Fraying at the Edge (22 page)

Brandi glanced toward the stage, probably seeing Nicholas, and she looked a bit unsure, but she handed her cup to Cameron. “Let's do this.”

The beautiful fall day seemed to tilt, and as Ariana approached the stage, she feared she'd trip over her own feet. She stopped at the bottom of the steps. What was she doing?

Brandi came up beside her and placed her hand on Ariana's back. “You need a nudge or a place to run?”

Ariana wanted to run. What was she doing? “A nudge.”

Brandi took her by the hand and moved ahead of her, leading her up the steps and toward the piano.

Nicholas smiled broadly. “What are you two singing?”

“ ‘Bridge over Troubled Water' by Simon and Garfunkel?” Ariana asked Brandi.

“Fine by me. Nicholas?”

“Good choice. Go.” He nodded toward center stage.

Looking at the stage from this spot, Ariana couldn't budge. Her eyes filled with tears, and she could hardly breathe. Why was she volunteering to disobey the Old Ways? Rather than protecting simplicity and humility, she was offering to get on stage and showcase herself. This wasn't something Nicholas had mandated.

Brandi's hand was warm against her back. “We can still bow out. Ask yourself, do I want the reward bad enough?”

Ariana had no doubts about that part. “Ya.”

“Then let's do it.” Brandi nodded at Nicholas, and he began playing. “Energy and smiles,” Brandi whispered. “If we can't get it right, we'll make it entertaining.” She swaggered onto the stage.

Ariana followed, looking back at Nicholas as if he might change his mind about the reward and come rescue her. The lead-in music seemed to last longer than usual. Brandi moved to the microphone. When Ariana missed her cue to begin for the second time, Nicholas said, “Her first time onstage, folks.”

The people clapped, and Nicholas played the lead-in again. Ariana missed her cue, and Brandi started singing. Ariana could see Brandi's lips moving, but she couldn't make out the lyrics or the tune. Tears spilled from Brandi's eyes, and when her voice wavered, Nicholas joined in with his beautiful tenor voice: “Like a bridge over troubled waters, I will lay me down.”

Chills ran over Ariana's body as she saw the earnestness on his face. Was he having a change-of-heart moment as he sang? It seemed so.

He continued singing, and when his eyes met Brandi's, he smiled. She gained her composure and joined him. It soon became clear to Ariana that they were singing to her—promising to be a bridge for her over troubled waters.

Maybe they hadn't tried to be a bridge for her before now, but in this moment, as truth seemed to float on the notes, the words seemed to pierce their hearts, and she was certain they meant them.

When the song ended, he began another tune, one that he'd learned last week was a favorite of Ariana's: “Hello” by Adele.

She took a deep breath, and when he played the cue, she didn't miss it this time. “Hello, it's me. I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet…”

The words had never meant more, and she sang loud and clear, grateful she had four parents who loved her. Each set was as different as she was from Quill, but determined love was the unifying factor, not the stress and anger brought on by their differences.

In her mind's eye she sang to her Amish parents—singing her hellos from the other side—and her Englisch parents sang with her.

A
bram's face tingled from the cool air. The sun was hiding behind clouds, and he should've worn a coat, but he'd forgotten to grab it before leaving the café. The place was now closed for the day, but his sisters were still there, cleaning and reorganizing the work stations. He'd hurried out the door to go to Cilla's without thinking about how cool it was outside.

The usually fleeting buggy ride to Cilla's house felt more like a pilgrimage this time. Was it because he was eager to see her? He'd insisted she take off today except for going with him to the store to pick up supplies. The café needed staples, lots of them. But the need for supplies wasn't why he'd asked Cilla to go with him. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to see her. He was almost glad Barbie had stood him up a few months back. Almost.

The scents of fall filled the air. The leaves had changed from green to reds and yellows, but now, on the last day of October, most of their beauty was muted by brown. Abram pulled his buggy onto Cilla's driveway, parked by the shed, and walked to the front porch. Before he knocked on the door, she came out of the house.

Her smile was weaker than usual, and she moved slowly toward a rocker. “Good afternoon.”

“Hi.” Abram took her hand and helped her to the chair. “You all right?”

Her gentle smile didn't falter. “Oh, definitely fine.”

“You don't look it.”

She chuckled, and he heard a rasping noise. “I'll give you a break, Abram, and pretend you didn't say that.”

He grabbed a nearby rocker and turned it to face her before he sat. “You're working at the café too much, aren't you? And now you've agreed to go shopping with me.”

“Work has nothing to do with it. I arrive hours after you do and leave hours before. My lungs are giving me a bit of trouble today. That happens regardless of what I do.”

“Ya, maybe so, but you're there from the time we open until we close, and work is tiring for those without breathing issues. You don't have to do so much at the café.”

“Are you already getting tired of me?”

He smiled. “Not hardly. I just don't want you doing too much.”

“I think overdoing it is going from having a full-time roofing job to working at a café and not having a social life.”

Abram gestured toward her. “
This
isn't a social life?”

A hint of shyness briefly crossed her face. “Only a person who has never had a social life would have to ask.”

Abram laughed. “What about you? I don't see you running around much.”

“My sister Barbie has enough of a social life for both of us.”

He'd rather avoid that topic. He studied Cilla. “Are you up to grocery shopping?”

She put her hands on the armrests and pushed, shakily getting to her feet. “Yep.”

Abram didn't know whether to try to help her or not. Sometimes pulling on a person hurt more than helped. “Are you sure?”

“Ya, I fear what Susie and Martha will have to bake with next week if you shop alone.”

“Really?” Abram sighed. “I'm concerned about you, and you're cracking jokes.”

She held out her forearm. “Not just any jokes. Potshots at you specifically.”

He took her arm and was surprised by how much support she needed to get down the steps. “Susie gave me a list: bread flour, sugar, salt, coffee…Besides, what's so bad about my shopping?”

“You ever shopped before?”

“Well, no, but—”

“The list says coffee. What kind do we serve?”

“Uh.” Was this a trick question? “Regular.”

Cilla laughed. “No, the correct answer is local dark roast, and Skylar requested a light gourmet.”

He opened the door for her and helped her get in. “Well, luckily, you will be able to keep me straight.”

Cilla lifted one brow. “Good grief, Abram, no woman has that much energy.”

He laughed and was still chuckling as he got into the rig on the other side.

Cilla sat up straight as if trying to expand her lungs. “I've been watching Skylar this week, and I think you need to find a way to be her friend.”

“A friend? She's not interested in being anyone's friend. I get the feeling she's using great restraint to avoid acting like we're the enemy.”

“That's probably a fair assessment. Seems as if she thinks she wants to be left alone to do her own thing, but she's wrong.”

Abram thought for a moment. “Wrong in thinking that's what she wants or wrong to want it?”

“Yes.”

No one made him smile as easily as Cilla did. He leaned over and nudged her with his elbow. “You're a little free with the advice, aren't you?”

She teasingly slapped at his arm. “Remember, this relationship started by your coming to me to ask my opinion.”

“True.”

“I'm just helping by noticing ahead of time where advice is needed.”

“Like knowing I'd need you on this shopping trip.”

“Exactly. My body may be frail, but I can still outshop any man.”

“Good to know.” He tugged on the reins, slowing as they came to a stop sign. “I'll make new efforts with Skylar.”

A beautiful grin stretched across Cilla's face. “Good.”

They rode in silence until they pulled onto the gravel lot of a small grocery store. Abram set the brake on the buggy and went over to Cilla's side and helped her down. She wobbled as she walked, and he left his hand on her arm. She smiled and gently pushed it away. “I'm fine.” He nodded, but he didn't release her until they had a grocery cart for her to lean on.

The store had hardwood floors and rows of staples. A young Amish woman stood behind the counter. Abram nodded at her, and she returned his gesture with a smile.

“
This
is the wholesale store?” Cilla asked.

“It carries bulk and is within driving distance for a horse and carriage.”

“This place is bound to be expensive. We probably need to do some research.”

Cilla guided the cart, using it to steady herself. When feeling well, she seemed to move as freely as anyone her age. But bouts of weakness came on so suddenly it bothered him.

They discussed each item on his list and found the right ones, and he put them in the cart.

“Ah, the coffee.” Abram loaded ten burlap bags.

Then he saw that Cilla looked paler now.

“We have enough for this trip.” He looked toward the front of the store, thinking he shouldn't have let her come. “Let's check out.”

She gestured at his list. “Let's finish.”

“No, I think—”

“Please don't do this.” She paused, taking shallow breaths. “We came with a list, and when it's filled, we'll head home.”

He nodded, but as they continued, her breathing worsened. He could hear her rasping even when she was several feet away. By the last aisle, she was leaning against the cart as if it was the only thing keeping her feet under her.

Abram thought it would be best not to ask again if she was ready to go or if she was okay, because she would give the same answer. How often did her breathing get like this? He didn't dare ask right now.

Instead Abram put his left hand on the cart, and Cilla leaned against him. As they walked slowly down the aisles, Abram examined the prices. “The café could get more items for less if we went to a real wholesale store instead of one that just sells in bulk.” He picked up a twenty-pound bag of sugar. “But I'd need an Englisch driver, because there's no way to get there except high-traffic roads, including the highway.”

Cilla covered her mouth with a handkerchief as she coughed. “But hiring a driver would cost more than you would save, wouldn't it?”

“I didn't think about that.” Abram paused for a moment. “If I asked Jackson, I'm sure he would take me.”

“Hm. That sounds an awful lot like friendship.”

“I'm not following.”

She smiled. “Sometimes friendships lead to social lives.”

Abram chuckled. “You're worried about that, aren't you?” He checked the basket. “I think we have plenty for the next couple of days.”

He would call Jackson and ask him to drive him to the wholesale store.

By the time they paid for the items, Cilla's coughing spells were growing worse. Did she need to go to the hospital? He put the bagged items in the cart and got Cilla to the curb. “Wait here.” He hurried to the rig and pulled in front of the store. After he helped her into the carriage, he threw the bags in the back.

When he got in, she was leaning against the headrest, trying to catch her breath.

“Where to—home or hospital?”

She frowned. “It sounds worse than it is. Just take me home so I can get a breathing treatment.”

He hoped that was true, but clearly she downplayed her health issues. Before they were halfway back to her house, night fell, and the air turned much colder. Cilla's breathing was short and raspy, and he urged the horse to hurry.

Something was wrong. Really wrong. In all his years of knowing her, he'd never heard her breathe like this. When they finally arrived at her home, Abram briskly walked over to help Cilla get down. She almost fell out of the buggy, so he scooped her in his arms and carried her up the porch steps.

He jostled her a bit as he grabbed the doorknob and opened the door.
“Hallo?”
He saw no one and heard nothing. Cilla's eyes were closed. Had she passed out? “We need some help,” he called out louder and immediately heard footsteps. Barbie entered first, and her mother trailed quickly behind.

Barbie hurried to Cilla and unbuttoned her coat. “How bad?”

Abram didn't know how to respond.

Cilla's mother went to the sink and doused a kitchen towel in water.

Barbie caressed her sister's face, rousing Cilla.

“Seven,” Cilla whispered.

Barbie darted away.

Steam rose from the towel in her mother's hand as she laid it over Cilla's chest, soaking her dress. “Can you carry her to her room?”

“Ya. Where?”

Emma led him up the stairs. “She needs to be fully on the bed but sitting upright.”

“Okay.” By the time Abram eased Cilla onto the bed, Barbie was already on it, a breathing mask in hand.

“Will she be all right?” he asked.

“She'll be fine.” Barbie eased the mask over Cilla's nose and mouth. She then cupped her hand and hit her sister's chest again and again.

Emma moved tubes and cords out of the way, and Abram noted the electric cords went to a small adjoining balcony where there was apparently some sort of generator. “She won't be able to work for a few days.”

Guilt almost knocked his feet out from under him. Had working done this? Had going out today made it worse? “I never thought…”

Barbie glanced at the machine and then went over to it and turned the knobs, making it beep. A mist entered Cilla's mask.

Cilla sucked in air. “Barbie—”

“Sh.” Emma sat on the side of the bed, reaching for her daughter's face. “Save your oxygen.” She brushed the back of her fingers across Cilla's cheek.

Abram hadn't realized any of this. He'd known she was sick, but she had a generator to operate medical equipment and set methods for getting relief?

Emma stood. “We need some privacy now, but she'll be herself next time you see her.”

Abram clutched Cilla's hand. “I'm sorry.” Those were the only words that came to his mind.

Cilla's eyes reflected sadness, but she gave a weak smile and squeezed his hand.