Keeping Secrets (32 page)

The smell of chicken soup floated through the house, creating a homey warmth. Mark had disappeared, and Sadie hoped she could get his mother fed and bathed by the time he returned. They might resume talking then, opening old Pandora’s boxes, battling the spirits that spewed forth.

Sadie wheedled, coaxed, even joked, to get Meely to eat the soup. No amount of coaxing could persuade her. Finally, Sadie told her she needed some sort of sustenance to withstand another attack of pain. Nothing could persuade her to try a single spoonful.

“I hate that Amish stuff.”

The words were shoved violently at Sadie and made her flinch. She stood her ground.

“English people make chicken noodle soup. Not just Amish.”

“Don’t want it. You’re Amish.”

“Okay. Then starve. We’re going home.”

“No. No. Don’t.” she cried pathetically. “I’ll taste it.”

“It’s made with ingredients from your grocery store, so it’s English soup,” Sadie teased.

That brought a weak semblance of a smile, and she reached for the soup bowl. She tried some, then raised the black eyebrows.

“It’s good.”

She ate every drop, then asked for water with ice in it, which Sadie brought quickly. Meely drank half of it.

“You don’t mean it,” Meely said, her shoulders drooping. Then, “Why do you want me to live?”

“I want you to live long enough to reconcile your feelings with Mark. I care for Mark. I love him very much, and you’re his mother, so I care about you, of course. You’re his mother.”

“You don’t love me.”

“I would if you’d let me bathe you,” Sadie said smiling.

A small twinkle flickered in her deep brown eyes.

“I’m a disgusting person, aren’t I? Sick and dirty and weak. I wasn’t always like this, you know.”

Sadie nodded.

“I’ll bathe myself. You can help me shampoo.”

Sadie could hardly believe her good fortune. While Meely bathed, Sadie vacuumed the sofa and tucked clean sheets along the cushions. When that was finished, she glided noiselessly across the carpet and pressed her ear to the bathroom door. Meely was not yet ready for her shampoo, so Sadie hurried away to put the soiled sheets and quilt in the washer.

She was thankful for her experience of working at the ranch. She was accustomed to toasters, microwaves, washers, and dryers even though the appliances were not a part of her life at home.

Meely called from the bathroom, and Sadie braced herself, knowing it would take courage to enter.

When she quietly opened the door, Meely was submerged in water up to her shoulders. Her face was turned away, and she refused to meet Sadie’s eye.

“Don’t hurt me now.” The voice was soft, like a child’s, and it enveloped Sadie’s heart.

Poor, frightened woman. Was she any different than Nevaeh, that sick beautiful horse, so pitiful in her weakness?

As Sadie gently massaged Meely’s grimy scalp, working the shampoo into it, Meely closed her eyes. Sadie could see the beauty that had been ravaged by disease and malnutrition. Her eyebrows were like dark wings, once plucked to perfection, now beautiful in their fullness. Her eyes were wide half-moons fringed with black lashes. Her cheeks were sallow and mottled, but the bone structure was perfect, just like Mark’s.

As Sadie washed the matted mass of hair loosening under her hands, the water turned gray and then brown. She rinsed, shampooed again, then worked the conditioner in before the final rinse.

“There, Meely. Do you need help to finish?”

The “no” was quick and emphatic. But she had to call Sadie to help her dress in clean pajamas, warm socks, and another robe, a white one this time, which improved the stark outline of her figure.

Sadie led her to the red wing-chair and gently brushed her hair until all the tangles were smoothed. Sadie was amazed at the amount of black hair Meely still had, despite her illness. She was only graying a bit at the temples.

“I lost all of it before, you know. Chemo kills you,” Meely said wryly.

“I’ve heard people talk of chemotherapy.”

“It’s as horrible as they say.”

That was all she said. Her body was limp with exhaustion, so Sadie helped her to the sofa, pulling the quilt around her thin shoulders. Meely tried to speak, but her eyes, those beautiful half moons of light, fell. Her breathing deepened, and she was asleep.

Sadie stood, then reached out and tentatively smoothed the hair away from her pearly brow.

Dear God.
Unser Himmlischer Vater.

As she prayed in Dutch, a wave of homesickness rushed over her. She missed her family. Reuben especially. She missed Paris and hoped Anna was riding her with Reuben and Moon. She missed Dorothy, too. She would call tomorrow.

She washed dishes, fed the dogs, ate some of the chicken soup. She was still hungry and decided to make
toast brot, milch und an oy
. It was an old satisfying dish when the stomach was not quite right or the body needed a bit of comfort within the next 15 minutes.

She put a small amount of milk in a little saucepan and broke an egg into it. Then she put a slice of bread in the toaster. When the egg and toast were ready, she dumped the egg and milk on the toast, salting and peppering it liberally.

She took a bite and closed her eyes, savoring this dish straight from Mam’s kitchen.

Where was Mark?

She couldn’t blame him for leaving. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to face those memories again, especially from his own Mam. It was almost beyond her comprehension.

When Mark returned a short time later, they sat in the neglected garden and talked. At first Mark was curt, defiant even, but as the late afternoon turned to evening, the dusty sunlight filtering through the trees, he spoke of his pain. He desperately longed to forgive his mother, but he didn’t have the strength to do it.

Sadie could only slip her hand in his, lay her head on his shoulder, and listen. His pain was as raw as the day his mother had left so many years ago. Sadie knew then that he would always be bound by the fetters of his past, even if he reached a measure of forgiveness.

Perhaps forgiveness was like love. It came in small portions, but it was the exact amount you needed, poured out by a loving Father above.

Life is imperfect. To believe that painful things could be completely washed away, never to return, was wishful thinking.

The painful things of the past remained, but with forgiveness and love, you could lock them away if the key to that lock could be maintained by love. It was God who supplied the key of love yet again. He was always there.

So was love.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING THERE
was a resounding knock from the rusted knocker on the front door, followed closely by two insistent peals from the doorbell. Instinctively Meely clutched her robe with one hand and grasped at her quilts with the other, her eyes wide with terror as the dogs began their ear-splitting cacophony.

“They’re coming to get me, aren’t they?” she hissed, her dark hair flying about her head as she searched for a way of escape.

Before Sadie could stop her, Meely lifted the quilt, flung her legs over the side of the sofa, raised herself up, and with a frightened cry, fell headlong onto the carpet.

As the doorbell repeated its insistent peals, Mark and Sadie rushed to Meely’s side, hoarse sobs escaping the pitifully thin body. Choking and crying, clawing the air with her thin, white fingers, she was clearly horrified now.

“Get the door,” Mark said curtly.

Sadie went to the door, hushing the dogs as best she could before pulling it open tentatively, peeping out to see a large African-American man. Instinctively, she was reluctant to ask him in.

She stepped outside and kept her hand on the door handle in case she needed a quick escape back inside.

“How ya doin’, honey? I’m Tom!” He extended his large hand and crushed Sadie’s in an all-encompassing grip.

Then, rushing on, giving Sadie no space to introduce herself, he filled the air around him with a steady stream of words spoken loudly but in a rich, lovely baritone that sent shivers down Sadie’s spine.

“I’m Tom, the preacher man. I’ve been tellin’ the Lord that he needs to let me know if there’s anything I can do for this lady. She never comes out of the house, but I’m trusting him to let me know if she needs help. Last night I saw someone walking around here as I was comin’ home, an’ sure enough, I knew right then that the Lord needed me here. How’s she doin’?”

Sadie shook her head.

“I figgered. I figgered. Honey, she in a bad way?”

“She doesn’t have long.”

“Aw, honey!”

With that, Sadie was enveloped in what she could only describe as a bear hug, from which he released her just as quickly.

“You relation?”

“My … boyfriend’s mother.”

“Aw, honey!”

There was a sweet lilt to his words, a butterfly perched on a question, a dove of peace on every endearment.

His words always came with a smile. His eyes were a constant glow of good humor, his white teeth a flash of goodwill. All this was apparent in these first few moments.

“She needs saved, right?”

Sadie nodded, hesitantly. The English used the word
saved
, but Sadie, like most Amish, was wary of the term. Amish teaching instilled the fear of God as a strict master who demands that the faithful stay within the rules of the church and adhere to the keeping of good works. It was the Amish way, and it made them stumble at using the word saved to describe a believer.

“You think I’d be eaten alive if I walked through that door?” Tom asked.

Sadie smiled. “Oh, no,” she said. “Follow me.”

Sadie led Tom through the foyer. She did her best to keep the dogs at bay. Meely was lying on the sofa, still crying, her head moving constantly from side to side.

“Mark, this is Tom, a minister.”

Mark looked up as Sadie caught her breath. How would he react?

Mark straightened, standing as tall as Tom. Then he extended his hand, a curious welcome in his brown eyes. Sadie breathed out, grateful now.

“Tom Dockers,” he said, grasping Mark’s hand with a firm grip. His white, white teeth and his eyes with their never-ceasing good humor won him immediately.

“Mark Peight. How do you do?”

“Fine. Your mother?”

“Yes.”

Tom nodded. His eyes softened, then filled with warm tears of mercy. Slowly the massive form moved toward the frail woman. He stood over her, his head bent, his lips moving. He was clearly a powerhouse of prayer, faith, and love so great that Sadie felt sure she had never met anyone quite like this man.

Slowly, Tom placed his hand on Meely’s restless shoulder. He closed his eyes. Tears squeezed between the lids.

Meely ceased her restless movement and breathed peacefully. Slowly she opened her eyes, then drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes popped as she screamed, high and desperate now.

“No! No! No!” she wailed. “Don’t! Oh, don’t. Don’t torment me before my time!”

Her torment was visible and audible. The dogs whined in response, the large white shepherd beginning a howl of sorts.

Sadie moved quickly to let the dogs out before a situation arose that would have dire consequences.

Tom did not remove his hand. Instead he gently moved it back and forth, as if to calm the flailing woman on the sofa.

“Now listen, honey child. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. I’m just here to talk awhile. Nobody’s gettin’ you.”

His voice was drowned out by a piercing scream of agony. Still he kept talking. Half-reassurances, half-prayers. He talked on and on while Meely railed against him, cursing, crying, begging Mark to take this awful man away from her.

They felt the time had come for professional help, when they could no longer control the pain. Meely’s lucid thoughts and words were fewer. The strain of trying to keep her comfortable was showing in Mark’s eyes.

The local hospital had been extremely helpful, giving them telephone numbers, explaining various services, until they found an organization they were comfortable with.

At first Mark had resisted, until Sadie reasoned with him. His memories of foster care made him suspicious of anyone coming to help professionally. They were all part of “the system” in his words. Only the moans of intense discomfort from his mother’s bed finally convinced him. He nodded, a sort of pitiful caving in of his resolve, when Sadie said she would make the call.

When a heavy-set nurse from Hospice showed up at the front door, Meely’s screaming only increased. Undaunted, the blond-haired woman waved them all aside, telling them to “git,” which they obeyed. Mark led Sadie and Tom to the kitchen, leaving the nurse to administer professional care.

They sat around the kitchen table with mugs of coffee and a blue packet of Oreo cookies. Tom took the time to introduce himself fully, explaining his life’s mission as a small town “preacher man,” counselor, mentor, cook, husband, and father of three: Levi, Jeptha, and Samuel.

“They my men, they my men,” he chortled, swallowing yet another Oreo.

Sadie sipped coffee, quietly absorbing this man and his larger-than-life personality. She had never talked to a black man before. So she listened and became increasingly amazed by this man and his speech. He was completely and totally devoted to his Lord, his God. “My Man,” as Tom called him.