For Sure & Certain (32 page)

“What together?” Marigold asked, clinging to his voice, wondering if this was the thread she had been searching for, the string that would piece her in place.

“You wear her clothes, you have her face, but you haven’t learned one very important thing that she unknowingly taught me. Something I forgot until recently.”

“And that is?”

“My grandmother and I lived together despite our differences. I never said you had to be like me. You put that on yourself. And you never asked if trying things differently was okay. You just did whatever you felt like doing.”

“You want me to ask for permission?” Marigold’s voice got hard again, defensive.

“No, I want you to know we don’t have to be the same to be a family.” Out of his pocket he drew a long chain, holding a golden locket. “This locket was my grandmother’s. She died long before you or Cedar were ever born, so you never could have seen it, but she wore this everyday. She said life was too hard to get through on her own and that she needed the people she loved pressed against her heart. She never showed me what was inside, but when she died I looked. All those years it held a photograph of the grandfather I never met and me. I want you to wear it now.”

When she didn’t resist, her dad clasped the chain around her neck. The locket was heavy and gleamed. She wanted to look inside, but she knew this was dangerous ground.

“Amish don’t wear jewelry,” she whispered, pressing her fingers against the metal plate.

“Oh.” Her father’s face drained, revealing his age once more. “It’s an awful lot to give up, isn’t it Marigold?”

“Ja, tis.” Unable to resist, She clicked open the locket. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the miniature family portrait. It was a picture she’d seen many times, when Lily was first brought home from the hospital, all of them gathered around the tiny girl. Was that the last time they were all truly happy she wondered? Would that memory be the only one her parents had of all of them together, in one place?

The other photo was one of a woman Marigold had never met or seen.

“Your grandma?” she asked her father.

“Grandma Marigold.”

Her breath caught, she’d always assumed her and her siblings were named after one of her Mom’s flower-child fantasies. But apparently there was more to it, more to everything. Without thinking she flung her arms around his neck. It didn’t feel familiar, but it did feel like family. Somehow being here had drawn out the vulnerability in her father, something she’d been looking for her entire life. Something she always knew she wanted, but never knew how to find.

It took leaving for the two of them to find their way back together.

He left shortly after and Marigold watched his car drive off in a cloud of smoke. Standing in the driveway her eyes blurred with tears. She tucked the locket under her heavy dress and walked back to the yarn shed, wondering for the first time in her life, if maybe her dad was right. Maybe in an effort to be herself, she’d forgotten who she was.

chapter eighteen

Abel

The call woke him from his sleep. The alarm clock read 4 am, and the ringing from the landline blasted him up from the twin bed he slept on.

“What the hell?” Jordan threw a pillow at him. Abel reached for the phone, rubbing his eyes.

“Hello?”

“Abel, it’s your dad.” Marigold’s voice shook through the line. “He had a heart attack. He’s at the hospital in Lancaster. Can you come straight away?”

“Ja, ja of course. I’ll be there.” He paused, and then asked. “Is he…?”

“I don’t know.” She pulled in a breath, obviously in tears. “But I need you here. We all do.”

***

The bus and taxi ride was a blur and when they pulled up to the front entrance, Abel handed the driver money and flew through the front doors.

The hospital had a small waiting room, and before he got to the reception desk Eli intercepted him. He could see the rest of the Miller family sat in the waiting room keeping vigil, along with Bishop Fisher.

“Brother,” said Eli, throwing his arms around his brother. “You’re here.”

“Is he okay?” Abel asked as they walked towards their mother and sisters. Sarah sat holding a sleeping Abe in her arms, and next to her Bekah sat with her head bowed in prayer. Next to her was a pensive Marigold. Her eyes were glassy but gleaming, any trace of tears already brushed away. She looked so different, a kapp on her head and a heavy Amish dress on her small frame, seeming to engulf her.

“Oh, Abel.” His mom reached for him. “We’ve been here about three hours, and they’ve given him, oh what was it?” She turned to Eli, looking for help with the terminology.

“It was clot-blocker medication. We are waiting to see how he responds. An ambulance came for him at the farm, after Mom woke to him falling out of bed. It’s been….”

“Awful.” Abel finished for him, his face ashen as he took in the severity of the situation.

Abel pulled his hand through his hair. He forgot his hat in his rush to leave, and he felt bare. The hospital so sterile, so bright white, and his family so dark, so serious standing in their small grouping.

Bishop Fisher spoke gravelly, “It is good you are here, son. Your family needs you. It is good to see you where you belong.”

“Of course,” answered Abel, swallowing hard.

“We should sit in prayer, steadfast as ever, for the healing of your father,” announced Bishop Fisher. Everyone nodded, and gathered in seats in the waiting room.

Abel sat with his hands folded out of respect, but his mind raced with the innuendo of the Bishop words, that he was needed here. The unknown future of his father’s fate spilled across his face, and as he wiped the tears from his eyes, he met Marigold’s eyes once again. It had been months, and she had changed, but his heart for her hadn’t.

He wished he could reach across the divide, and pull her close. He needed comfort only she could offer. The room was quiet, and he tried to still his mind. He had to decide what mattered most, in the end.

***

The doctor met them in the waiting room several hours later for an update. All morning the family sat in quiet meditation, praying for his deliverance.

“The medication worked and he’s awake now. He’ll need to stay and be monitored for a few days, but he’s recovering,” the doctor explained. Before he could utter another word, his mother spoke out, uncharacteristically bold.

“Oh thank you.” She began crying uncontrollably, and Abel watched as Marigold and Bekah wrapped their arms around his mother. It was a seamless motion, Marigold standing and coming to give comfort. She looked so Amish as she did it, with her head bowed, her movements slow and steady. The elfish ghost-girl he’d met months ago was gone. She’d been replaced with a model Amish woman.

And his father was alive. Recovering. His family could continue as before. The only thing Abel needed to figure out was, could he?

Marigold

Mr. Miller was propped up on the couch, resting. He came home this morning after forty-eight hours at the hospital. With a covey of visitors dropping off heart-healthy casseroles and low-sodium chicken potpies, the house had been bustling all afternoon.

Marigold looked out the window over the kitchen sink as she filled the coffeepot with water. She saw Abel walk out of the barn office, a pile of papers in his hand. He’d both been so busy the last few days, helping completing farm tasks for his dad while he was out of commission.

Turning away from the window, she set the pot on the stove and lit it. Abel walked through the back door and she focused on the white enameled stove to avoid turning around and meeting his gaze.

“Marigold,” he said, breaking the silence. “You making coffee, ja?”

Turning, she retied her apron strings, still not wanting to look up. The bishop had been constantly reminding her of where her eyes should be. Everything was different now that she was taking her baptism classes. The summer had been filled with grace, extended to her as a visitor. But now life here was different now, stricter, more real.

Everything seemed to be spiraling faster than she was prepared for. She’d lost her hold. Her fingers fumbled to tie the bow.

“You okay, Marigold?” Abel asked, moving closer. She held up her hand to him, not wanting to be so close. Her apron fell and she leaned to pick it up from the floor. Closing her eyes she tried to shake it off as a bevy of emotions closed in on her.

Recognizing she wasn’t well, Abel spoke more softly, “Marigold, do you want to talk? I know it’s been scary, having to call 911, and not knowing if my dad would make it out okay.” He stepped behind her and took her apron strings, tying it in place.

His fingers, even through the layers of clothing, felt strong. Strong enough to hold her. Still.

“Abel,” she whispered as his hands stayed in place, at the small of her back. She wanted to turn, to have him hold her in place. Steady her.

“It’s okay,” he said, his breath against her back. “You’re gonna be okay.”

She didn’t believe him. She wanted to say so, but Bekah walked in the kitchen, smelling the boiling coffee, probably.

“Oh, umm. Sorry.” She hesitated in the doorway. “You know there are lots of people in the living room, ja? Maybe it’s not the time for an, umm, reunion?”

“It’s not like that,” said Abel too quickly, and Bekah just smiled at him and made her way to the coffeepot.

“Okay, brother. Whatever you say. Just don’t be messing with my girl here. Joshua and I have been spending lots of time with her, and she’s turned into a right good Amish woman.” Bekah took the creamer from the fridge and set it on a tray, adding a plate of cookies. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not,” said Abel defensively. “You think I want to mess anything up? What do you think I’ve been doing all morning, Bekah? I’m trying to get things in order for Dad.” He picked up his stack of papers from the table and waved them in her face.

“What’s going on?” Eli’s tone immediately reprimanding everyone as he stepped into the kitchen. “Mom and Dad are visiting with the neighbors, and we can all hear the ruckus in here.”

“There is no ruckus,’ Abel said rolling his eyes. “What there is,” he whispered through clenched teeth, “is an absolute disaster with payroll, some people haven’t been paid in over four weeks, and I don’t know why Dad hasn’t made the shipment for this past summer’s wool. It’s going to be ruined if it sits in the barn all winter. Why hasn’t he hired someone to take over my duties yet? What’s been going on here?”

“What’s been going on is you leaving Dad to do things that are over his head,” Eli said, matching Abel’s hushed tone. “You had these grand ideas to grow the business, and then you leave him to fend for himself. He isn’t like you, brother. He did things the old way, and you’ve left him. You did this to him.”

The kitchen was so still they could have heard a pin drop. It wasn’t fair to blame Abel for his father’s heart attack. Marigold covered her face, not wanting to see how Abel would react to such a judgment.

“That’s not true, Eli,” said Bekah. “Dad could have hired someone straight away instead of shouldering this himself in hopes Abel would return. He didn’t want to see the truth of Abel’s choices.  Apologize, it’s not our way, brother, to place blame.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Abel asked, turning towards his sister. “If I hadn’t left, things wouldn’t have fallen apart.”

No one answered, and their silence made it clear what they thought. Yes, leaving had left Mr. Miller in a bind he wasn’t prepared to free himself from. It had been more weight than he knew how to bear. The brothers locked eyes with one another, and Marigold couldn’t help wonder if the assessment was entirely true.

At what point did it become okay to demand another person to live a life you want for them more than what they want for themselves? When there is a heart attack, a death. A life? Marigold didn’t have the answers, but she knew it wasn’t right to take all the weight from Mr. Miller and drop it on Abel either.

“I’m going to serve the coffee,” Bekah announced, finally. She left the kitchen with her tray and Eli followed her out.

After a beat of silence, Abel spoke, “I should go sort this paper work out.” He left through the back door, the stack of paper in hand.

The words of her father reverberated in head,
you don’t have to be the same to be family
. But here in the Miller house that wasn’t true. Here you had to be exactly the same, exactly right. Otherwise there wasn’t a place for you. There wasn’t a space for Abel unless he became something he wasn’t.

And where did that leave her? What if over time she changed, what if she grew in ways she couldn’t account for as an eighteen year old? Where would that leave here then?

Marigold smoothed her apron and walked out the door after him. But not towards Abel, towards the yarn shed because none of what was running through her mind was about him, not really. It was about her. The girl she was.