The Judgment (12 page)

Suddenly, Rose heard weeping coming from the bathroom, and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Barbara, what’ll we do?” she whispered. “Poor, dear Mamm!”

“Let’s pray.”

Barbara led Rose to the small sofa and knelt there with her, both of them offering silent prayers for Mamm while the sound of pain-wracked sobbing filled the house.

Solomon cradled Emma in his arms and gently placed her frail body on their bed. He covered her with a red and violet afghan. All the while he beseeched God to help his wife make it through this, vowing that he would find a way to convince her to see a specialist, lest she weaken further and die.

He wondered if he should have Rose Ann run to the phone shanty and call for Old Eli, the Amish folk doctor in Quarryville. Years ago, Sol had taken Emma there in the family carriage. Eli had insisted Sol not pay for the visit, citing the many instances where Sol had been quick to extend his generosity to others. But as it turned out, Eli’s hot and cold applications gave Emma only temporary relief, and by the time they had arrived home, the shooting pain in his wife’s back had returned with a vengeance.

Now, sitting on the bed, he wondered what to do next. There was no health insurance to cover Emma’s medical costs, though he knew the church’s benevolence fund would assist if necessary. Emma had always been adamant about accepting her lot in life, as she believed this to be. Yet Sol could no longer hold his tongue on the matter.
Oh, Lord, grant me your wisdom. . . .

“Thy will be done . . . in heaven and on earth,” Emma whispered, opening her golden-brown eyes.

Sol pushed several stray hairs away from her damp forehead. “Amen and amen.” He leaned down to press his cheek next to hers, checking for a fever. She was surprisingly cool, even clammy. He didn’t have the heart to ask if she was without pain, though she did seem to be calmer than earlier today. “I’ll stay here with you, even into the night if necessary.”

“Sol, you need your rest.”

He kissed her forehead, then lightly placed his hand over her eyes, hoping Emma might relax. “Not as much as you do, dear.”

A slight knock came at the door, and Sol rose slowly. When he opened the door a crack, he saw Beth’s big, worried eyes peering in. “Jah?” he whispered.

Beth stood there silently, her forehead wrinkled in a deep frown.

“You mustn’t worry over Emma,” he said, seeing the girl’s distress. “I’ll take care of her.”

Slowly, Beth nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she leaned her head on the doorjamb and sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with her breath.

“Is Rose in the kitchen? Maybe you can help set the table for dinner.”

Beth lifted her head and tilted it inquisitively, like a little bird. She looked into the room, past him, to Emma. “Oh . . . dear lady,” she said softly. “Poor, dear lady.”

Solomon felt so awkward, never before having encountered a young woman like Beth—slow in her mind and unpredictable, too. Abe Esh, the deacon’s twelve-year-old grandson, was like her in many ways, but he was a boy, after all. It was far easier for Sol to relate to him. Standing there with Beth so near, he wished Rose might call for her.

Instead, it was Emma who called Beth’s name just then. How strange that she must’ve sensed her there, standing all forlorn in the doorway. And, with Emma’s lips shaping Beth’s name, the young woman tiptoed to the bedside, knelt quietly, and put her head down on the brightly colored afghan.

For pity’s sake!
Solomon inched to the foot of the bed as Beth began to say a childlike prayer, pleading with the heavenly Father to “look down with compassion and mercy on Rosie’s mommy.”

Such an unexpected yet beautiful thing to behold. Solomon found himself wiping away silent tears.

Hen felt bad for not sharing with her sister about Brandon’s ultimatum, but she desired to keep the dreadful news between just her and Dad until she knew what to do. Or at least until she found the right moment to talk with Rose. As it was, she half feared Rose might plead with her to return straightaway to the house in town. Yet how could she, with her husband so opposed to the Plain values and traditions that were once again a part of her?

Hen picked up the newspaper she’d purchased yesterday evening at a gas station on the way home from seeing Brandon. She found herself quickly absorbed in reading about the after-Thanksgiving sales, recalling the few years she’d crawled out of bed before dawn to go and stand in nearly endless lines at various stores. “No more,” she muttered to herself, spotting the types of secular toys her daughter had always pleaded for and usually received “from Santa,” thanks to Brandon and his parents.

Presently, Mattie Sue wandered downstairs and into the small living room, looking rather glum. Earlier she’d asked Hen to wrap her head with braids, unlike most young Amish girls. Yet, seeing how determined Mattie Sue was, Hen had wound her daughter’s hair the way she’d asked. Mattie came over and plopped down on the sofa, sniffling. Then, leaning her head against Hen’s arm, she asked in a sad tone, “When can I see Daddy again?”

Hen had thought of taking her tomorrow, on a quiet Saturday morning, to see how Brandon might actually respond to Hen’s staying and doing needlework while Mattie Sue visited. She recalled how adamant he’d been about wanting Mattie dropped off, and with a sigh, she realized she had no idea if he would even be home tomorrow. What if she found only Terry there again? Hen certainly wasn’t looking forward to a similar awkward encounter.

“I miss my puppy dog, too.” Mattie Sue wiped her eyes. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, and I know you miss Daddy even more than Wiggles.” Hen leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Maybe next week I’ll take you.”

“But I don’t want to wait.”

“Well, it might not suit Daddy right now if we just popped in.”

“Why not, Mommy?” Mattie asked, beginning to carry on like she had when they’d lived with Brandon not so many weeks ago.

At that moment, Hen heard a car creeping into the driveway, and when she got up to look, she noticed a familiar blue Dodge Caravan.
Well, what do you know,
she thought. “Mattie Sue . . . go look outside. Someone you know is coming to visit.”

Mattie Sue ran to the back door window. “It’s Diane Perlis . . . and Karen!”

“
Mrs. Perlis
, remember, honey.”

Mattie Sue was much too surprised by the visit to correct herself. And before Hen could say otherwise, she darted out the back door without a coat and ran across the yard to her little friend. Mattie Sue hugged Karen as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. A lump came into Hen’s throat as she stood in the open door witnessing the affectionate greeting, suddenly realizing she was depriving her daughter of not only her father but of her dearest friend.

“Hen . . . hi!” called Diane, looking at her now with eyebrows raised at Hen’s full Amish attire. She was a slip of a woman with a thick fringe of bangs and stick-straight brown hair that hung past her shoulders.

“Good to see you, Diane.” Hen wandered down the steps, shivering in the cool air.

Sporting pale pink sweats and a pink and white jersey, Diane gave her a quick, casual hug. “I’ve been calling and calling your house for weeks. Then, finally, Brandon picked up the phone this afternoon.” Diane looked over her shoulder at the girls and lowered her voice. “He said you’re hiding out in Amishville.”

Sounds like him.
Hen grimaced.

“He’s joking, right?” Diane’s gaze swept Hen from the top of her Kapp to her black leather shoes. She went on to say how concerned she’d been not hearing from Hen. “Last I knew, you were all fired up about taking a job at an Amish fabric shop, but I never dreamed in a hundred years you’d—”

“Diane,
please,
” Hen whispered. “The girls . . .”

Frowning, Diane moved closer. “Hen, have you left Brandon?”

Hen felt dejected. “You’re jumping to conclusions.” She wondered what Brandon had told her.
“
Come inside, out of the cold,” she called to the girls.

“Do we have to, Mommy?” complained Mattie Sue, putting her hand on her hip.

“You’re not dressed warmly enough. Please come inside.”

Karen, who was Mattie’s age, tugged on Mattie’s arm and led her into the house. Once Karen removed her own jacket and left it on the floor, the girls ran upstairs, jabbering all the while.

“Karen really misses playing with Mattie,” said Diane, settling onto the settee and stretching out her long, thin legs.

Hen didn’t know what to say. Sure, Mattie had missed seeing Karen, but English friends were no longer in Hen’s plan for her daughter—not since coming home to Salem Road.

“And you have to know I’ve missed seeing
you
,” Diane said, turning to look at Hen, who was pushing pieces of wood into the belly of the black cookstove and then filling the teakettle with water.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Diane stared at her. “So what’re you doing living out here in the boonies?”

“Amishville, you mean?” Her ire was rising. “This is my home, Diane . . . my life.”

“But you married Brandon.”

“Yes, I did.” Hen had no obligation to bare her heart to Diane Perlis.

“Why go backward, Hen? I don’t get it.”

Hen returned and sat down in a wing-back chair across from Diane. “My husband and I are working this out.”

“Right.” Diane curled her lips into a peculiar smile. “I see that.”

Looking away, Hen wished Diane would stop pumping her with pointed questions.
Questions with no answers.

After a time, the teakettle whistled sharply. Hen was relieved and rose to pour hot water into a china cup. “I assume you want some tea?” She raised one of the saucers to Diane as she balanced the filled cup.

“Why not? Maybe some Amish tea’s just what the doctor ordered.”

Hen nodded and poured hot water into a second cup.

“Listen, Hen, we’re both adults. I’m going to give it to you straight. There are plenty of women who’d give their eyeteeth for a good-looking, successful guy like Brandon.” Diane’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “If he was my husband, I wouldn’t risk leaving him for a minute.”

“Well, I’m not stupid,” Hen blurted, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

“Then you’d better go home to him.”

“You don’t understand, Diane.”

“You’re right . . . I don’t.” Unfolding her legs, Diane rose and wandered to the table and sat down. She spooned a token bit of sugar into the hot water and chose a tea bag. “I mean, really, you two were just the best together, Hen. Why would you want to give up your life with Brandon for . . . well, any of this?”

Hen considered Diane’s remarks as she added a heaping amount of sugar to her own tea. She stirred it slowly, deliberately, without looking up.

Hen had already put Mattie Sue to bed for the night and was thinking of curling up with a good book when Rose let herself in.

Once she was downstairs, Hen immediately saw the anxiety on Rose’s face. “What is it, sister?”

“Mamm’s awful sick,” she said, then asked her to follow her back to the main house.

“Oh, poor thing.” Hen pulled on her woolen shawl and hurried along.