Secret, The (12 page)
Hard to believe I’m supposed to be dying.
Well, we’re ALL dying, aren’t we, from the second we’re
born. But only some of us get to actually live a full life. . . .
She glanced up and watched a bird in flight, its wings seemingly so fragile. Yet the delicate creature managed to fly using the wind current and its own strength.
“Flying strong . . . just like me,” she whispered, although that wasn’t even remotely true.
Her stuporlike cloud of denial had finally lifted that morning, and Heather wanted to know what she was up against. If she procrastinated on getting her treatment started, what symptoms had the doctor warned might develop?
She typed in the address for WebMD, a credible online resource, and soon discovered her symptoms might someday include weight loss—up to ten percent of her total body weight—heavy night sweats, fevers with no apparent cause, itching, and a cough or breathlessness.
She was confused because she had none of these symptoms, even though the oncologist had told her she was in stage IIIA. That meant the disease had spread to three lymph regions in her body, though the nodes remained small and painless.
One thing led to another, and soon Heather was reading Web pages for holistic alternative treatment centers around the country, and even one in Salzburg, Austria. Wow, there was one situated on a private island in the Caribbean, too.
Who
wouldn’t feel better just being there?
She spent the next hour online, viewing sites for fasting weekends, day spas, Candida cleanses, and alternative treatments ranging from detoxes to therapeutic massages and thermal water cures.
Quite the gamut
, she thought, baffled. One YouTube clip actually featured a man vowing his water diet would cure anyone of anything.
Heather shook her head, sighing. Some of this was almost laughable. But people did impulsive things when their life was in jeopardy. How was it possible to sift the scams from what was legitimate, especially when so many of these places were charging an arm and a leg?
They’re certainly not covered by insurance.
She closed the laptop and stared at the sky. Despite her initial denial, she was ready now to make some choices based on her diagnosis. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the springtime sounds and smells. Didn’t she owe it to herself and to her family to give natural methods a try, at least for the summer?
Yes, she definitely wanted to experiment with a natural approach before getting a second opinion from a medical doctor later. The Lancaster naturopath came to mind once again, and she decided to call Dr. Marshall’s office for an appointment.
She might’ve helped Mom, if it hadn’t been too late. . . .
While Grace waited for Mandy to determine the next move of her king on the checkerboard, she admired again the cute card from Becky. A hummingbird fed from a single pink flower, a vibrant sea of flower cups opening to the sun in the background. A legend she’d heard as a girl said that a hummingbird’s flight was unfettered by space and time . . . and carried all one’s hopes for lasting affection, greatest joy, and merriment. Grace paused to consider it, looking fondly at the expertly rendered likeness.
Becky’s a wonder. . . .
It was evident how many hours her friend had put into the picture. Grace almost felt guilty for having received the many multicolored pencils in the fancy case from Jessica. Surely they were something Becky might better enjoy.
“Your move.” Mandy looked up, eyes mischievous.
Grace laughed. “Nice try. I see you’re goin’ to double jump me!”
“If you’re not careful.”
She smiled at her sister, then made her move.
“You’re partial to board games, ain’t?”
“Any time you want to play, I’m willing.” Grace also enjoyed cross-stitching and tatting, just as Mammi Adah did. And, on occasion, she liked to spin wool on an old treadle wheel Brittany and her mom had purchased at a flea market—a most unique hobby.
“Are we still taking Willow for a ride tomorrow?” Mandy asked.
“Fine with me.” She waited for her sister to move her checker.
Mandy folded her arms, grinning because she’d made the perfect setup to block Grace. “There . . . how’d ya like that?”
Not ready to be outwitted, Grace leaned closer to the board, studying her options. “Do you think our grandparents had a
gut
time tonight?” she asked.
“Jah, why?”
Grace shrugged, reaching across the board to move her king backward. Truth was, she worried all the foolish bantering at the table had not been overlooked by either her parents or her grandparents. But each year they put up with it, and rather graciously at that. Next year, though, things would be different with Jessica Spangler married and living elsewhere. And who could know about Becky? Mandy, too, for that matter.
Grace did not include herself in the group of potential brides, although she wondered if she would still be residing in her father’s house on her twenty-second birthday. Would Henry decide to make her his wife at last?
Mrs. Grace Stahl . . .
She considered Henry’s family name. There were plenty of Stahls locally, but they weren’t Amish, except for Henry’s extended family. His grandfather had settled in Bird-in-Hand from south of Somerset County, where Stahl was a common Amish name. Sighing while Mandy decided where to move her only king, Grace was drawn to the card Adam had slipped under her plate before supper. A placid ocean scene with a lone seabird walking the shoreline. He knew well her desire to see the ocean for herself one day. She hadn’t paid close attention to the inside of the card, at least not until now. Adam’s note made her smile:
If you keep having birthdays, you’ll
soon catch up to me. Your older brother, Adam.
Joe had made a squiggly, smiling figure beside his name, and Mandy had signed,
With love to my best sister, Mandy.
“How silly,” she said, showing Mandy what she’d written. “I’m your only sister, in case you forgot.”
Mandy pulled a face, which made Grace laugh even more. Then, looking for her grandparents’ names, she was delighted to see Mammi Adah’s shaky hand.
Yet the Lord will command
his loving-kindness in the day time, and in the night his song shall
be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life.
“My favorite verse . . . she remembered,” Grace said, showing Mandy. “Psalm 42:8.”
“Mammi Adah always writes Scripture in her cards,” Mandy said, all smiles. “What did Mamma write?”
Grace searched the card, blinking . . . looking. “Well, that’s odd.”
Mandy reached for it. “Let me see.”
“She must’ve forgotten,” Grace said, befuddled.
Mammi Adah had once told her, during last September’s walnut-picking time—their hands stained brown from the nuts—that it wasn’t what you intended to do in life that mattered, but what you actually did. “I’m sure Mamma meant to sign it,” she said.
“Ain’t
gut
enough.” Mandy got up, waving the card.
“What’re you doin’?”
Mandy marched straight to the kitchen. “Mamma?”
“Ach no . . .” Grace’s voice faded to a whisper, her heart sinking. Mamma had seemed so content earlier. She hadn’t wanted anything to ruin this day.
G
race had just curled up on her little love seat to write in the pages of her new blank book when her mother knocked on the slightly open door.
“Come in, Mamma.”
Her mother wore a tentative expression as she lingered in the doorway. Then she slowly moved toward the dresser, where the birthday cards were lined up, returning the card given to Grace by her family.
That done, she made her way to the bed and sat down gingerly, drawing in a long breath. “I’d planned to sign your card before supper,” Mamma said softly, a little hitch in her voice. “Truly, I did.”
Grace suddenly felt sorry for her. “You had a lot on your mind.”
“Well, seems the time got away from me.” Her mother looked as embarrassed now as Grace had been earlier at the thought of Mandy’s bringing the card to Mamma’s attention.
“The supper was wonderful-
gut
,” Grace said, changing the subject. “Denki, Mamma.”
“You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.”
Grace smiled. “Mammi Adah told some stories on me, jah?”
“We all have stories. . . .” Mamma paused and a frown crossed her brow. “Gracie, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
Grace caught her breath. Never had Mamma looked so serious. Was she about to reveal her heart at last?
Mamma straightened and folded her hands. “I don’t mean to seem nosy, dear. But I’ve guessed that Henry Stahl might be courtin’ you.”
Grace didn’t feel comfortable letting on that the hunch was correct, but she was curious as to what her mother might say.
“Now, I know he’s a nice boy . . . his parents are hardworkin’ and God-fearin’ and all, but—”
“But what, Mamma?”
Her mother looked down at her hands for a moment. “It’s just that . . . well, have you thought what it might be like, marryin’ someone so reserved?” Mamma brushed her hand against her face, her expression sad. “I’ve noticed he’s awfully quiet—even awkward—around everyone. Is he that way with you, Grace?”
“Ach, Mamma . . .”
Her mother’s tone was almost apologetic as she continued. “I know it’s awfully bold of me. Mind you, I don’t mean to criticize Henry in any way. I’m just lookin’ out for you . . . making sure you’re thinking things through, is all.”
She should’ve been glad for this mother-daughter talk, but Grace was more bemused than happy—there seemed to be much more on Mamma’s mind than Henry. Her blue eyes were too solemn.
“A reserved man can be hard to live with,” Mamma said softly. “A woman might never know where she stands.”
Grace sighed sadly, reading between the lines. She had worried that Mamma’s melancholy—and her nighttime wanderings—had something to do with Dat and the state of their marriage.
“ ’Tween you and me, Mamma, I care for Henry,” she whispered. The past eight months together had been pleasant and a longer time than most couples spent courting.
Mamma blinked her eyes, then rose. “Just please think ’bout it, won’t ya?” With that she kissed Grace’s forehead and patted her face. “Sleep well, dear one.”
Her mother left the room, and Grace heard the familiar footsteps in the hall. Out of curiosity, she got up to look at the now-signed card standing next to Becky’s hummingbird on the dresser. Opening it, she was surprised to see what Mamma had written:
You came into my life just in time, Grace. I will always
love you. Your mother.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Mamma . . .” Struggling not to weep, she placed the card in the center of the birthday wishes.
I will always love you, too.
Slowly, she began to remove her hairpins, one at a time. When she’d finished, she shook out her long tresses, the length falling around her like a thick shelter. Reaching for her brush, she began to count the strokes. Soon she would dress for bed, but tonight she wanted to burn the lamp oil a bit longer.
It’s my birthday, after all.
She paused her brushing and glanced out into the hall, noting her parents’ door was closed.
How long before Mamma goes walking tonight?
Grace resumed brushing her hair until her scalp tingled. Then she settled back down on the settee to write, still pondering the surprising things Mamma had said.
Judah sat in his chair near the bedroom window in his pajamas, the old German
Biewel
open on his lap. He looked out at the moonlit sky and heard Lettie open, then close the door behind her.
Without acknowledging her, he turned back to the Good Book. Quietly, she moved to sit across from him. “Judah . . . I don’t want to interrupt your reading, but . . .”
He raised his head to see the dark circles beneath her tearful eyes, her face so drawn. Another moment passed as Lettie appeared to gather herself.
Judah felt the old, familiar tension in his gut. How long had their conversations been something akin to the birthing of a stillborn lamb? Without thinking, he said, “Whatever’s wrong . . . well, it’s awful hard on the children, Lettie.”
