The Caregiver

CHAPTER 7





“Mattie, isn’t this such a wonderful-gut activity? I knew as soon as we got around our friends, our spirits would lift.”

Mattie smiled and nodded from her chair at the edge of the Knepps’ kitchen. Privately, however, she wished she was sitting almost anywhere else. It was hard to watch ladies and girls her age bustle around the kitchen . . . making fried pies to sell. For her benefit.

When her mother gave her a meaningful look, Mattie cleared her throat. “Yes. I mean, I’m terribly grateful for you all.”

“Don’t think anything of it,” Gwen Kent said as she cut more shortening into the dough. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Well, all I know is that these will be the flakiest fried pies anyone has ever tasted, for sure,” her mother said. “People will snap them up.”

“Oh, they will,” Joanne Knepp said confidently. “Everyone likes a gut fried pie, for a wonderful cause.”

Gwen darted another smile her way.

“The way you all are working so hard in our makeshift assembly line practically brings tears to my eyes,” Mattie’s mom said to everyone.

Mrs. Knepp chuckled. “We work so well together, we’re almost professional, jah?”

Feeling left out, Mattie got to her feet. “Maybe I could help box them up?”

Mrs. Kent waved away her offer with one hand. “Oh, please don’t, dear. I’d feel awful if you wore yourself out. All you need to do is get better soon.”

“I agree,” Mrs. Knepp said. “It’s enough that you’re here. And making these pies gives me a nice reason to enjoy everyone’s company. All I’ve been doing is either spring cleaning or working in the garden.”

“Jah. Having an excuse to be in the company of other women all day is a wonderful-gut thing,” Mrs. Lapp agreed. “Mattie, are you comfortable?”

“Mighty comfortable. Danke.” Mrs. Knepp had pulled into the kitchen one of the upholstered chairs from her front room.

After carefully taking two pies out of hot oil and setting them on an old newspaper to dry, Mrs. Knepp said, “Mattie, you had a doctor’s appointment today, yes?”

Pure dismay coursed through her as she realized that all the women in the room had just perked right up. “Jah,” she said.

“Did you learn any news?”

Mattie felt her stomach sting. “It was just a checkup.”

Her mother jumped into the conversation. “Mattie’s stitches are healing nicely, though he was a bit concerned about some of her blood work. He asked you to rest as much as possible.” She nodded. “Right, Mattie?”

What could she say? Weakly, Mattie nodded—though an evil part of her wanted to glare at her mother. Really, if she was that concerned about her welfare, shouldn’t she have taken her home—instead of putting her on display in someone’s kitchen?

After the women made some clucking noises, Mrs. Knepp asked, “Mattie, won’t your cousin be here soon to help?”

“Lucy will be here this evening.”

“She’ll have to come over. I’ll introduce her to lots of people,” Gwen said.

Just as if Lucy was coming out to vacation.

Mattie fought to keep a smile on her face. Honestly, it felt like no one really understood how weak she felt. How dismayed. How worried she was about her future.

Her mother spoke. “Unfortunately, Lucy’s train broke down in Toledo, and she has to spend most of her day there.”

“Poor Lucy,” Mrs. Knepp said. “I remember meeting her years ago. I would have hoped her journey was easier.”

“I would have hoped so, too, but one must deal with what one is given,” her mother said with a meaningful look Mattie’s way. “I have faith that she’ll get through this challenge well and good, and have a story to tell.”

“At least one,” Mattie said drily.

Mrs. Knepp’s eyes twinkled. “In any case, Lucy’s arrival should cheer you up, Mattie dear. And that is the most important thing, yes? And I bet a few of these wonderful-gut pies will, too.”

“I like the lemon ones,” Hannah Kent said.

“Me too, dear,” Mrs. Kent said with a smile. Wiping her hands on her apron, she continued: “Now, let’s finish up this task so Ella can sell them at the market on Saturday.”

“I wish I could go and sell them, too,” Hannah whispered.

“Ella will see that not a one is left over,” her mother assured her. “Ella Hostetler is such a serious young woman. Always thinking about others.”

“Do you think we’ll ever sell pies again?” Hannah asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Kent said with a grimace. “Treating cancer is an expensive undertaking.”

Her eyes full of compassion, Mrs. Knepp walked over and gently clasped Mattie’s shoulder. “We’ll do whatever it takes to help with the costs. Everyone here in Jacob’s Crossing will.”

“I appreciate that,” said Mattie’s mother gently.

And as the room quieted, Mattie felt her depression grab on to her more tightly. Not only was she terribly sick, but the illness was putting an awful burden on her family.

“Gwen, cheer us all up,” Mrs. Knepp said brightly. “Tell us what is going on between you and Will Kauffman.”

Gwen sighed, her green eyes turning dreamy. “Oh, nothing much. We are merely seeing each other.”

“Seeing each other seriously,” Gwen’s mother corrected with a smile.

Mrs. Knepp clapped her hands. “Gwen, should we be talking about wedding suppers yet?”

“Not at all,” Gwen replied, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. “Will and I are simply spending time together.”

As the women started discussing Will and Gwen, and a few other new couples in their community, Mattie closed her eyes and pretended to fall asleep.

It was too hard to sit and smile . . . realizing that she might never be like Gwen.

If the chemotherapy didn’t work, or her cancer came back . . . she would never be thinking about a man of her own.

John didn’t regret passing on the walk with Calvin, Lucy, and Katie in the slightest. Though he loved their company, it had been a long while since he’d spent so much time in the constant company of others. A little privacy was no problem.

And, for that matter, he didn’t necessarily think Calvin and Lucy were going to miss his presence all that much anyway. There was something going on between them—he was certain of that.

Even if they both seemed to be oblivious to those sparks.

After getting a cold drink, he found a quiet table and opened up his laptop. In no time, he was surfing the web, reading e-mails, and catching up on Facebook. As he read different posts, he replied to a few, clicked “like” for a couple others.

And then he spied Angela’s picture.

His ex-wife. He hadn’t heard from her in years, hadn’t thought about her in years. And now, not only had he been thinking about her on the train, but here she was, posting about a new puppy she was training to be a guide dog.

John’s fingers hovered over the keys. Every nerve inside him screamed to ignore her profile picture. To not revisit his past.

But, unable to resist the temptation of seeing her again, he clicked on the photo anyway.

Her dark eyes staring back at him brought forth another rush of memories. Oh, why did she still have to be so pretty? Like a starving man, he scanned her profile information. Noticed that she was married. Had two children.

Obviously nothing ever stayed the same.

He remembered their many arguments about their future. Time and again, she’d pushed off his talk about having a baby one day. All she’d ever wanted was a pretty house and the freedom to shop and do as she pleased—without her family’s suffocating closeness.

Though he hadn’t understood her need to distance herself from her parents, especially when they’d helped him so much, John had ached to make her happy. So, he’d never said a word when she insisted they stop visiting her family for Sunday dinner.

When she’d teased him about his Amish ways, he worked even harder to fit into the English world. He stopped talking about things that were important to him and worked hard. He’d bought her the things she said she wanted.

But, eventually, those things had not been enough.

And then his lack of education hadn’t been enough.

And then, one day, she’d told him that he hadn’t been enough.

All of a sudden, the pain of her rejection stung him as if it had just happened. Not years ago. Feeling frustrated with himself, he quickly shut down his computer and put it away.

He should have known better. It was hard enough to go back to Jacob’s Crossing—the last thing he needed was to spend more time on his failings with Angela, too.

After fishing out his book, he gave all his attention to the mystery. Yes, it was far better to concentrate on this story than his past. Or his future.

Or on how sometimes he felt sure Angela had been exactly right—he wasn’t enough, and he never would be.