The Caregiver

CHAPTER 17





The library was cool. That was about the nicest compliment you could say about it. A remodeled old house, its rooms were small, the ceiling was low, and a musty smell permeated every room.

John didn’t know if that was from the books or the building. Either way, he wasn’t a fan of it. Of course, that wasn’t why he’d come to the library, anyway. Not really. He had promised Katie he’d pick up some picture books for her. But his niece wasn’t the reason he’d been looking forward to visiting the building. He’d come to see her.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you, John?” Jayne Donovan said as she watched him walk toward the circulation desk.

“I had some extra time, and so I thought I’d check things out.” He swallowed. “And I promised my five-year-old niece that I’d pick up some picture books for her. Could you help me with that?”

“I can.” And with a smile to her somewhat heavyset partner, Jayne circled the desk and stood in front of him. “But first, how about a tour?”

He was not going to notice her legs in that slim-fitting navy skirt. “I’d like that. If you have time.”

She started walking, but had the audacity of looking back at him over her shoulder. Obviously, to see if he’d follow.

And he did. Actually, he followed her like a lamb.

“Lucy, go take a break,” Aunt Jenna said late Monday afternoon. They’d spent the last hour changing Mattie’s sheets, washing the bathroom, and making bread. No longer was there a cool breeze, the last remnants of winter lingering in the air. No, suddenly, it was muggy and warm. Inside, the house felt humid and hot, and Lucy had found herself wiping her brow every few minutes.

As Jenna sipped her glass of water, she looked ready for a rest. “I’m going to sit down for a few moments and cool off. Mattie’s already fallen asleep on the wicker couch on the back porch. Why don’t you go take some time for yourself?”

Lucy didn’t even know what she’d do. Stalwartly, she said, “I didn’t come here to find time for myself. I came to help.”

“And you have, child.” After another sip of water, she set the glass down. “However, even the best of caregivers cannot give all that they have of themselves. If you do, there will be nothing left for Mattie when she needs it. I promise you that.” Stepping forward, Aunt Jenna casually wrapped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and directed her toward the front door. “Now, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but what I’d really like for you to do is to leave here for a few hours.”

“Come now, Aunt Jenna—”

“I mean it. If you’re here, you will be thinking about Mattie or about the cooking or the cleaning.” The corners of Jenna’s eyes crinkled. “And if you do that, I will feel obligated to cook and clean, too.”

“But—”

“How about a walk? I think it’s far cooler outside than in here . . .” She smiled, nodding. “Yes, that’s what you should do. Go for a walk. That’s the best way to clear your head.”

Lucy was tempted to argue the point, but she had a sneaking suspicion that her aunt was right. Paul’s criticism and hurtful words had been clanging in her head, reminding her of her faults.

And at the moment, each flaw in her personality felt huge. Too big. Making her feel disappointed in herself. Mattie was still struggling, both physically and emotionally. Despite Lucy’s very best efforts, her cousin didn’t seem to have improved much at all.

Making Lucy feel like the worst sort of failure. She needed to escape the work and her inner demons and do her best to feel rejuvenated.

Perhaps a walk was exactly what she needed. “Is there a good walking path nearby?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Beyond the barn, you’ll see a thicket of honeysuckle. Right behind that, you will find a worn trail. Go ahead and take that. It winds through the woods and even goes near a creek. It’s wonderful-gut.”

Lucy was slightly suspicious of her aunt’s eager advice, but she knew it would be useless to refuse. The day was beautiful, too beautiful to think about hitching up a buggy and driving in unfamiliar places.

No, she’d rather be out in the fresh air getting some exercise.

“All right. I’ll go for a walk. But I won’t be too long.”

“You take all the time you want, dear Lucy.” After a pause, she murmured, “I promise you, not much will have changed before you get back.”

There was a hint of desperation in her aunt’s voice. “Aunt Jenna? Is there more going on with Mattie’s health than I realized? Did you get news from the doctor?”

“No. It is just the same as it ever was.” Visibly trying to be upbeat, Jenna pointed to the door. “Now, we’ve spoken of this enough. Go now, and enjoy your afternoon. Oh! I just thought of something. Take this pail. Over near the creek, you’ll see a patch of blackberries. For some reason, they’re ripe early this year. Why don’t you pick some for us? Mattie always enjoys blackberry cobbler.”

Basket in hand, Lucy soon left the shadowed darkness of the house and walked into the open sunshine, with the goal of gathering blackberries—and clearing her head.

She wasn’t sure if she could do the latter easily, but she hugged the given task to her heart. She’d picked enough blackberries over the years to know that it would not be difficult.

The path underfoot was rocky and a bit jagged. The grass had the look of giving up its effort to grow under the many feet that tromped over it.

It was no trouble to find the glorious yellow and white honeysuckle flowers. All she had to do was follow their sweet scent.

And, as Jenna had told her, a well-worn path lay just beyond the flowering vines. Feeling a bit like an adventurer, Lucy swung her metal pail as she followed the trail.

First, the path meandered in between two freshly planted fields. The dirt there was dark and full of nutrients—and manure. Its smell overpowered the light floral scent with a vengeance. Wrinkling her nose, Lucy continued on, half looking for men plowing the fields behind teams of horses. But no one was around.

She was alone in the silence.

Little by little, Lucy felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

Yes, it was probably a very good thing that she was taking some time to herself. Paul had been coming to her dreams almost every night, berating her, hurting her. She’d awoken just this morning with him twisting her arm, pulling her toward him. It had taken a good five minutes for her breathing to slow and reality to return.

To remind herself that he was gone. That he would never hurt her again.

Every day with him had been full of ups and downs. Uncertainty had ruled her life. She hadn’t known who to turn to for help, especially since no one in her community had wanted to acknowledge that she was suffering at Paul’s hand.

Lucy stopped for a moment, prepared to push the painful reminders away, but then decided to let them fill her head. She was alone now, and no one was around to witness her disappointment or her complete sense of helplessness.

And, well, perhaps it was better to think of these things every so often? Maybe then they wouldn’t ravage her dreams and turn peaceful slumber into nightmares.

She recalled one time when she and Paul were at church. After the service, he overheard some of her friends teasing her about their childless state. Far from being cruel, they’d been teasing her about her extra free time, since she wasn’t nursing babies and changing diapers all day long.

Though she’d wished her life had been different, Lucy had smiled. She’d yearned for a babe, too, but knew that was in God’s hands.

But when Paul heard the other women and had caught sight of her smile, his dark look told everyone present that he didn’t share their amusement with her “easy” life.

He’d stopped. “Yes, Lucy is a disappointment, to be sure,” he’d said coldly. “I would’ve never married her if I had imagined that she was barren.”

Everyone present had been shocked. Then her friend Marta had dared to look Paul over and mock him. “It takes two, you know,” she quipped before Lucy could stop her. “You don’t know it is Lucy’s fault. Maybe the problem lies with you?”

The girls had giggled.

And Lucy’s spirits had plummeted as Paul’s expression turned thunderous. “Lucy, you will meet me by our buggy in four minutes.”

Marta and the others had stared at her husband, wide-eyed. “But Lucy was going to eat lunch with us!” Krista protested. “Surely you wouldn’t make her leave right now?”

Silently Lucy had tried to stop the girls from saying another word. The damage had been done—nothing was going to make Paul’s temper cool. Putting him off would only make things worse.

But instead of falling silent, other girls had joined in. “You’ll have to take her home later, Paul. We were going to talk about plans for a charity quilt we’re going to be stitching.”

“And we haven’t seen her in ages,” another added.

Paul cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was holding in his temper. Barely.

Because she didn’t want to upset the girls, or embarrass herself any further, Lucy stood. Tried to smile. “It’s all right. Really, it is. I’ll be ready in four minutes, Paul,” she’d said, her voice hardly shaking at all. “I promise I will.”

“See that you will be.”

Marta hadn’t wanted to give up, though. “But, Paul, what about lunch?”

“She can cook our lunch at home.” Eyes frosty, he turned her way. “Do you understand, Lucy?”

“Of course.”

The other girls had gathered around her as soon as Paul marched off. Marta had been terribly contrite. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I never would have been so bold if I’d thought Paul really was so sensitive about your childless state. After all, it’s only been a year.” With a comforting smile, she’d patted her arm. “Before you know it, you’ll have a boppli on the way.”

Lucy had done her best to act as if she believed Marta. She’d shaken her head and tried to pretend that she wasn’t disappointed. Or afraid of being alone with Paul.

But there was nothing she could do. Paul was her husband, and she’d wanted to marry him. It didn’t matter if he turned out to be nothing like the man she’d fallen for.

No, all that really mattered was that she couldn’t get away from him. She was his wife now. For better or worse.

And that day, when they’d gotten home, it had been one of the worst, indeed.

“Lucy? Is that you?”

Startled from her memories, Lucy turned and blinked. And then, there he was—the man so different from her current nightmares. “Calvin,” she murmured, taking in his dark pants and cornflower blue shirt. The black suspenders and his straw hat. His smooth, tan cheeks, and the bump in the line of his nose.

And suddenly, her head cleared of old memories. “Hi. I mean, hello.”

“Hello, to you, too.” Moving closer, he looked her over. “I never expected to see you here.”

With relief, she pushed the rest of her memories away. “I’m looking for a blackberry patch. What about you?”

“Oh, my brothers and I like using this trail. We take it when we don’t feel like hitching up the buggy.” Eyes sparkling, he added, “This path links our two houses, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, you’ll see Graham on it more often than not. He does enjoy visiting Mattie, you know.”

“He can’t seem to stay away.” Feeling vaguely conspicuous, Lucy swung her pail. “Well. I had best go pick berries. I promised my aunt that I would.”

“A useful project.”

They were standing close now. Lucy noticed faint dark flecks in the blue of his eyes. Noticed a scar near his eyebrow. And suddenly, the last thing in the world she wanted was peace and quiet and more time to dwell on the past. “Care to walk with me?” she asked. “Or do you need to go on your way?”

“I’ll accompany you, for sure.” For a few minutes they walked along the path, the thicket of vines growing heavy on their left, tall oaks and maples reaching to the heavens on their right.

“It’s lovely here. A true blessing.”

“It is.” Looking at her sideways, he murmured, “Lucy, forgive me if I’m being too personal, but when I came upon you, you looked mighty upset. As if you had far more on your mind than mere berries.” He looked her way, his eyes calmly searching. “Are you all right?”

“Of course.” But even she knew she’d blurted that too quickly.

“No. I don’t think so.” Looking at her more carefully, he said, “Though the pain I first glimpsed in your eyes has faded, you still look near tears.”

She didn’t dare tell him a lie, she was too shaken up inside to focus on one for long. “Actually, I was upset, but I’m better now. I was just spending a bit too much time worrying about things I cannot fix.”

“Like Mattie?”

His question embarrassed her. Yes, she was worried about Mattie’s health of course. But that wasn’t what had occupied her mind. “Like Mattie. And worrying about some things from my past.”

They walked for a bit while Calvin seemed to consider that. Finally, he looked her way again. “It’s been my experience that the past is easier if you come to terms with it and move on.”

“It’s not that easy,” she snapped, then instantly regretted her words.

But instead of getting mad, Calvin merely laughed. “You’re right about that. But moving on is a useful goal, I think.”

Charmed by his words as much as his laughter, Lucy nodded.

As a robin flew by, and they stood and watched her land in her nest, a new peace settled between them. Feeling as comforting as the breeze on their cheeks. After another moment, Calvin looked her over from head to toe. “This worry that seems to have gripped you . . . it isn’t about Mattie, is it?”

“No. I was just thinking about some memories that I usually try hard to ignore. Usually I only dream about my past; but today, for some reason, memories decided to spring forward while I’m awake.” Recalling how defeated she’d felt before Calvin had appeared, she added, “With a vengeance.”

They were in front of the blackberry bushes. The air surrounding them was full of the berries’ sweet, fruit-ripe scent—and it sweetened her mood as well. She felt so different with Calvin.

Almost as if she wasn’t as damaged as she imagined she was.

Without a word, he took the tin pail from her hand. Then, with great care, he pulled a berry from the branch closest and just as easily dropped the succulent-looking fruit into the pail. “One,” he said with a smile.

Next to him, she plucked another berry and deposited it in the pail as well. “Two,” she said with a smile of her own.

“Sometimes when we don’t know what to do about the past, we have to concentrate on the present,” he said quietly. “I’ve found that to be enough.”

“I, too, have found that to be enough,” she said, pulling off another pair of berries and tossing them into the pail.

Over and over, they repeated the motions. Together, as the sun fell on their shoulders and the warm fruit stained their fingers, they worked on the task. Every so often a bee would buzz by, angry at their intrusion to its private world.

Calvin would carefully wave it away with a brush of his hand and then smile at her as they both sighed in relief that yet again, they hadn’t gotten stung.

The pail got heavy enough for Calvin to set it on the ground. Eager to fill it to the brim, Lucy knelt in front of the bushes, reaching into the thorny branches for more fruit.

And then got stung. “Ow!” she yelped, jerking her hand back in surprise.

With two movements, he clasped her injured hand in between his own. “Lucy?”

“The bees finally got the best of me.” She tried to laugh off the sting, but couldn’t quite succeed.

Gently, he turned her hand in his, rubbed his thumbs over the bottom of her palm, tentatively searching for her injury. Lucy turned her hand to show him the red mark on the end of her thumb. “It is nothing.”

“It is something.” Carefully, he inspected her tiny hurt. “It doesn’t look like the stinger is there.”

She pressed her thumb against his hand, trying to see how much pressure she could place on it. “I don’t think it’s there, either.” When he still looked at her thumb with a frown, she smiled. “Calvin, don’t look so worried. It’s just a sting, jah? And it’s my own fault. The bee didn’t care for me invading his home.”

“I fear you are right about that.” Her hand still clasped between his two, she watched him raise it slightly. Almost to his lips.

Her breath hitched, startling them both.

Looking perturbed, he dropped his hands.

Lucy felt his absence immediately—even deep inside her. In the place she wished was filled with more than just bad memories and aches.

When Calvin looked her way again, his expression was bare and honest. “Lucy, what thoughts have claimed you so completely? What is it that you wish you didn’t remember?”

Her mouth went dry as she stared. A full minute passed, but Calvin didn’t push. Instead, he merely stood right next to her. Waiting.

And so she took a chance. “I wish that I could forget about my husband,” she whispered.

“Ah,” he said quietly.

Lucy noticed he didn’t seem all that surprised. “He passed away.”

If anything, Calvin looked even more worried. “Lucy . . . how did he die?”

“He fell from a ladder and broke his neck.”

He swallowed. “Was he . . . was that Paul?”

She nodded, then stared at him in confusion. “How did you know his name?”

A second passed. Two. Finally he lifted his chin. “I, um. I read about him.”

What he said made no sense. “Read? What are you talking about?”

“I . . . I saw his name in your diary, Lucy.” While her world shifted and dimmed, he continued. “On the train, I found your journal. I was going to give it right back to you—”

He’d found her journal? He’d read it?

He knew?

“B-but you didn’t,” she said—well, stuttered. Pure shame and embarrassment coursed through her as she remembered some of the things she’d written. Some of the awful, awful things she’d written. The anger and hurt and relief she’d felt. Not a bit of it meant for another person to see.

“We argued, and I was afraid you wouldn’t understand that I had just been trying to be helpful.” The skin around his lips paled, showing how hard he was striving for control. “So I decided to give the journal to you here in Jacob’s Crossing.”

“But you haven’t.”

“Things were going better. And I was confused. The words I read in your diary, they didn’t seem to go with the woman I knew.”

Despair sank in. The words he’d read. Doing her best to reclaim her voice, Lucy said, “So you read my diary. Without asking. Calvin, when were you planning to give it back?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have opened the book. Once I knew what you’d written . . . I shouldn’t have read a word.”

“But you did.” She shook her head. “Calvin, I can’t believe it. I almost trusted you. I almost thought you were different.”

“Different from Paul?” Stepping forward, he reached for her hand. She yanked her fingers away, but he tightened his grip. Forcing her to stay next to him. To listen to him. “Lucy, why did you want him dead? That’s such a sin. Your hate, your anger . . . it’s stunning. Why?”

As his words hit her hard, an almost eerie feeling of calm filled her soul. All of a sudden, telling him the truth didn’t seem so hard. “Because he beat me, Calvin. Because every single day that I lived with him, I lived in fear.” She shook her head. “Because in so many ways, he took everything I had to give, and twisted it. Made me feel unworthy. Dirty.”

Tears entered his eyes as his grip relaxed. Dropped her hand. “Lucy, I don’t know what to say. I’m so—”

“Don’t say it, Calvin. Whatever you do . . . don’t say another word to me ever again.”

And then, like a child, she ran.

Ran back the way she came, along the windy, uneven trail. Alone, toward Mattie, and to her past.

And realized too late that she’d left her aunt’s pail on the ground at Calvin’s feet. Filled to the brim with ripe blackberries, warm from the sun.