn’t planned for.
Abram fought the urge to tell her she didn’t have to be so snappy, but instead he pointed out the window. “We’ve had so much rain, the chicken coops are filled with mud, and so is the yard. I’ve got time to collect eggs before I go.”
“I thought that’s why you made a ramp, so I could go up and down.” Her green eyes were stone-cold as she spoke. “And you have wooden slats in the yard for me to cross over to the chicken coops. I’ll get the eggs.” She straightened her back and raised her chin. “Please tell everyone I’m just not up to going today.”
Sarah hadn’t been alone since all of this had happened. Maybe she just needs some time to herself.
“Ya, okay,” he said softly after she’d turned back around and plunged her hands back into the dishwater.
Abram walked up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek. There was no mistaking the way she tensed up and held her breath, her hands becoming perfectly still in the dishwater until he eased away. He stared at her back for a few seconds before he left the room. No matter what she’d said . . .
She blames me too.