The Waiting Read online

  Ben showed no sign of recognizing Cal; his eyes remained fixed on his right hand, drumming restlessly on the arm of the chair. Cal wasn’t disappointed – Matthew had prepared him for such a lack of response. His heart, though, was overflowing with joy . . . just to be near his brother Ben.

  In a soft, gentle voice, Cal started talking to Ben as if he’d seen him only last week and wanted to let him know what crops were going to be planted soon and which cows were due to calve. Too soon, he felt, the doctor interrupted, saying he thought Ben had enough excitement for one day.

  Slowly, Cal stood. “Ben, the Lord God answered our prayers and protected you. He brought you home to us. I’m so glad you’re back with us.” He cleared his throat; it felt as if he had ground glass in there. “So very glad.” He clasped Ben on the shoulder as if he was afraid he might disappear again.

  Out by the nurses’ station, Cal crossed his arms against his chest and locked eyes with Dr. Doyle. That little doctor couldn’t be much older than Matthew, Cal thought, and acted as jumpy as a cricket. “He needs to be home with us. He won’t get better here.”

  Dr. Doyle shook his head emphatically. “I’m sorry, Mr. Zook. He’s still under evaluation. There are procedures we need to follow.”

  Cal threw up his arms. “I am tired of the government telling me about my brother. First, you tell me he’s dead. Then, that his body has been cremated. Now, we find out – through no help from the government, mind you – that he’s alive! I want to bring my brother home. He belongs at home.”

  Bud sidled up to the doctor. “Remember, Doc, these folks are Amish. They aren’t gonna sue you. They just like to take care of their own.”

  The doctor looked curiously at Bud, standing there with his hands jammed into his overall pockets, his straw hat tilted back on his wispy gray hair, his heavy boots giving off a faint whiff of manure. “This patient is suffering from a severe clinical depression. It’s given him dissociative symptoms.” At the blank look on everyone’s faces, he tried again. “Something like amnesia.”

  “Amnesia?” Matthew asked. “So he has forgotten us?”

  “No,” the doctor sighed, deeply and grievously. “He hasn’t forgotten you. He’s tried to suppress painful experiences that are too difficult to endure. It’s like his mind has shut down as a way to cope. It’s not unusual behavior in a veteran, but it’s not understood very well. If he went home too soon, with expectations from all of you heaped on him, it might cause the opposite response. He might withdraw even further, because he can’t fulfill your expectations of him.”

  Cal spun the brim of his black hat around and around in his hands. “We don’t want to cause him any more pain.”

  “That’s why I want you folks to go home, let the professionals evaluate your brother, and let us decide what the best course of action to take will be,” the doctor said.

  “Could we come back to see him soon?” Cal asked. When the doctor hesitated, Cal quickly added, “We thought he was dead. For months now, we thought my brother was dead.”

  The doctor’s face relaxed slightly. “Of course. Of course you can visit him. Look, we all want the same thing. We want your brother to get well. Matthew will be here every day and can call you with updates.”

  Bud made a snorting sound. “These folks don’t have phones, Doc.”

  “How soon?” Cal asked. “How soon can we come and visit?”

  “Next weekend,” the doctor said. With visible relief, he noticed Lottie approaching from the elevator with Maggie and Ephraim. “Lottie has some paperwork for you to fill out about your brother. You have information we need.”

  He hustled away as if there was a fire on the ward.

  Lottie had a large file folder in her hands and plunked it on the counter of the nurses’ station. “The government loves its paperwork,” she said to Cal, as if that explained everything.

  Matthew offered to keep Maggie and Ephraim busy, so Cal began the process of filling out forms. When he was drafted in the Korean War, there was one simple form to sign. Why would it be so much more complicated to declare someone alive? he wondered, after filling out the sixth form. Thirty minutes later, Cal found Matthew, Ephraim, and Bud in the waiting room.

  “Where’s Maggie?” he asked.

  “I thought she was with you,” Matthew said, suddenly alarmed. “I was showing them around the hospital and Maggie said she needed to go to the bathroom. When she didn’t come back to us, I figured she had found you.”

  “Matthew,” Cal said, frowning, “you know Maggie’s tendency to wander off.”

  They spent time retracing their steps, going floor to floor. They finally split up and each took a floor, until Lottie waved to Cal down at the elevator. “Come look what I found.” She took him back to Ben’s hospital room. There was Maggie, sitting on Ben’s bed. Maggie was reading out loud from a comic book she had found in the waiting room. Cal watched them for a while.

  “Well, well, look at that,” Lottie whispered.

  “What?” Cal asked. To him, Ben hadn’t changed a wit. He was still in the chair, staring out the window.

  “See his hands? They’re still. First time I’ve seen his fingers not drumming a beat.”

  Cal’s eyes shifted to Ben’s hand, resting calmly on the armchair. Maggie looked up and noticed her father at the door. Gently, she laid the comic book in Ben’s lap. “Next time we come, we’ll finish up the story and see whether Archie ends up with Veronica or Betty.” She patted her uncle on the shoulder. “See you soon, Ben.”

  Bud drove Matthew to the house where he was renting a room. “I wish we could stay and take you to dinner, Matthew,” Cal said. “But the dairy . . .”

  Matthew waved him off. “I understand. I’m kind of beat anyway.” After he got out of the car, he shut the door and leaned through the window. “Maggie, what made you think to read to Ben?”

  She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her small nose. “Jorie told us to read whenever we got the chance. When I saw the comic book in the waiting room, I just thought Ben might like it.”

  Matthew reached in to give her a big wet noisy kiss on her cheek. “You did good, little Magpie.”

  Cal loved his dairy, but there were days, like today, when the relentless demands of thirty cows waiting to be milked felt like a ball and chain around his leg. They had left the hospital so late that he knew they wouldn’t be back to Beacon Hollow in time for the milking. A whole set of problems could be waiting for him back home, the least of which would be the noise of thirty bawling cows with bursting udders. He kept glancing at the speedometer, wishing Bud would pick up his pace.

  Bud scowled at him. “Stop staring at me. I’m driving the speed limit and that’s all there is to it!”

  “Aw, Bud,” Cal said. “Little old ladies are passing us by!”

  “So much for the slow life of the Amish, is all I got to say,” Bud said, but he did speed up a little.

  When Bud finally turned the station wagon up Beacon Hollow’s long driveway, nearly two hours late for the milking, Cal was about to leap out of the car. He tossed a thank-you back to Bud and rushed into the barn, expecting to hear a chorus of thirty unhappy cows. Instead, the cows were quietly eating, udders emptied, manure shoveled off behind them in their stanchions, and the barn had been swept clean. Maggie and Ephraim skidded to a halt behind him.

  “Wer hen schunn die K-Kieh g-gemolke?!” Ephraim said, looking around the tidy barn in amazement. Who milked the cows?!

  Cal turned around in a circle, amazed. “Our good friends and neighbors. That’s who milked our cows. They knew we needed help and they just stepped in.” He sighed, deeply satisfied with this day of many miracles. “And that, Maggie and Ephraim, is what being Amish is all about.”

  In the kitchen, they found the table set for supper, the smell of a casserole baking in the oven. On the table was a bowl of pickled cucumbers, sliced tomatoes, and a basket of sliced bread, covered with a napkin.

  As Ephraim made a lunge for the br
ead basket, Cal grabbed his wrist. “First, we wash up. Then, we thank the Lord for a day such as this. Then, we eat.”

  “Who do you think made us dinner?” Maggie asked, scrubbing her hands at the kitchen sink. “Same folks that milked our cows?”

  Cal laughed. “I hope not. I think it was a female who made us this fine dinner. Maybe two. She didn’t leave us a note. I’m guessing she didn’t feel the need to be thanked. But we can sure thank the good Lord for this meal and the hands that provided it.” He tucked his chin to his chest and offered a prayer, filled with gratitude, to God for this day’s events, including a request for healing for Ben. And dear Lord, he added silently to his prayer, please help me know what to do about Jorie.

  On Monday afternoon, as soon as school let out, Cal was waiting on the steps of the schoolhouse. The scholars poured out, scarcely noticing him, but Maggie and Ephraim stopped in their tracks.

  “You both head on home before the rain starts up,” he told them. “I’ll be there soon.”

  Cal waited until the last scholar left, then went into the schoolhouse and stood by the door, awkwardly. He was hoping Jorie would say something. She sat at her desk, engrossed in writing on a paper. She didn’t acknowledge him in any way.

  He cleared his throat. “We went to see Ben yesterday.” He took a tentative step inside and took off his hat.

  “I heard,” she said, without looking up.

  So she did know he was here. Cal took a step closer. “He isn’t . . . well. The doctor said he’s suffering from a type of stress brought on by trauma. A depression. He’s sort of in his own world.” He took another step. “But there was a bright spot. Maggie read to him and it seemed to calm him. We thought that was a real good sign.”

  Jorie gave a slight nod. He noticed her hand was clasping the pen so tightly that her knuckles were white.

  Cal rambled on for a while, trying to remember the details that the doctor had told him. “Matthew is going to call over to Bud’s each night, a little after five when the long-distance rates go down, and tell us how Ben is doing. If there’s some improvement, we’re hoping we can bring him home soon. That doctor, though, he might take some persuading.”

  Jorie stood and went to the window that overlooked the playground. Rain had begun and it hit with a fury.

  “Jorie,” Cal said in a soft voice, coming close behind her.

  She spun around. “You know what really makes me mad? You took Maggie! You took a little girl to a psychiatric ward of the Veterans Hospital. Yet you didn’t take me! You left church yesterday with no intention of asking me to come. I saw you leave!”

  “But – ”

  Her eyes were fiery. “I care about him too.”

  He tossed his hat on a nearby desk and raised his hands. “Jorie, please try and understand. I couldn’t handle . . . having both . . .” He sighed. “We may as well have this out now as later. We’ve got a problem that’s going to need some working out.”

  “I realize we’ve got a problem! But for you to exclude me yesterday, well, that’s hard for me to understand. You’re the one who’s always saying that men need to listen to women, that a woman’s point of view is like a gift.” She lifted her chin a notch. “Well, yesterday, you had a chance to practice what you preach, and instead you just went off, without a thought for me. It hurt me to be left out. As if I didn’t matter to Ben. As if I didn’t matter to you.”

  “Of course you matter,” Cal said, a strange roughness to his voice. “Why else would this whole thing feel so complicated?”

  But Jorie had arrived at some conclusions of her own. “Let me uncomplicate this whole thing,” she said, too calmly. “Ben needs you right now. Nothing else is as important as helping Ben get better.”

  “You’re right,” Cal said.

  She turned back to the window. “Maybe the timing of this is a blessing. No one needs to know that a courtship has been broken.”

  Cal walked up to her and reached out a hand as if he was going to touch her, then thought better of it. He had a little trouble with his voice when he asked, “Are we broken, Jorie?”

  She turned to him. Cal stared at her, his face settling into deep lines, and Jorie stared back, her head held high, erect. A silence drew out between them, underscored by the drumroll of rain hitting the roof above their heads.

  Cal was the first to drop his eyes. “On Sunday, Bud said he’d drive us over to see Ben. If you want to see him. But I can’t promise the doctor will let you into his room. He’s a little protective, that doctor. Doesn’t understand how important family is. I’m anxious to get Ben home as soon as possible. I know he’ll get better if he can just come home.”

  Jorie gave a firm nod. “I’ll be there on Sunday.”

  Cal picked up his hat and walked to the door. As he reached the doorjamb, he turned around. “It’s a miracle, really. Like Lazarus, raised from the dead.” He put his hat on and adjusted the brim, before walking out in the rain.

  “But Lazarus came back whole,” Jorie said, so softly Cal wasn’t sure if she actually said it or if he had just thought it himself.

  13

  The following Sunday afternoon, Dr. Doyle led Matthew, Cal, and Jorie to Ben’s door while Bud took Maggie and Ephraim to the cafeteria. The doctor explained that they shouldn’t expect any response, that they should not cry or put any emotional pressure on Ben. “I recommend that you, Matthew, or you, Mr. Zook, go in first and talk to him for a few minutes. Prepare him for meeting someone else. Matthew said you’re his girlfriend, right?” He looked to Jorie to respond, but she didn’t answer.

  Matthew cringed. Why did he ever tell the doctor that? And he didn’t say “girlfriend,” he said “girl.”

  “We’re his family,” Cal said. “We’re all family. I’ll go in first.”

  After Cal went into Ben’s room, the doctor turned to Matthew. “What, is he like the patriarch of the clan?”

  Matthew rolled his eyes at Jorie, as if to say, “English.” Then he grinned. “Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. Cal is the head of our family.”

  A few minutes later, Cal came out and motioned to Jorie to go in. She put her hand on the doorknob and paused. Her heart was racing, part excitement, part dread. She still couldn’t believe Ben – her Ben with his laughing eyes and teasing ways – was alive, right behind that door. And as happy as she was that he was alive, she worried terribly about what kind of condition he was in. Cal sounded so confident about Ben getting well, but she wasn’t so sure. She’d heard stories of soldiers coming home, forever changed.

  Cal placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “It will be good medicine for him to see you, Jorie.”

  She closed the door behind her and looked across the room at Ben, seated in a chair facing the window. He didn’t notice that she had come in. His chin was tucked to his chest and his eyes were closed, but his fingers were tapping the arm of the chair. He looked thin, terribly thin. His skin, normally tanned from the sun, was milk pale. His head – that beautiful head of dark, wavy hair – was nearly shaved, just a bristle remained like the bits of an old broom. She felt a fist tighten around her heart and hot tears sting her eyes. She wiped them away, took a deep breath, and went to his side.

  When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “It’s really you. It’s really our Ben.”

  As soon as she said the words, something cold seemed to shiver across his face. She had the impression that, in his mind, he had just seen something, or thought something, that hurt him terribly. The tension was too much and she felt her eyes well up with tears again. She fought them back. She wanted to touch him, just touch him. Just lay her hand against his cheek.

  Instead, she pulled up a chair and tried to think of something to say – something that would speak to his heart. All week long, Jorie thought up a dozen things to tell him, but now, none of them made it past the end of her tongue. Finally, she decided to talk to him as if she were writing a letter to him. She had written often while he was in Vietnam,
though he seldom wrote back. She told him about her teaching job and about the foals they were expecting at Stoney Creek. She explained that they had a new veterinarian, one who actually knew about horses. “He’s been such a help. Knows horses better than Atlee.” She smiled. “You always said that once I got started on my Percherons, I could talk the ears off of a donkey.”

  Ben kept his head down, but she had a sense that he was listening.

  “My grandmother still thinks she can heal anyone and everyone. She gave Fannie Byler a remedy to lose weight and Fannie promptly gained ten pounds. Why, Mammi is working on something for you, right now – ” Jorie caught herself. She sighed. She really didn’t know what else to say. “That Dr. Doyle, he warned me not to stay too long, so I’ll say goodbye. For now.”

  She rested her hand on his forearm, but he flinched, so she took her hand away. At that, he lifted his eyes and looked at her, briefly, before closing them again.

  “God is watching over you, bringing you back to us, Ben,” she said, answering him as if he had asked her a question. “A sparrow doesn’t fall from the sky without God knowing of it. Even you, Benjamin Zook.”

  While Jorie was in Ben’s room, Cal remained in the hallway, pressing Dr. Doyle to release Ben.

  “Why?” the doctor asked. “You can see for yourself that he’s barely functioning.”

  “With all the pills you keep tossing down his throat, how could any man function?” Cal asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said them. It wasn’t like him to be sarcastic, but he and this doctor were on opposite ends.

  Narrowing his eyes slightly, the doctor said, “The medications help stabilize him.” He looked as if he was trying hard to keep his temper under control.

  “You’ve had him more than a week now. There’s been no real improvement to speak of.”

  “That’s not true,” Dr. Doyle said, squaring his shoulders. “He’s speaking now. Says a few words when he wants something. And he’s taking long walks each day.”