The Mercy (12 page)

S
ome time later, the long-expected surgeon pushed through the doors, still wearing his green scrubs. He removed his white cap and explained the reason for the extended time in some indecipherable remarks, focusing his attention mainly on Dat. Rose was nevertheless heartened when he stated that the surgery had been as successful as could be hoped for. Now they’d have to wait and see if Mamm would be free of pain, once her body healed from the operation.

Dat and Joshua rose and shook the man’s hand, thanking him. They were told that once Mamm was settled in the ICU, Dat would be permitted to see her. “And anyone else who is family.” The surgeon’s face cracked a rare smile when Dat informed him that they were nearly all family.
Bishop Aaron and Barbara almost are, of course,
Rose thought.

Just knowing her mother could start to mend now, Rose began to feel somewhat lighter. She headed for the snack area to purchase a package of peanut butter crackers to share with Suzy or Hen. On the way back to the waiting area, she stopped at the water fountain to relieve her thirst.

Forty more minutes passed before they were encouraged to relocate to yet another waiting area. And goodness, the gawks they received as they moved through the hospital corridors! Rose assumed they were a spectacle, because these hospital folks were far enough removed from Plain communities that they didn’t often encounter Amish. One English visitor looked like her hazel eyes might pop right out of her head as she stared.

The new waiting area was even smaller than the first, and Rose stood for a while near a window, thankful to see the sky again.

After Dat and Joshua had visited with Mamm briefly, Dat asked Hen if she’d like to go in next. Observing this rotation, Rose decided it was best that she not go in after her sister, even though she wanted to with all of her heart. She just felt so queasy and light-headed at the thought of the drainage tubes and IV and other equipment attached to her mother. Her oldest brother had looked ashen when he returned to the waiting room. He’d had to lean forward for a time, his head in his hands.

“Tell Mamm I love her,” Rose whispered to Hen, who clasped her hand. She seemed to understand without Rose saying more and tiptoed away to Mamm’s room.

Brandon was up pacing the floor, running his hand along the wall to steady himself. It struck Rose that he might like to go in, as well. She slipped over to Dat and whispered her suggestion.

Dat rose quickly and fell in step with Brandon, placing a hand on his shoulder. Brandon brightened, obviously grateful for the unexpected invitation.

When Hen emerged from the room, Brandon was ready and eager to visit Mamm. When he leaned near and told her what he wanted to do, Hen nodded and accompanied him into the room. The door closed behind them.

Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes and she looked away, trying to conceal her emotions. She was so struck by whatever good and lovely thing was happening between Hen and her husband.

He’s truly part of the family.

Hen was pleased at Brandon’s request to see her mother. She stood next to him beside the slightly elevated hospital bed. Carefully, she folded the sheet down and straightened it near her mother’s chin, aware of the sounds of various machines and monitors. Leaning over, she lightly kissed Mom’s forehead, then smoothed her hair at the part, seeing that the bun was still pretty well intact. As she straightened, she noticed Brandon appeared to be smiling down at Mom, as if he could actually see her.

Hen patted her mother’s hand, her heart pounding at the possibility that Brandon’s sight might be clearing some.

“Thank you for sharing your courage with me, Emma,” Brandon said. “The pain you’ve endured . . .” Brandon paused a moment, seemingly searching for the right words. “I want you to know you’ve been a great help to me, and I appreciate it.”

Mom tried to nod her head. “That’s all right, son. Thank the dear Lord we’re this far, ain’t?”

Son.
There it was again.

“We don’t want to tire you out.” Hen squeezed her mother’s hand. “You rest now, all right?”

A slight smile spread across her lips. “You both take care, ya hear?”

“You too,” Brandon was quick to say.

“I’ll visit you again.” Hen threw a kiss toward her mother as they made their way to the door.

“Don’t worry one little speck, Hen, dear.”

Hen couldn’t promise that, but she would do her best to trust for healing. “She’s going to need lots of rest,” Hen remarked to Brandon in the hallway. “I’m surprised the doctor allowed us to see her so soon after the surgery.”

“I’m glad he did,” Brandon said, his eyes blank now. “You can be glad she came through it so well.”

Hen agreed, wishing she might find strength in her husband’s embrace, needing the support. But she drew a deep breath and guided him back to the waiting area, wondering if his time of dependence upon her was coming to a close.

Sol thought primarily of Emma during the ride back to Quarryville . . . and to Salem Road. Thankfully, the driver was not a talkative chap, and Sol leaned against the headrest, his eyes closed for a good part of the drive home. His heart was with his precious wife, lying alone in the hospital bed. He had wanted to stay right with her all the night long, as he always did at home. He could sleep while sitting in a chair, couldn’t he?

Yet here he was, riding home at Joshua’s insistence.
“You need your rest, Dat . . . she’ll be well cared for.”
Hen had agreed and encouraged him to return to the farm for the night, as well. Even so, it had been hard for him to leave the ICU.
Leaving Emma behind.

If he remembered correctly, his wife would remain in the intensive care unit for three days, then be moved to the recovery area on another floor, in a semiprivate room. After that, an ambulance would transport her to a nearby rehabilitation facility for about three weeks, assuming all went well. Once she could return home, she would need up to nine months of rehab treatments, two to three times a week.

Will all of this make a difference for Emma, Lord?
he prayed. If it did, then the day’s trauma to her body would be worthwhile in the long run.

As for Sol, he would visit her nearly every day. Already his sons had lined up with others to help with his barn and field chores. Being it was winter, though, he had less to think about . . . till early spring, when the plowing and planting would begin.

“You all right, Dad?” Hen asked from the seat behind him.

He nodded with a slight sigh.

“Just checking.”

He didn’t feel up to saying much, but he knew Hen cared for him deeply. Rose, too, dear flower that she was. He didn’t blame her for not being able to spend a few minutes with Emma. It was hard on all of them, seeing her like that.

But now, Brandon . . . of all things! He’d noticed him make eye contact with Hen several times today. If Sol wasn’t mistaken, Brandon’s sight had returned somewhat, albeit briefly, while they were waiting. Sol was too weary to ponder the implications of this, yet he hoped Aaron’s visits had softened Brandon’s heart toward the things of God . . . and ultimately toward Hen, as well.

That evening, after Mattie Sue was tucked into bed, Hen returned downstairs to the kitchen and found Brandon sitting at the table, hands folded as if in prayer.

“Brandon?” she said. “Are you all right?”

He raised his head, and she saw the unwavering gaze on his handsome face.

She felt the weight of his silence.

At last he spoke. “Hen, I can see clearly right now.”

“Oh, this is such good news!”

He smiled fleetingly. “All day long, my sight’s been on and off. I didn’t want to say anything . . . didn’t want to detract from the surgery.”

“I thought perhaps you could see Mom when we were in her room.” She went to his side and they embraced. “This is just wonderful,” she said, pulling out her chair and sitting near him.

He reached for her hands and leaned forward at the table. “I keep waiting for the shades to fall again . . . like before. But so far, so good.” He looked around the kitchen, his gaze lingering on Mattie Sue’s coloring pages arranged neatly on the gas-run refrigerator. Then, turning, he looked past the cookstove, toward the small front room, where he’d spent many hours snuggled with Mattie Sue and Wiggles. Once again, his gaze found hers. “I was beginning to think this day might never come.”

“I’m so happy for you.”
An answer to prayer!

“Like I said the other night, Hen . . . I appreciate what you’ve done for me all these weeks.” His eyes searched her face, her hair, as if marveling at what he saw.

She stiffened, shielding her heart from what more he might say. “Mattie Sue and I were glad to help you during your recovery,” she said softly. “We were happy to be here for you.”

Here . . .
She wondered if she should’ve said it differently.

“Well, I can take care of myself now. I don’t want to put you out any longer, Hen. It’s obvious you love this life.”

Not without you.
She could not speak for fear of crying.

Neither of them spoke for a time. It was painful sitting there, feeling suddenly disconnected from him when they should be rejoicing. Yet Brandon remained attentive, his eyes drawing hers.

“Mattie Sue will be so thrilled tomorrow when she realizes you can see,” Hen said at last.

“I can’t wait to take a look at her,” he said. “She’s sleeping, right?” He moved away from the table.

“Go on upstairs . . . you won’t wake her.” Hen smiled. “You’ll be surprised how much she’s grown in the past few weeks.”
We all have, in one way or another. . . .

H
en found Brandon peering into the open refrigerator early the next morning, already dressed for the office. His five-o’clock shadow was quite unmistakable; even though he could see, he’d opted not to shave yet again. Had he decided to grow a beard?

“Good morning,” she said, still wearing her bathrobe and slippers. “You’re up early.”

“Need to get caught up with some things at the office, now that I can see again.” He closed the refrigerator door.

It was true that he’d missed much at work during his recovery. Even with Bruce’s assistance, there would be a lot to tackle. “Will you need a ride?”

“Bruce is coming by for me—I gave him a call from the hospital yesterday. But thanks for asking.”

She recalled the tiffs they’d had over her balking at driving him. So why did she mind that he wasn’t asking today? “What would you like for breakfast?”

His eyes twinkled. “Well, what if I cooked for a change?”

“You seriously think you can use a cookstove?”

He grinned and glanced at the old stove. “You know me too well. If it’s going to be edible, I guess you’ll have to cook.” He went to the cupboard and pulled out three plates, still eyeing her mischievously. “Pancakes or waffles would be great, thanks.”

“I’ll put the order right in,” she said. It did her heart good to see him get around on his own. Surprised, she watched him set the plates around. Never before had he offered to help in the kitchen, let alone do something like this spontaneously.

Soon Mattie Sue came wandering downstairs in her cotton nightgown, her hair disheveled, eyes bright. When she spotted her daddy setting the table, she frowned for a split second. Next thing, she was flying to him, hugging his knees, laughing, then crying. “Daddy . . . you’re all better!” He reached down and picked her up with his good arm, laughing with her. She cupped his face in her small hands, her nose nearly touching his. “You can see me, can’t ya, Daddy?”

“I sure can.”

“That’s like God answering Beth’s prayers for Mammi Emma. It’s just the same!”

Brandon smiled. “I stared at you for the longest time while you were sleeping last night.” His eyes filled with tears and he kissed Mattie Sue’s cheek. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Me too, Daddy.” Mattie Sue kissed his cheek over and over until she began to giggle. “You can see the calvies now,” she said. “And Dawdi and Mammi and . . . pretty Mommy.”

“Sweetie, let’s get washed up for breakfast,” Hen said, embarrassed.

Mattie got down and hurried over to Hen, who was flipping a pancake. “We should have a party, ain’t so?”

“Honey, Daddy has to go to work soon.”

Brandon intervened, motioning for Mattie to go and wash her hands. “We’ll have a breakfast party, how’s that?” he said, hurrying her along.

After breakfast, Hen and Mattie Sue washed up and dressed for the day. Hen looked at her green work dress and hesitated before putting it on. Thoughts of Brandon filled her mind as she picked up her room and helped Mattie do the same before heading back downstairs to bake an angel food cake, knowing that Bruce would have stopped by to pick Brandon up some time ago.

The teakettle hummed steadily while she placed the cake in the oven, then wiped the counters clean. At the far end of the kitchen, over near the back door, she saw a note and picked it up.
Thanks again for everything, Hen. —Brandon

“What’s it mean?” she whispered, looking around.

Trembling, she ran upstairs and discovered that his things were gone from his room. Did he mean to return later, after he collected some fresh clothes? But if so, why not say as much? Oh, she didn’t know what to think!

Based on their conversation last evening—and the fact that he’d chosen to sleep again in the guest room—her fears began to compound. It was just as likely he’d moved back to town permanently and planned to push forward with the divorce.

As Hen left his temporary room, she noticed her open Bible on the table beside the bed. Apparently he had been reading it since his sight was restored. She wondered if his sudden interest was an outgrowth of having talked to her mother or to Bishop Aaron. Whatever it was, she was grateful. God was surely at work in his heart, just as Rose had said recently.
And yet . . .

Hen wasn’t sure what, if anything, to tell Mattie Sue. “O Lord, help me know your wisdom,” she prayed before looking in on her daughter, playing quietly in her room. Not saying a word, she made her way slowly downstairs to check on her cake, realizing the depth of misery she’d put Brandon through back in October. That miserable day four months ago when she’d packed up and left him.

I understand now the terrible pain he felt.

She shuddered as she grasped the gulf that separated her from her husband, in spite of their love. It was of her making, after all.

Only a few days ago Brandon had voiced his concern.
“What has changed?”
he’d asked her rather pointedly.

What, indeed?

Solomon’s sleep had been fitful last night, so he’d put his time to good use, praying for Emma as he often did in the wee hours. This far removed from the hospital, he simply had to entrust her to God’s care. Feeling all in today, he was relieved not to be in charge of driving horse and carriage as he put on his coat and hat, then reached for his woolen scarf.

At that moment, Hen called to him and stepped inside.

“How was your night, Dad?”

“Oh, as
gut
as one might expect.”

Her expression toward him was tender. “I worried you might rest poorly.” Then she sighed and abruptly turned to look out the window, not making an effort to remove her heavy shawl. “Dad . . .” Her voice broke. “Brandon’s things are missing. I think he’s moved out.”

“I saw him earlier. Noticed he was getting around all right—must be seein’ fairly well, jah?” Sol had pondered Brandon’s departure but wouldn’t tell his daughter he’d seemed in a rush to get going. “Didn’t quite expect it to happen this way.”

“Expect what?” she said, frowning. “Do you know whether Brandon’s going back to town to live?”

“Well, he had a duffel bag and some other things tucked under his good arm,” Sol admitted.

“Did he talk to you before he left?”

“Just to poke his head into my woodshop and say thanks.”

“That’s what I came to find out.” She turned to go and paused to look back at him thoughtfully. “I’m so sorry for all the pain this has caused you and Mom. The whole family, really.”

Sol nodded, but he would spare her what he was thinking—Brandon’s suggestion that Hen return home to get her obsession with Plain life out of her system had backfired terribly.

“I wanted to go along with you to see Mom.” Hen sighed. “But I doubt I would be much support for her.”

“Oh, she’ll understand.”

“Will you tell her Brandon’s moving home?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ll let her know his sight’s returned—she’ll be mighty glad ’bout that.”

A sweet yet sad smile flitted across Hen’s face and she waved good-bye.

Sol slipped on his gloves and headed out to the driveway to await his driver, his heart heavy.

As they pulled into Gilbert Browning’s lane, Sol could see the progress the other Amishmen had made just since the day before yesterday, when Sol and Aaron had helped to finish framing in the extra room. “It’ll be done in no time,” he remarked to the driver before getting out.

Gilbert was outdoors, walking briskly about the perimeter of the addition. He wore a thick black overcoat and black earmuffs, and there was a spring in his step. Sol told him the good news regarding the surgery and asked him to relay it to Beth. “For Emma’s sake.”

“I certainly will,” Gilbert said, nodding. “Beth was up praying in her room awhile yesterday, so I know she’ll be glad to hear this.”

“Let her know we appreciate her prayers, won’t ya?”

Gilbert’s smile deepened and he said he would. “I know she’ll spend a good part of the day thanking the Lord now.”

“We can all learn from that, jah?”

Gilbert shook his hand heartily. “Thanks for stopping by, Solomon. Beth will be thrilled.”

With that, Sol wandered over to talk with the bishop, saying he’d try to get back to help some this afternoon. “If there’s sun left.” But Aaron was adamant that he not rush away from the hospital. Even so, Sol had given his word to pitch in and help.

When Sol entered the door leading to the ICU, he wished he’d brought Rose along. The girls were so good with their mother, especially when she was ailing so. He thought of all the years Rose had sat by Emma’s bedside, so long she’d nearly sacrificed her chance at marriage. Now, though, he guessed from the few asides Mose had given him that she had been introduced to someone, although he knew very little about the new prospect from Bart.
A fair distance away,
he thought with some regret.

When Sol arrived at his wife’s room, he found Emma in a far worse state than prior to the surgery. Her face was blotchy red, like she’d suffered an allergic reaction. Her bun had come undone in the night, and he leaned over to kiss her tear-streaked face. The doctor had warned them that postsurgery pain was unavoidable, but Sol hadn’t expected this level of distress. He asked if she’d been given anything to ease the pain.

“Jah, morphine,” she whispered. “It’s made me really nauseous.” She added she didn’t know which was worse, the excruciating pain or the wrenching stomach and vomiting, enough to worry the nurses about her stitches.

“Ach, Emma,” he said, his heart breaking as he noted the angry rash on her face also covered her neck and forearms.

“The doctor’s orderin’ something without a narcotic for me. And something to soothe my stomach.”

They’d taken great care to warn the hospital before the surgery about Emma’s past problems with pain medication, but Sol realized communication sometimes broke down in the shuffle between doctors. Still, he didn’t like it one bit.

She’s replaced one pain with another.

Praying silently, he asked God to intervene. Then Sol tried to occupy Emma’s mind by reading the Bible aloud. When the nurse came to administer the new medication and after Emma seemed calmer again, he told her Brandon’s good news.