The Caregiver

CHAPTER 2





“Katie? Lucy? Are you both all right?” Calvin asked through the shadows.

“I am fine,” Lucy replied as embarrassment floated over her. Oh, honestly! Where was the woman she used to be? The one who would have looked at this journey as a grand adventure?

Sometimes she scarcely recognized herself. Sudden noises and happenings affected her now. Yet another consequence of her marriage. Belatedly, Lucy realized that the little girl hadn’t answered. As she saw Calvin return to his seat through the shadows, she leaned forward and spoke through the gap in the seats. “Katie, are you fine, too?”

Still no answer.

Calvin’s voice turned sharper. “Katie?”

“I’m here,” the little girl finally answered, her high-pitched voice floating through the space in between them.

Calvin’s voice turned firmer. “You need to answer when I call you.”

“I was scared.”

“Well, there is no need for that,” Calvin replied. “I am here.”

Lucy smiled to herself as she saw Calvin slip a comforting arm around his sister’s shoulders. Turning parental even though he wasn’t her parent. Being the oldest of six, she’d certainly done that a time or two. Or two hundred. It was the way of families, she supposed.

At least Amish ones. Older children looked after the younger ones. She vividly remembered rocking one of her brothers to sleep when she was only six. But then, of course, all that changed when she’d married. Paul had refused to let her help out like she used to, saying he needed her at home. After they were married, she’d visited her siblings only in emergencies.

Of course, she’d often been reluctant to leave her house, for fear that her siblings would see her bruises and ask too many questions.

Katie’s head popped up over the seat in front of her, interrupting her thoughts. “Lucy, can I come sit with you?”

“You don’t want to keep your bruder or your uncle company?”

“Uncle John has no room next to him. And Calvin is hard to sit next to. He’s too big. You’re much smaller.”

“She’s been talking about changing seats since we met you,” Calvin said, turning back toward Lucy. “But don’t worry,” he added, sounding aggrieved. “I told her to leave you alone.”

Since all she could do in the dark was remember her past, Lucy jumped at the chance to have Katie next to her. “Of course you can sit with me, Katie. I’d be happy for the company.” And truly, she would.

Without realizing she’d been holding her breath, Lucy exhaled. Everything was going to be all right. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself by not being able to control her emotions. And Calvin wasn’t going to push her for information about why she was so skittish.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Calvin asked through the shadows.

“Not in the slightest.” Even to her ears, she sounded perfectly normal. Yes, she could do this. She could push all her worries and dark memories away.

When would she finally begin to step forward in her life, instead of constantly looking backward?

Lucy hated the burden of feeling the need to look over her shoulder.

Katie jumped out of her seat, then hopped right up next to Lucy as another bolt of lightning illuminated the sky.

“I don’t like storms,” she said, shivering slightly. “And I ’specially don’t like them when we’re sittin’ on a trayn.”

“I don’t care for storms much, either,” Lucy said. “But I’ve found it easier if I think of thunder and lightning as a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“I’ll show you,” Lucy replied. “Let’s listen for the thunder, shall we? If we count one Mississippi, two Mississippi, we’ll be able to tell how far away the storm is.”

Katie slid a hand into hers. “One Miss-ippi. Two Miss-ippi,” she blurted, stumbling over the state’s name, making Lucy laugh. When they heard the answering thunder, she gasped. “That was three Miss-ippi! Was that close?”

“Closer than I’d like,” Lucy said.

In front of them, Calvin whistled low. “We’re right in the thick of this storm.” He paused. “I’m afraid things are going to get worse before they get better.”

That seemed likely. After all, that was the way things were. The way things always were.

“We are experiencing a minor technical malfunction,” a tinny-sounding voice over the loudspeaker suddenly proclaimed. “Please be patient while we do our best to analyze the problem.”

A few groaned. More than one person scoffed at the announcement.

Calvin sniggered. “Don’t see that there is much to analyze. The lights don’t work.”

“They’re off for good, maybe,” Katie proclaimed.

“So, Lucy . . . are you all right now?” Calvin asked. Sounding kind. Almost like he really cared.

With the darkness making one of her senses nearly unneeded, her others became more pronounced. She couldn’t help hearing how tentative his voice sounded, like he was afraid of spooking her. Like she was a frightened child or a wounded animal.

Which, of course, she was in many ways. “I’m just fine. I just got a little rattled.”

“Ah. Well, that would be easy enough to do.”

She clung to the excuse like it was the strongest of lifelines. And pushed herself to sound as confident as she could. They had Katie to keep happy, of course.

“Things will get better soon, I imagine. Before you know it, the lights will flash on again and we’ll be right as, uh, rain.” He chuckled, obviously enjoying his small joke. “And if we stay in the dark, well, that’s okay, too. It’s going to take more than a busted electrical system on a train to get me down.”

“Or me,” Katie said happily.

“Or me,” Lucy said, feeling like she should join in, though she felt like a liar. After all, when was the last time she’d felt such confidence? “Yes, I’m sure everything will improve momentarily,” she fibbed, pretending her most pressing problem was a power outage.

“We’ll get through this, I know it,” he said, obviously doing his best to get his sister settled. “Everything seems off balance, but all we can do is make the best of things.”

Make the best of things. Oh, yes, she’d heard that advice before. It was what her mother had told her time and again during her first year of marriage.

“Paul is your husband,” she’d say. “You have promised to love and honor him.”

Just once Lucy had wanted to ask why Paul hadn’t been expected to love or honor her.

After two years of marriage, Lucy had learned to only trust herself. Paul had become increasingly harder to please, and had made no secret of the fact. Most everyone around her, though they obviously felt sorry for her, had offered no support.

Because, of course, he was her husband.

Then that one fateful evening—when he’d yelled at her for not having his supper ready on time and had thrown her grandmother’s platter to the floor—everything had changed.

She flinched as she recalled her nervousness when going to check on him in the barn. Her mouth went dry as she remembered the awkward way in which his neck had set after his fall from the ladder.

And guilt flowed as she realized once again that it had been relief that she’d felt when she’d realized he was dead.

Oh, yes. She’d been mighty relieved.

Now, a year later, Lucy knew it was time to make some changes. She liked what Calvin said—to make the best of things. Perhaps she should finally learn to start making the best of things. There was comfort in optimism, she supposed.

Next to her, Katie was cuddled up, dozing off again. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the little girl’s sweet smell, all soap and starch.

Around them, the other passengers shifted and talked. Much of the conversations that floated around them sounded like hers and Calvin’s. People didn’t want to be afraid but were concerned about the storm.

A buzzing rose to a crescendo, then faded. Moments later, with another flicker, the lights came on again.

Cheers erupted.

Lucy glanced Calvin’s way and caught his smile.

When their eyes met, she felt a pull toward him. Strong enough to make her wish she had more confidence. Wish she wasn’t so damaged.

As a few people walked by them, he murmured, “Since Katie’s asleep, would you mind terribly if I got up for a bit and went with my uncle to the dining car?”

“Of course not.”

For another moment, she met his gaze. Again, a spark seemed to fly between them. “I promise, I didn’t intend to saddle you with her.”

“You haven’t. “

“She’s a girl who is used to getting her way.” He frowned slightly. “She’s spoiled, I think.”

“Maybe she’s just lucky.”

It was obvious that he still felt hesitant about leaving her with Katie. But instead of pushing her, he stood up. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

When he disappeared down the narrow aisle, Lucy felt her spirits lift just thinking of his words, of him. He was a big man, a man obviously used to hard physical labor. Most likely a farmer.

His “snack” would probably be a full meal for her.

Able to relax more, now that she wasn’t so disturbed by his presence, Lucy turned her thoughts to the reason for her trip: to help her cousin Mattie through four weeks of chemotherapy treatments.

Oh, Mattie. She was so thankful for her. When Paul died, her cousin had come and stayed with her for a few weeks . . . and had listened stoically when, little by little, Lucy had poured out her grief and all the pain that she’d been storing for two years.

Mattie hadn’t said a word—had only listened and hugged her tight when Lucy finally admitted the guilt she felt for not mourning his loss more. But, perhaps, she’d already mourned enough. For too many months, she’d mourned the loss of all her hopes.

For that, Lucy knew she would do just about anything to help her cousin. Mattie’s parents were older than hers. And her mother, though always meaning well, seemed to be easily distracted. Instead of working with Mattie to handle the stress of her surgery and cancer treatments, she would focus on the small things, such as what color dress Mattie should wear to her appointments.

At least, that’s what Mattie had said.

Mattie had written that, often, after her mastectomy, she’d found herself comforting her mother instead of the other way around. Lucy sincerely hoped Mattie would find her presence a help, and that she would learn to lean on her during her month’s stay.

Yes, that’s what she would do. She would concentrate only on Mattie’s needs. That would enable her to keep her mind off her own pain and start to move on.

Above her head, the lights hummed; flickered off, then on again. Another buzz sounded, and Lucy held her breath—anticipating the worst—but the lights seemed to hold. Everyone around her breathed sighs of relief.

But scant ten seconds later, the lights shut off again. Turning Lucy’s world small. Now she had only her memories to keep her company, and the feeling of the train going too fast.

And in spite of herself, she wished for Calvin to be sitting by her side. Chatting, smiling . . . making her smile.

Ah. Obviously he had affected her far more than she’d thought.

Mattie Lapp was truly grateful for the hospital van that carried her and her mother to and from the medical center. Charlie, the driver, was a man about her parents’ age who seemed to take most everything in stride. That was helpful, since her mother most definitely did not.

As they sat side by side in the second row of the van, looking out the windows, Mattie did her best to stay relaxed and calm while her mother fidgeted and fussed. Wrung her hands and voiced every concern that popped in her head. And, as was her norm, a lot of concerns popped into her head.

“Mattie, do you remember what the doktah said he would check today?”

“The usual things, I suppose. He’ll take blood and check my incisions. He said sometimes the stitches are slow to heal.”

“Do you think yours are healing?”

Mattie wasn’t altogether sure. Ever since she’d left the doctor’s office last week, she hadn’t wanted to look in the mirror again. Hadn’t wanted to see the spot where they’d removed the majority of her left breast. Hadn’t wanted to see how she was now scarred and ugly.

It bothered her far more than it should, perhaps. But, just the same, that was the way she felt.

“Mattie, you are healing, jah?” her mother asked a bit louder.

Mattie could feel her cheeks heat. What had happened to her was personal and private, and she surely did not like discussing her body parts so openly. “I think so, Mamm.”

“But you’re not certain?”

“It’s only been two weeks. Plus that’s something only the doctors can know for sure, jah?”

“Maybe.”

Inwardly, Mattie seethed. Though she knew her mother’s questions were asked with the best of intentions, and she knew her mother gave up much of her day to accompany her to the appointments, she was eager to have Lucy with her instead. Lucy, with her soft-spoken ways and dry sense of humor, would make even the hardest appointments more manageable.

And just as importantly, she could sit for hours without talking. And that would give Mattie some peace at last.

“I, for one, will be anxious for you to get another scan. I want to make sure they removed all of the cancer.”

“They think they did.”

“And he thinks you are healing all right?” she asked anxiously. Again.

Oh, but her mother tried her patience like no other. “He said I was healing just fine last week, Muddar.”

“Then I’m sure you are, dear.” As her mother mumbled something about scar tissue, and then somehow went on to discuss their dinner menu, Mattie leaned her head back against the beige vinyl seat and swallowed hard.

She’d squinted at her image in the mirror in the cool air of the exam room a week earlier, her doctor standing right next to her, pointing out where the incisions were healing. It had taken every bit of self-control she had to stand tall and straight and look directly . . . at her body, which looked so unfamiliar now.

To her, the sides of her chest looked broken and mismatched. Her right looked like herself, the left was now mottled with angry red scars. And flat, of course. Forever now, she would not have the figure she used to. There would be no reconstructive surgery for her like so many Englischers received.

“And then you will start chemo-ther-apy next week, ain’t so?” her mother asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

“Yes. Lucy will get here, and then next Monday we will begin that.”

Her mother wrung her hands again. “I am so grateful for your cousin. Lucy’s visit is going to be a blessing for all of us.”

“Yes.”

“We should be giving thanks for her, Mattie.”

“I have been giving thanks for Lucy. Of course I have.”

But something in her voice must have not rung true, because her mother narrowed her eyes a bit and examined her more fully. Mattie did her best to look wide-eyed and relaxed under the inspection. But in truth, she felt as if her mother had suddenly located every flaw in her personality.

And Mattie knew there were many. And one, in particular, was most difficult to acknowledge. And that was the painful realization that her faith was not near as solid as she had imagined.

All her life Mattie had found comfort in the Lord’s presence. She’d always felt that she’d done her best to be a person she could be proud of, a person who others respected and admired.

As long as she could remember, she’d always done what she was supposed to. She’d been a dutiful daughter. She’d tried hard in school, had tried not to gossip, and lived by the rules of the Ordnung. And every night, without fail, she prayed.

She praised God for her many gifts. She gave thanks for her joys and for her family.

So why—at twenty-two years of age—did she get cancer?

That hardly seemed fair.

And though her mother and father spoke, mostly in platitudes, about how no one can know God’s will, and how He has a plan for each person . . . for the first time in her life, Mattie wasn’t sure she believed that.

Which was, of course, a terrible thing to admit.

“Mattie, we are almost at the medical center,” her mother said brightly, as if they were on their way to a county fair. “Perhaps afterward, we could go to the ice cream store and have a treat? Or maybe even to Bob Evans?”

“Yes. That would be nice,” Mattie said. Usually, her thoughts about that home-churned vanilla ice cream got her through the difficult examinations.

But today, the treat seemed like a too-small consolation for what was sure to be an uncomfortable appointment and a too-long journey to get there and back.

“Then we’ll head back to Jacob’s Crossing.”

“I will be ready to go home,” Mattie answered with far more emotion. She would be very ready to escape to the privacy of her room and relax and sleep. Once again, she wished that the medical center was not so far away. That she didn’t have to wait for the driver, and pay him for his time. That her mother—who meant so well, but was so irritating—hadn’t made Mattie’s cancer the center of her world.

All of it completely exhausted her.

Her mother’s cheeks bloomed. “I was going to wait, but I found I cannot keep my secret any longer.”

“Secret?”

“A group of us will be getting together at Joanne Knepp’s home to make fried pies for you. Mrs. Knepp wants you to come, too.”

Mattie’s head jolted back. “But, Mamm, I thought you agreed I should go home and rest.”

“Daughter, trust me. All the ladies will not expect you to be doing cartwheels,” her mother chided, as if Mattie didn’t know her mind. “No one expects you to stand on your feet and cook, either. But you could sit on the couch and chat with us, don’t you think?”

Mattie sighed. “You know how these appointments wear me out . . .”

“Yes, but seeing some fresh faces and chatting in their company shouldn’t be a problem.”

Before Mattie could comment, her mother patted her hand. “More likely, their companionship and heartfelt prayers will be just the cure you need.”

Mattie felt the bottom fall out of her stomach. The last thing she wanted was to sit with all of her mother’s friends and pretend that she was perfectly fine.

Because even though her body had been healing, her mind seemed to be going down a different path.

And it was toward a terribly dark place.