The Waiting Read online

  “But other times, he seems like a stranger.”

  She nodded.

  “He has terrible nightmares. I wake him up but he can’t remember a thing. Or he doesn’t want to tell me.” Cal paced up and down the aisle. “Then he goes out walking in the night. I have no idea where he goes . . . just walking. When he comes back, he sleeps away most of the day.”

  “He’s certainly getting better each time I see him. He’s gaining weight and his color is better. His eyes seem brighter too.”

  “He seems angry,” Cal said. He looked so discouraged.

  “Maybe. But underneath the anger, I think he’s wounded.”

  Cal took his hat off and spun it around in his hands. “Do you think it was a mistake, taking him out of the hospital?”

  Jorie shrugged. “I’m not sure the hospital was going to ever be able to fix him.” She wasn’t sure any of them could. She picked up her books and headed to the door.

  Cal followed her outside, waiting while she locked up.

  “How could this have happened, Jorie? How could Ben have veered so far off course? I spend more time worrying about Ben than I do Maggie and Ephraim and Matthew altogether.” He started to say something else, then stopped and looked away.

  She wondered what he was about to say. Was he going to say that he worried about her too? That he missed her? Did he ever wonder whether they would be able to find their way to each other? Did he even want her anymore? But she didn’t say anything. She let the silence between them lay there. Silence that was heavy and full of words that weren’t being said.

  He looked up at the sky, then right back at her, and she saw all she needed to see.

  Spring weather was always unsettled. One day in mid-April, the rain came in waves, beating down all morning. Just as the first grade finished reciting addition facts, Maggie asked if she could go to the outhouse.

  Jorie glanced out the window. It was like someone was pouring an ocean’s worth of water on the ground. “Maggie, you need to wait until the rain has passed. You’ll get as soaked as if you’d jumped in the creek.”

  “But I can’t wait!” Maggie had one leg crossed over the other and was squeezing tight.

  “Try thinking about something else,” Jorie said firmly. She gathered the second grade to the front of the classroom, when suddenly the room became dim. She lit a lantern and hung it from the ceiling – something she only did on the darkest of winter days. Thunder rumbled in the distance, then a blazing white light pierced the sky.

  One of the boys called out, “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,” until a great clap of thunder shocked him silent. Jorie went to the window and studied the clouds. To the north, the sky had an eerie greenish-blue glow. To the east, heavy, low clouds were scudding over the fields. The boys had noticed the strange-looking sky, too, and were hanging by the window. “Let’s get back to work,” she told them. She gave them a look that meant no kidding around. She was accustomed to thunder and lightning storms, but something felt portentous to her.

  “It’s going to be a wild one,” Eli Schlabach said with a grin.

  The sky split with a resounding crash of thunder, so loud it shook the lantern. “That’s it,” Jorie said. “Down we go.”

  The basement stairs were on the back porch. As she herded the children down the concrete steps, she spotted Cal running toward her at full speed. “Get in there. Fast. Bud heard on the news that four storms are coming in from different directions.”

  “It’s miles away. Not at all dangerous,” Eli said with great authority, as if he could predict where storms would collide.

  “I think it’s heading north,” Ray added, suddenly another expert weatherman.

  Once inside, they squinted at the clouds through the dusty basement transom windows as Cal latched the basement doors shut.

  “Where’s Maggie?” Cal asked, eyes sweeping over the frightened children.

  For an instant, Jorie froze in a sick panic. “Outhouse!”

  She leaped forward, unlatched the door, and dashed up the concrete steps, Cal racing behind her. It was hard to walk in a straight line because of the wind, and they held hands for stability, fighting their way across the schoolyard. When they reached the outhouse, Cal yanked open the door and found Maggie huddled in the corner, terrified.

  When Maggie saw her father, she flew into his arms. He snatched her up and held her tight to his chest as he carried her to the basement steps.

  Cal handed Maggie to Jorie and yanked the basement doors shut. It took numerous times, fighting the gusts of wind. “Jorie! Jorie! I need your help.”

  While he held the doors, she jerked the latch shut. Satisfied, they went back down into the basement. The rain fell heavy and loud, drowning out conversation. Jorie made all of the children sit down in the corner, supposedly the safest place to be. Everyone sat but Cal. He stood looking out the transom window. There was a blue-white flash, dazzlingly bright, and what sounded like a bomb going off. Then they heard a loud crack and the sound of splitting timber, followed by a crash.

  He turned to look at Jorie at the exact moment that she looked at him. “Lightning struck the elm tree.”

  The wind continued to blow, not in fits and gusts, but with sustained howls that made her wonder if the schoolhouse windows might shatter from the pressure. Jorie didn’t know how much time had passed until the wind died down and the rain slowed its pounding. When sunlight streaked through the transom window, Cal still made them wait. He kept peering out the window to see as far as he could see, making sure they weren’t getting fooled by the eye of the storm, that it had truly passed them by. Then he gave a nod and the boys jumped up to unlatch the basement doors.

  “That was a doozy!” Eli hollered, leaping outside to survey the destruction.

  Jorie walked around the sides of the schoolhouse, picking her way carefully over the broken glass of the windows. When she came to the far side, she gasped. An enormous branch of the elm tree had dropped directly onto the outhouse, destroying it. The roof was torn off, the sides were split apart. She stood there for a moment, gripping her elbows, heart pounding.

  Cal came around the corner, holding Maggie by the hand, and stopped abruptly when he saw the obliterated outhouse. He looked at Jorie with a stunned expression and then turned to the children. “All of you, get your coats and lunch pails and go straight home so your parents know you’re safe.”

  As soon as the children were gone, all but Maggie, he turned to Jorie. “How could you have let Maggie go outside with that weather brewing?”

  Jorie looked at Maggie, who tucked her chin to her chest.

  Ephraim came running around the corner and skidded to a stop when he saw the outhouse. “Cal, that c-could have b-been our Maggie!”

  “But it wasn’t,” Cal said sharply. “The good Lord protected her. Ephraim, take Maggie and get started home. I’ll catch up.”

  He handed Maggie off to Ephraim. She kept her head low as she passed Jorie.

  When Jorie and Cal were left alone, he turned to her with angry eyes. “How could you be so careless? What kind of teacher sends a child out in that weather and then forgets about her?” His glance shifted over Jorie’s shoulder. “Esther, quit your eavesdropping and get home. Now!”

  Esther gasped at Cal’s sharp scolding, burst into tears, then turned and ran.

  “Jorie!” Cal barked in a cold, steely voice that made her flinch. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

  Words felt stuck in Jorie’s throat. She couldn’t stop staring at the outhouse. What if the lightning strike had happened a few minutes earlier? What if Maggie had been in it? She felt as if she was stuck in a bad dream. She couldn’t even think to defend herself; her heart was pounding so loud she could hear it in the quiet. She only closed her eyes, aware that Cal was waiting for an answer. A ragged silence fell between them and the crack that had started with Ben’s return split into a chasm.

  “Cal!” Ephraim burst around the corner, panting. �
�Cal, you’ve g-got to come! Lizzie is d-down the road. She says to t-tell you to c-come q-quick. Ben is acting as c-crazy as a M-March hare. He’s hollering at the s-sky and c-cussing at it.”

  Cal ran back to Beacon Hollow and found Ben outside, down by the willow tree, soaked to the skin, but no longer shaking his fist at the sky like Lizzie described. Instead, he was on his knees, tears streaming down his face, breathing hard. Cal told Ephraim and Maggie and Lizzie to go in the house and leave them alone, and he just sat down next to Ben. Waiting, just waiting. He was waiting for Ben to spill out whatever it was that was eating at him.

  After a time, Ben’s breathing returned to normal and he seemed calmer. He eased back to sit on his feet. Finally, he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “That thunder, it just . . . it sounded like gunshots,” was all he offered as an explanation.

  “That Dr. Doyle mentioned something about how noises could trigger flashbacks,” Cal said quietly. “But it was just a bad storm.” He knew not to ask anything, that it could cause Ben to clam up, but he hoped he might elaborate.

  He didn’t. Ben gazed out at the field. “Your wheat’s ruined.”

  Cal groaned as he took in the sight. Just this morning he had thanked God for the fields that were greening with the first shoots of spring. Those green shoots were now flattened. The center of the field, always a low spot, looked like a muddy pond.

  Ben slowly eased himself to a stand.

  Well, Cal thought, as they walked back to the house, I can thank God for Maggie’s narrow escape in spite of the storm. And because of the storm, I can thank God that Ben is out of bed and talking. Two miracles in one day.

  As Cal finished milking the last cow that afternoon, he was grateful for the routine of work in his life. It gave him deep satisfaction, to end each day caring for his dairy. As he looked over each cow, checking each one to make sure she was settled for the night, he realized that work was the best medicine God could give a man. He had a sense, maybe an answer to a prayer he hadn’t yet asked, that it was time to ask more of Ben. He decided that he would give Ben and Ephraim the job of building a new outhouse and repairing the windows to the schoolhouse.

  When Cal came inside, he found Ben seated at the kitchen table. Maggie was setting the table for dinner. Ephraim was still out in the barn, sweeping up, and Lizzie was stirring the stew she had made.

  Washing his hands at the sink, Cal felt such gratitude to the Lord for the comforts of a home. “Ben, I could sure use your help building a new outhouse for the school. You and Ephraim could take it on tomorrow. I can get the lumber from town in the morning and get you set up.” He turned around, drying his hands on a rag. “You were always the best carpenter of us all.”

  Ben had been drawing circles in the tablecloth with his fingers. Cal wondered how he could live with such restlessness inside himself. It would, he thought, be like trying to stare into the sun. But after Cal asked him the question, Ben’s hands stopped.

  “Remember when you broke your thumb?” Ben asked.

  Cal tilted his head, stunned. “I hadn’t thought about that in years.” He lifted his hand and spread out his fingers. His thumb remained slightly bent; it hadn’t healed properly and he couldn’t straighten it fully. They had been young boys when it happened, younger than Ephraim. They were at a barn raising and were given the job of pounding in nails that men had started. Ben tried to turn it into a race, like always, and Cal had ended up hitting his hand so hard it broke his thumb.

  Laughter burst out of Cal, surprising him. It stemmed from the memory, and from the joy that Ben was finally rejoining the human race. Once started, Cal couldn’t stop. He laughed so hard he buckled at the waist. Ben couldn’t help but laugh in return, which got Maggie giggling, and soon, Lizzie joined in. When Ephraim came inside, he looked at all of them as if they had lost their senses, which only got them laughing more.

  Wiping his face with his hands, Cal realized he hadn’t laughed so hard in a long, long time, and it felt good, so good.

  Sylvia had never seen her daughter in such a state. As soon as Esther arrived home from school, she explained – between sobs – all that had gone on that afternoon, claiming it had given her a horrendous headache. Sylvia made a cup of chamomile tea for her and sent her straight to bed to rest. Esther was such a delicate child and not only did she have to endure a terrifying electrical storm, but then she was unjustly snapped at by Caleb Zook! In all the years Sylvia had known him, she had never heard a harsh word out of that man’s mouth. Until today. It grieved her, because she knew he was under terrible stress. How close they came to losing Maggie today! All because of Jorie King’s poor judgment. She whispered a quick word of thanks to the Lord Almighty that he protected Maggie.

  She glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall and plucked her bonnet off the hook. There was just enough time before dinner to go speak to the deacon about this troubling situation. Something had to be done.

  Early the next morning, Cal drove the wagon to the schoolhouse and dropped Ben and Ephraim off to dismantle what remained of the outhouse. He hadn’t expected to see Jorie there so early. When she heard the wagon, she came outside to see what was going on.

  “We’ll have this outhouse rebuilt today and the windows replaced,” Cal told her, “so school won’t be disrupted. And if it’s all right with you, Ephraim will help Ben with the building today.”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything more to him. There was a hardness between them, he knew, from yesterday. He should be quick to forgive, but he wasn’t quite ready to overlook what a close call Maggie had experienced. And Jorie wasn’t exactly feeling too friendly with him, he could tell. She avoided him. In fact, her eyes, he noticed, were on Ben, as if she still couldn’t believe he was here, among them. He couldn’t blame her; he felt the same way.

  By the time Cal returned from the hardware store with lumber and supplies, the school day was under way. The boys kept popping their heads out the window to catch sight of the legendary Benjamin Zook, the Amish man who had gone to Vietnam and died, only to be back among the living. He was pleased to see how effectively Jorie reeled them back in. From what he could observe, the scholars went through their day with routine, giving Jorie respect.

  During lunch, Ben pitched softball to the children in the schoolyard while Jorie watched and cheered. Once, the ball landed near her and she lobbed it overhead to Ben at the pitcher’s mound, laughing in that soft way she had, like honey pouring out of a jar. Cal tried to concentrate on measuring a board, but his eyes kept riveting toward Jorie. The wind lifted a stray lock of her copper-colored hair and laid it across her cheek. Absently she coiled it and tucked it back beneath her prayer cap.

  Cal continued working during the softball game until Maggie ran up to him and pulled him by the hand to come pinch hit for her team. When Cal went up to bat, he swung the bat a few times to warm up.

  “Take all the warm-up swings you need, Cal,” Ben said in his teasing voice. “You still can’t touch my pitch.” Ben wound up and fired, frowning when Cal hit a foul ball. “Strike one!” Ben called out.

  The second ball went past Cal so hard and fast that he swung and missed. Jorie clapped her hands together like a young girl.

  Cal looked at Jorie and thought her eyes were shining bright and soft as spring sunshine. He knew she was trying hard not to laugh at him.

  A look of boyish mischievousness flashed across Ben’s face. He rubbed the ball in his hands, eyed Cal carefully, and threw a pitch that nailed him on the forehead, knocking him down. There was a moment of stunned silence before Jorie raced to Cal’s side and knelt beside him.

  “Cal, are you all right?” Concern covered her face.

  Cal was flat on his back, dazed, looking up at the sky, seeing stars. He wasn’t sure what stung more, the bruise on his forehead or the one on his foolish pride.

  “Ben, how could you do such a thing?” Jorie accused when he came over to examine Cal.

  Cal pushed himself up as far as his kn
ees. “It was an accident, that’s all,” he said.

  Ben helped Cal to his feet and patted him on his back. “See? He’s fine.” He turned to Ephraim. “Let’s go finish building that outhouse.”

  Even though Cal wouldn’t have admitted so to Jorie, he was pretty sure that Ben aimed that softball to intentionally hit him. Ben always had flawless aim.

  As long as Cal could remember, Ben turned everything into contests between them. He seemed determined to one-up Cal, and Cal always obliged him, content to let Ben triumph. He didn’t feel a rivalry toward Ben, which only seemed to exacerbate the situation. Ben was like that, quick to anger. Usually, just as quick to get over it.

  But Cal sensed that Ben had been changed, altered deep, by whatever had happened to him in Vietnam, and in some way that he didn’t understand. Ben couldn’t concentrate on a task. He was never still or calm, as if he was trying to distract himself from letting his mind settle on something disturbing. He was constantly on edge. During evening prayers, Ben acted bored or fidgety, uncomfortable.

  It worried Cal, because even though Ben was acting more like himself every day, something about him remained more lost. Lost to their family, lost to the church. Cal hoped and prayed that he wasn’t lost to God.

  15

  Late one evening, a couple of weeks after the great storm, Jorie woke to the sound of someone pounding on the kitchen door. She threw on a robe and hurried downstairs. Standing outside was Ben. Next to him was Marge, in her nightgown and bare feet, wrapped in Ben’s coat.

  “Missing someone?” Ben asked, as casually as if he had found a stray cat.

  “Mammi! What are you doing?” Jorie asked, pulling her grandmother inside.

  “I thought I heard the rooster crow, so I went to get the eggs from the henhouse,” Marge said. She held up an empty basket. “But then I got a little turned around.”

  “She was down by her roadside stand, setting up for the day,” Ben added.