her dress sleeve and dried her tears. “Poor Mamm . . . and now Beth, too.”
“I daresay Beth’ll be fine. It’s your mother I’m worried about.” Barbara’s eyes were moist now, too. “A body can’t live day in and day out with such constant pain.”
Rose had sometimes thought the same thing. No question about it, Mamm was deteriorating, unable to bounce back from something like the respiratory flu as quickly as she once did. “Dat allows Mamm to do things her way, ’least when it comes to gritting her teeth and enduring pain,” Rose explained, knowing the bishop and Barbara were well aware of her mother’s long-standing wish not to make any further efforts to see a specialist.
Suddenly, Rose heard weeping coming from the bathroom, and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Barbara, what’ll we do?” she whispered. “Poor, dear Mamm!”
“Let’s pray.”
Barbara led Rose to the small sofa and knelt there with her, both of them offering silent prayers for Mamm while the sound of pain-wracked sobbing filled the house.
Solomon cradled Emma in his arms and gently placed her frail body on their bed. He covered her with a red and violet afghan. All the while he beseeched God to help his wife make it through this, vowing that he would find a way to convince her to see a specialist, lest she weaken further and die.
He wondered if he should have Rose Ann run to the phone shanty and call for Old Eli, the Amish folk doctor in Quarryville. Years ago, Sol had taken Emma there in the family carriage. Eli had insisted Sol not pay for the visit, citing the many instances where Sol had been quick to extend his generosity to others. But as it turned out, Eli’s hot and cold applications gave Emma only temporary relief, and by the time they had arrived home, the shooting pain in his wife’s back had returned with a vengeance.
Now, sitting on the bed, he wondered what to do next. There was no health insurance to cover Emma’s medical costs, though he knew the church’s benevolence fund would assist if necessary. Emma had always been adamant about accepting her lot in life, as she believed this to be. Yet Sol could no longer hold his tongue on the matter. Oh, Lord, grant me your wisdom. . . .
“Thy will be done . . . in heaven and on earth,” Emma whispered, opening her golden-brown eyes.
Sol pushed several stray hairs away from her damp forehead. “Amen and amen.” He leaned down to press his cheek next to hers, checking for a fever. She was surprisingly cool, even clammy. He didn’t have the heart to ask if she was without pain, though she did seem to be calmer than earlier today. “I’ll stay here with you, even into the night if necessary.”
“Sol, you need your rest.”
He kissed her forehead, then lightly placed his hand over her eyes, hoping Emma might relax. “Not as much as you do, dear.”
A slight knock came at the door, and Sol rose slowly. When he opened the door a crack, he saw Beth’s big, worried eyes peering in. “Jah?” he whispered.
Beth stood there silently, her forehead wrinkled in a deep frown.
“You mustn’t worry over Emma,” he said, seeing the girl’s distress. “I’ll take care of her.”
Slowly, Beth nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she leaned her head on the doorjamb and sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with her breath.
“Is Rose in the kitchen? Maybe you can help set the table for dinner.”
Beth lifted her head and tilted it inquisitively, like a little bird. She looked into the room, past him, to Emma. “Oh . . . dear lady,” she said softly. “Poor, dear lady.”
Solomon felt so awkward, never before having encountered a young woman like Beth—slow in her mind and unpredictable, too. Abe Esh, the deacon’s twelve-year-old grandson, was like her in many ways, but he was a boy, after all. It was far easier for Sol to relate to him. Standing there with Beth so near, he wished Rose might call for her.
Instead, it
“I daresay Beth’ll be fine. It’s your mother I’m worried about.” Barbara’s eyes were moist now, too. “A body can’t live day in and day out with such constant pain.”
Rose had sometimes thought the same thing. No question about it, Mamm was deteriorating, unable to bounce back from something like the respiratory flu as quickly as she once did. “Dat allows Mamm to do things her way, ’least when it comes to gritting her teeth and enduring pain,” Rose explained, knowing the bishop and Barbara were well aware of her mother’s long-standing wish not to make any further efforts to see a specialist.
Suddenly, Rose heard weeping coming from the bathroom, and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Barbara, what’ll we do?” she whispered. “Poor, dear Mamm!”
“Let’s pray.”
Barbara led Rose to the small sofa and knelt there with her, both of them offering silent prayers for Mamm while the sound of pain-wracked sobbing filled the house.
Solomon cradled Emma in his arms and gently placed her frail body on their bed. He covered her with a red and violet afghan. All the while he beseeched God to help his wife make it through this, vowing that he would find a way to convince her to see a specialist, lest she weaken further and die.
He wondered if he should have Rose Ann run to the phone shanty and call for Old Eli, the Amish folk doctor in Quarryville. Years ago, Sol had taken Emma there in the family carriage. Eli had insisted Sol not pay for the visit, citing the many instances where Sol had been quick to extend his generosity to others. But as it turned out, Eli’s hot and cold applications gave Emma only temporary relief, and by the time they had arrived home, the shooting pain in his wife’s back had returned with a vengeance.
Now, sitting on the bed, he wondered what to do next. There was no health insurance to cover Emma’s medical costs, though he knew the church’s benevolence fund would assist if necessary. Emma had always been adamant about accepting her lot in life, as she believed this to be. Yet Sol could no longer hold his tongue on the matter. Oh, Lord, grant me your wisdom. . . .
“Thy will be done . . . in heaven and on earth,” Emma whispered, opening her golden-brown eyes.
Sol pushed several stray hairs away from her damp forehead. “Amen and amen.” He leaned down to press his cheek next to hers, checking for a fever. She was surprisingly cool, even clammy. He didn’t have the heart to ask if she was without pain, though she did seem to be calmer than earlier today. “I’ll stay here with you, even into the night if necessary.”
“Sol, you need your rest.”
He kissed her forehead, then lightly placed his hand over her eyes, hoping Emma might relax. “Not as much as you do, dear.”
A slight knock came at the door, and Sol rose slowly. When he opened the door a crack, he saw Beth’s big, worried eyes peering in. “Jah?” he whispered.
Beth stood there silently, her forehead wrinkled in a deep frown.
“You mustn’t worry over Emma,” he said, seeing the girl’s distress. “I’ll take care of her.”
Slowly, Beth nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she leaned her head on the doorjamb and sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with her breath.
“Is Rose in the kitchen? Maybe you can help set the table for dinner.”
Beth lifted her head and tilted it inquisitively, like a little bird. She looked into the room, past him, to Emma. “Oh . . . dear lady,” she said softly. “Poor, dear lady.”
Solomon felt so awkward, never before having encountered a young woman like Beth—slow in her mind and unpredictable, too. Abe Esh, the deacon’s twelve-year-old grandson, was like her in many ways, but he was a boy, after all. It was far easier for Sol to relate to him. Standing there with Beth so near, he wished Rose might call for her.
Instead, it
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