SARAH STARED OUT THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW FROM HER wheelchair, watching the rain pound against the earth as it clanked against the metal roof of the house. Small puddles were beginning to connect, and she feared the yard would be a lake by the time Abram returned from church service. She knew better than to collect eggs in this weather. She’d missed the opportunity to master that task earlier, but by now, even the plywood ramps would not keep her wheelchair from getting stuck near the chicken coops.
She regretted the way she’d spoken to Abram. There wasn’t a better man in the world, and her husband had moved mountains to try and make everything perfect for her. A burst of light lit the living room, followed by a loud rumble that shook the floors. The rain poured in thick sheets across the fields. Someone should have canceled worship service today. The landscape would surely fill with colorful blooms after all the rain, but such weather made driving the buggies hazardous. She stared out the window for a few more minutes and said a quick prayer that Abram and the others would have safe travels on the way home later. But now she was going to set out to do what she’d wanted to do since being released from the hospital.
She moved to the middle of the living room, leaned forward, and moved the platform out from under her bare feet. When she did, her feet flopped around like fish out of water for a couple of seconds until they landed on the floor the way normal feet were supposed to. Lifting her dress to her thighs, she eyed the scars that ran up each leg; unsightly, red lines still visible from the stiches she’d had. She put her dress back down and knew she was going to fall, but no one had even allowed her to try to stand up on her own. How would she ever know for sure if she didn’t try? She could feel her clammy feet against the cool floor.
Please, God. I’m begging You. I’m asking for the miracle the doctors said wasn’t possible. But You can do anything. Please, Lord . . .
She’d played volleyball since she was old enough to walk, and she’d always been fairly athletic. But as she pushed herself up from the chair using only her arms, they trembled from the weight of her body. She waited for her legs to do something, instinctively, partially, to lend any sort of support. I need hope. But they were as lifeless as she felt most days. When she tried to put any weight on her feet, they turned inward. She’d surely break her ankles if she gave all of her weight to her powerless lower limbs. She fell back into the chair, deciding she would let herself cry and get it out of her system before Abram got home. He deserves so much better than me.
Her tears and anger mixed with pity, and the trio of emotions melded into something she didn’t know how to identify. Retched came to mind. But somehow, she was going to have to feel better. Be better. Abram deserved that. She just didn’t know how to get to that place. Maybe she wouldn’t. But she was going to need to start doing her best to fake it. She got her feet resituated on the platforms, spun the chair around, and went to the kitchen. Pineapple upside-down cake was her husband’s favorite dessert, and she was going to have one waiting for him when he got home. Then she remembered she didn’t have any eggs, and it was only a few moments later when that annoyance was enough to make the tears come after all. But she sucked them back when she heard an unfamiliar sound coming from outside.
Abram got his horse in the stall and ran across a river of water flooding his front yard. He’d worried all through worship service about Sarah. He burst through the front door, dripping water on the living room floor, and relief consumed him when she rolled across the room carrying a bath towel. “I was getting worried,” she said when she handed it to him.
He wiped his face and dabbed at his wet clothes. “We won’t be going out in the buggy for a while. Your daed said this rain is supposed to keep up for another couple of days. I don’t remember the last time I saw rain like this in Lancaster County. Lots of places are already flooded.”
“What did—did people say about me not being at church?” Sarah looked away as she lowered her chin.
“No one asked why you weren’t there, they just wanted to know how you were doing.” He took his hat off and ran the towel across his head and over his face again. “Ach, except your mamm and your bruder. They wanted to know why you didn’t go. I told them you needed some time to yourself and weren’t up to getting out.” He nodded toward the window. “Probably just as well. It’s miserable out there. Lots of folks didn’t even stay for the meal afterward, worried about not being able to get home. And your daed wasn’t at worship again.”
“I wish Daed would get right with the bishop.” Sarah smiled for a brief second. “Danki for understanding that I just needed some time alone.”
Abram felt like the waters had parted, and he dashed to her side and squatted down. “I want to do whatever you want me to do, Sarah. Just tell me. I’ll do anything. I want you to be happy.”
His heart hammered against his chest as he waited for any sign of hope. Just tell me we’re going to be okay. Tell me that you don’t hate me or blame me.
She grimaced, and Abram thought his pounding heart might shatter his chest wall.
“I heard an odd noise while you were gone.”
It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but at least they were talking, having a normal conversation. “What kind of odd noise?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“A person? An animal?” He wrapped the towel around his shoulders, still soaked and shivering, but not about to walk away to dress in dry clothes. “Something with the weather, like a branch snapping?”
She sighed. “Nee, it was like a wailing sound. At first, it scared me because it almost sounded like a child. But then I heard it again, and I don’t think that’s what it was.” She glanced toward the window. “I would have gone to check, but . . . all that water.”
“Nee, nee. I was worried you might try to go feed the chickens and get stuck out there.”
Silence.
He’d lost her again. That’s how it had been since the accident. She’d act like his Sarah, then seemed to remember her situation and retreat to whatever dark place she’d created in her mind. But he waited. She stared into space over his shoulder.
“I’m going to get out of these wet clothes.” He stood up, kissed her on the forehead, and felt her tense up at his touch.
By the time he’d put on dry clothes and returned to the living room, she’d started reading a book, but she was still in the wheelchair. He thought she’d be more comfortable on the couch, but he decided to stay quiet. It was safer that way.
For the first time that he could recall, he was actually looking forward to going to work tomorrow, to a place where eggshells didn’t line the floors.
Monday morning, Sarah sat in the middle of her living room, her mother standing by her side, both of them staring at the contraption her mother had brought her.
“It’s an electronic gadget that will clean your floors,” Mamm said. “I charged it at Myrna Chapman’s house, the Englisch woman you’ve heard me talk about before.” She and her mother both bent to have a closer look.
“It looks like a flying saucer.” Sarah frowned. “And it uses electricity. The bishop wouldn’t approve.”
Mamm tapped a finger to her chin. “Ya, well, the bishop doesn’t approve of a lot of things, and without an electric wheelchair, it would be difficult to sweep your floors the usual way. I can come and do them once a week, but—”
“Nee, I don’t want you doing that.” Sarah sighed as she studied the round disk on the floor, not much bigger than a kitchen plate. “You just push the button and it sweeps the floors?” That seems too good to be true.
“Ya.” Her mother clapped her hands, grinning. “Try it. It says on the box that it will run for hours. So, when it runs out of energy, I will take it to recharge. At least you can sweep the floors easily once a week or so.”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know about this, Mamm.”
“This is a small and efficient tool. Or so I’ve heard.” Mamm was still smiling, like a child with a new toy.
“Your father wants you to have an electric wheelchair, but it—”
“Nee, Mamm, nee. That requires electricity, too, and it’s much too expensive.” Sarah sighed. “I want Daed to get right with the bishop and start going to worship service again.”
Mamm folded her hands in front of her and locked eyes with Sarah. “Speaking of . . . why weren’t you at church yesterday?”
“I just needed some time to myself. At the hospital, everyone hovered, and Abram hovers, and I just wanted to be alone.” Mostly true. Her father might not be going to church because he wasn’t right with the bishop. Sarah didn’t feel right with God.
“Ya, I can understand that,” her mother said softly, then her face lit up again. “Push the button.”
Sarah grinned, leaned down, and hit Start. Her mother jumped when the gadget played a little tune, spun in a circle, then took off across the living room. “Isn’t that something?” Her mother shook her head, smiling.
After a few minutes of watching the mechanical robot bounce into the walls and furniture in an effort to get around, Sarah’s mother put a casserole in the refrigerator and said she was leaving. “More rain coming today. Some of the fields still look like lakes, so I better get home.” She stood staring at Sarah for a few moments, then put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Everything is going to be all right. It’s a new way of life, a challenge. But God is with you every step of the way.”
“I won’t be taking any steps, Mamm.”
Her mother bit her bottom lip. “You know what I mean. Stay strong in your faith, Sarah. The Lord tests those He believes in the most, those who can endure and prevail. You might not understand why this happened, but stay close to Him.”
Sarah nodded, but she didn’t have much to say to God at the moment as she watched her mechanical cleaning machine banging into everything she owned. Awhile later, when the thing found her knitting basket and latched on to a thread hanging over the side, she had to chase it down in her wheelchair while she watched the pair of pink booties she’d been knitting unfurl. She slowed down and then came to a stop. Did it really matter if the booties were destroyed? She’d started making them before she knew she wouldn’t be having children.
As she let that soak in, she heard a noise outside, the same wailing she’d heard the day before, only louder. And it sounded like it was coming from the porch.