The Waiting Read online

  “I’d better be getting home,” Jorie said quickly. She slipped away, taking the trail behind the barn, so that she would be out of sight before the buggy reached the rise.

  “What’s your hurry?” Cal called out, grinning, watching her go.

  It didn’t seem right to smile, under such circumstances, but he couldn’t help himself as he watched her scoot off. Sylvia had always been hard on Jorie. Mary Ann thought it was because, long ago, Atlee King insulted Sylvia’s father by not selling a Percheron to him. Atlee was particular about his horses and wouldn’t sell to just anybody. Sylvia’s father had a reputation for being too harsh with animals. It would be Sylvia’s nature to bear a grudge even if it wasn’t her grudge to bear. But Cal thought Sylvia’s rancor had more to do with the close friendship between Jorie and Mary Ann.

  Sylvia’s horse came to a halt and he knew he should go greet her. He usually tried to make himself scarce when Sylvia paid a visit. Mary Ann often teased him that it was strangely coincidental how many chores in the barn demanded his immediate attention when her sister came calling. Today, with Mary Ann feeling so poorly, it wouldn’t be right to leave his wife alone, unfortified.

  The rain came down in waves, making up for weeks of bone-dry weather. Cal was trying to spend every spare minute he could with Mary Ann, so he was doubly grateful for the rain. It gave him an excuse to go inside the house and not have Mary Ann accuse him of hovering. She was curled up on the living room sofa, looking out the window at the rain as it fell sideways in the fierce wind. Cal was at his desk, paying bills. They hadn’t spoken in a long time, but it didn’t bother him. He just wanted to be near her.

  Interrupting the tranquility, Ephraim burst into the kitchen. “Cal!” he shouted when he spotted his brother in the living room. “There’s an important l-looking l-letter for you.” He thrust the letter at Cal. “From the g-government.” He pulled off his raincoat and hat and hung them to dry on the wall peg.

  “Is it about Ben?” Mary Ann asked.

  Cal nodded. Shock coursed through him and it took all of his willpower to appear calm as he finished reading the letter. “They want his dental records.”

  “Now why would they ask for those?” she asked. “I don’t know if he has any.”

  “He doesn’t.” Cal folded up the paper and tucked it back in the envelope. He walked over to the sofa and sat down with the letter in his hand. “Ephraim, please go feed the sow.”

  “Aw, Cal! I just c-came in! It’s p-pouring b-buckets.”

  “Go!” Cal said firmly, pointing to the door.

  Choking over words of protest, Ephraim snatched off his hat and slammed it on his head, jerking open the door.

  Mary Ann put a soft hand on Cal’s forearm.

  “They want dental records to identify his body,” Cal said quietly, covering her hand with his. “It’s probably a mistake. The Army is famous for making all kinds of mistakes. Until we hear more, we’ll keep this news to ourselves. No point in worrying anybody about something that is most likely wrong.”

  As soon as the rain let up, Cal walked over to Bud’s and made a call to the government phone number listed on the letter.

  The wait was over three days later. Two Army officers arrived at the house in a dark green car with news about Ben. “We’re confident that we have a positive identification on Benjamin S. Zook,” they told Cal after he greeted them on the front porch where Mary Ann was taking some sun. “He was killed by an enemy sniper while he was evacuating a wounded soldier. He died a hero’s death and is eligible to be buried in a military graveyard.” One officer held out Ben’s dog tags in his hand.

  Cal picked up the dog tags as if they were made of spun sugar. After a long moment, he lifted his head and said in a voice roughened with pain, “No. He belongs here, with us.” He ran his finger over the indentation that read Benjamin S. Zook. “We didn’t have dental records, but if I saw his body, I could confirm his identity. Maybe there’s been a mistake.”

  The officers exchanged a glance. One cleared his throat and said, “The body is . . . well, there was a misunderstanding when the body, I mean, your brother’s body . . . well, you see . . .” He looked to the other officer for help.

  “Sir, Benjamin S. Zook was cremated,” the other officer said. He started out boldly, then he too, watching Cal’s and Mary Ann’s horrified faces, lost his composure. “Apparently, the jungle heat . . . bodies decompose so quickly . . . and the commanding officer made a decision . . . well, we’re terribly sorry. I realize – now – that cremation isn’t your religion’s customary way of . . .” His words drizzled to a stop.

  “Lieber Gott . . .” Mary Ann put her head in her hands. Dear God. Cal put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I have his remains in the trunk. I’ll go get them . . . uh, it.” When he returned, he held out a small metal box for Cal and a flag. “Here’s the flag for you, for the funeral.”

  Cal shook his head. “Thank you, no. We don’t fly flags.”

  The officers exchanged another look of confusion, then quickly said goodbye and drove off.

  Together, Cal and Mary Ann sat for a while, staring at the small metal box that held all that was left of Benjamin Zook.

  “I’d better tell Jorie,” she said, breaking the quiet.

  “I’ll go,” Cal said as he stood up, raking a hand through his hair. “You need to rest. We have a funeral to plan. I’ll stop by a few other neighbors and let them know too. And I’ll stop at Bud’s to call Matthew at work.”

  Mary Ann rose to put her arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry.”

  Cal wrapped his arms around her. Over her shoulder, he looked down at the dog tags, clenched in his fist. “I just thought I would’ve known, deep in my bones, if something had happened to one of my own.”

  Cal was told by Atlee that he could find Jorie at the schoolhouse. He came over the hill and saw the yellow light of a lantern glowing. He knocked on the door, waited, then knocked again before she came to the door.

  “Oh, Cal!”

  “You working?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She opened the door and stepped back so he could enter.

  Cal took a deep breath. “I have some news. About Ben.”

  Her face lifted to his, filled with hope. It broke his heart, having to tell her this terrible news. He dropped his eyes to the ground, unable to look at her any longer.

  “He’s been killed, Jorie.” He glanced up as the shock registered through her. She sank down on the bench behind her. “Two Army men came to the house this afternoon to give us the news.”

  She didn’t say a word. She just sat there, looking stunned. It wasn’t proper for him to touch her in any way and so he didn’t, but he wanted to do or say something that would help to ease her hurt. He shared the pain she was feeling.

  “Jorie,” he whispered as he sat down on the bench beside her. “Say something.”

  She looked at him, startled, as if she had forgotten he was there. “Things were left so badly between us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ben. He did it on purpose.”

  “Did what?”

  “At the Recruiting Office. He knew to sign up for being willing to serve. He knew the difference.”

  “That’s not true. He didn’t know. He was fooled.”

  She shook her head. “He knew. This was his chance to see the world, he said.”

  Cal leaned back. “Why would he tell me he had been tricked?” He found he wasn’t entirely surprised, as if he himself had a doubt in his mind but kept it stifled.

  She sighed. “Cal, you always believe the best in others. Ben didn’t want you thinking he was less than he was.” She put her hands against her face. “When he told me what he had done, we argued. I told him I wouldn’t wait for him.” Then her eyes started to fill with tears. “But I was waiting. I’ve been waiting and waiting for him to come home.”

  Cal felt hot tears burn the back of his eyes. “He cared for you, Jorie.”

  �
��I know. I know he did. But not enough to keep him home.” A tear leaked down her cheek. “And I didn’t love him enough to leave.”

  And what could he say to that? It was the truth. He had known Ben had tried talking her into leaving the church with him, before he was even drafted, but she refused. He had always admired Jorie for standing her ground with Ben. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “No. Thank you. I’d rather be alone for a while.”

  He stood and walked to the door. “As soon as I speak to Isaac, I’ll let you know when the funeral will be held.”

  She nodded and followed him to the door. “Tell Mary Ann that I’ll come help dress him for the viewing.”

  “There will be no viewing, Jorie.” He looked away. “They cremated him.”

  She had to grab the doorjamb to steady herself. “Oh Cal, have we seen our Ben for the last time?”

  He did touch her then. Ever so gently, he squeezed her shoulders with his hands. “No, Jorie. Not for the last time. We have hope for a life together in the presence of Almighty God.”

  Ben’s funeral was planned for Saturday. The night before, in the predawn hours, Mary Ann woke up, realized Cal was not there, and tiptoed downstairs. She saw a lantern light in the barn and grabbed her shawl to pull around her. Before she even reached the barn, she heard the sounds. Sounds of Cal weeping. She had only known him to cry once, four years ago, when they buried their stillborn son. She stopped, knowing he would feel shamed if she found him grieving so deeply. It wasn’t their way to express deep emotion. Doing so would seem like a complaint against the Lord.

  She knew it would be best to let Cal grieve for his brother in private. Besides, Ben was a sore spot between them. Mary Ann couldn’t pinpoint why, but she never quite trusted Ben. Cal would hear none of that; to him, Ben was a Zook. She dropped her head and returned to the house, finding her pathway in the dark with a flashlight.

  When she passed by Cal’s desk, she stopped and took out four sheets of stationery. She wrote and wrote, words from her heart, then sealed each letter in its envelope and addressed one to Matthew, one to Ephraim, one to Maggie. And one to Cal.

  When Matthew asked Lottie for time off to attend his brother’s funeral, she threw her plump arms around him and hugged him so tightly that he nearly felt the wind was getting squeezed out of him.

  “Oh baby, you take all the time you need,” she told Matthew, rocking him back and forth, her eyes brimming with tears. Lottie’s son was a soldier in Vietnam and she talked about him every single day.

  Ben’s death seemed more real to Lottie than it did to Matthew. He just couldn’t believe he would never see his brother walk up the steep incline of Beacon Hollow with that long stride of his, or pitch a softball to Ephraim on their front lawn, or toss Maggie in the air, or watch Ben drive off in his courting buggy with Jorie by his side. Or . . . skipping out the side door of the barn to head to town – letting Matthew finish up choring for him. Ben was famous for that. Matthew could never stay mad at him for long, and he never let Cal know how often it happened, either.

  After work on Friday, Matthew caught the bus to Stoney Ridge and was surprised to see Cal waiting for him at the station. Matthew knew something was on his mind when Cal didn’t even comment on his hair, hidden under his black felt hat. He left the baseball cap back at Mrs. Flanagan’s, along with his new English clothes. He had expected to get a raised eyebrow and a gentle lecture about staying on the Plain and narrow way. Instead, on the drive to Beacon Hollow, Cal explained that Mary Ann had a type of blood cancer.

  “You might be surprised when you see her,” Cal said. “She’s as frail as a bird.”

  “But I just saw her a few weeks ago. How could she get so sick so fast?”

  “That’s the acute part, I suppose, of acute myeloid leukemia.”

  “But she’ll be okay, won’t she? I mean, those doctors can work miracles. At least, that’s what they tell us at the Veterans Hospital.”

  Cal swallowed hard. “I don’t think so, Matthew. It’s like she’s fading away, right before our eyes.”

  Matthew was quiet for a long while. First Ben, then Mary Ann. Here he had been enjoying his new life, even if it was in tired old Lebanon, while Cal was coping with tragedy after tragedy. Without thinking, he took off his hat and turned it around and around by the brim. “Life can sure change fast, can’t it?”

  Cal nodded. “That it can.”

  Matthew glanced at Cal, at the strong set of his jaw. His brother reminded him of a plowed field, with furrows straight and deep. “Cal, we all count on you. Who do you count on?”

  Cal’s eyes turned to the ridgeline that defined Stoney Ridge. “ ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.’ If the Lord God is wise enough to manage this world, he knows enough to help me through these troubles.” A brief smile passed over his face as he gave a sideways glance at Matthew. “So, little brother, I see you got your money’s worth at the barbershop.”

  Later that afternoon, after Ben’s funeral service, the last of the women washed and dried dishes in Beacon Hollow’s kitchen while husbands gathered outside by the buggies. Jorie stayed as long as she could, but the moment came when she had to get off by herself. She slipped out the back door and walked down to the willow tree by the creek. It was a glorious September afternoon, almost cruel in its beauty. She saw Ephraim walking around in the creek, barefoot with his pants rolled up, watching the water swirl around his ankles.

  “Hello there, Ephraim.”

  He whirled around, looking as if he expected to be called back to the house. Instead, Jorie sat down on the creek bank.

  “Nice to have a few moments to yourself, isn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  “The creek is so clean that you can see to the bottom. Did you know that water is actually made up of different colors? All clear, but colors all the same.”

  He dug a toe into the creek bottom, kicking up a swirl of dirt.

  “I’m sorry about Ben. I know you and he were especially close.”

  Ephraim gave a big nod. “I’m s-sorry too. F-for you.”

  She nodded, then swallowed hard to fight back the tears that started to prickle her eyes. They came so suddenly, those tears. “It’s hard to understand God’s will sometimes. It’s hard to understand why he took our Ben.”

  “A-about Mary Ann t-too.”

  Jorie studied Ephraim’s profile as he watched the ripples on the top of the water. He was so dear to her, her Ephraim. He reminded her of one of her colts: gangly, long limbed, awkward, skinny as a broom handle, but filled with so much promise. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he had figured out Mary Ann wasn’t going to get better. Ephraim was perceptive like that. They sat there quietly for a long time, watching bugs land on the top of the water. “The bishop’s words at the very end of Ben’s funeral today helped me feel better. Do you remember what he said? He repeated it twice.”

  “God a-always h-has a p-plan.”

  “Promise me you’ll say that to yourself whenever you start thinking about Ben and feeling sad. And whenever you feel worried about Mary Ann. I promise to do the same.”

  She rose to her feet. “I’d better get back up there. My grandmother had her eye on Sylvia’s sour cream coffee cake. I don’t think Sylvia would understand if that entire cake went missing.”

  She smiled a little, and that made Ephraim smile. It felt good to smile, she thought, even on a day like today.

  On the bus ride back to Lebanon late Sunday afternoon, Matthew’s heart felt heavy. He didn’t know what troubled him more: the reality of Ben’s death or the sight of Mary Ann. Both, most likely.

  When he had walked into the kitchen, the sight of her tore a choking gasp from his throat. She was thin and pale, with dark circles under her eyes. He could hardly say hello, trying to get it past the knot in his throat. He noticed bruises on her arms and suspected they were on her legs too, though she covered them
in stockings. For the first time since he had left home, he found himself wishing he was still at Beacon Hollow, to help his family. He had planned to spend his days off exploring the area, maybe even take the bus to Philadelphia. He wanted to visit museums and well-stocked libraries, to attend different churches, and even to sit downtown on park benches and watch people. Mostly girls. So far, he had hardly seen any girl under fifty in Lebanon, and the one he did meet – a candy striper at the hospital – had a very impressive overbite.

  Instead, he decided he would head back to Stoney Ridge as often as he could. Cal needed him.

  The last few nights when Mary Ann woke in the night, she found Cal in the chair next to the bed, watching her, like a mother looking after a sleeping child. She wished his last memories of her wouldn’t be these but of other times, when she had been young and full of life. She smiled and patted the bed so he would lie down beside her. He slid into bed, stretched out, and put his arm around her, so that her head was on his chest. She could hear his heart beating. What a beautiful sound, she thought. The sound of your husband’s heartbeat.

  “Cal, I told Dr. Lachman today that I am going to stop the treatments.” She listened for him to respond, but he didn’t say a word. “The treatments aren’t working. The cancer is going too fast. I need to die well.”

  She glanced up at him. He was staring at the ceiling.

  “Dr. Lachman agreed with me.”

  A tear slipped from the corner of Cal’s eye and rolled down his cheek.

  She propped herself up on her elbow to face him. “I need to show Ephraim and Maggie, even Matthew, that our faith matters, even facing death. Maybe especially then. I can’t do it while I’m sick from the chemotherapy, lying in bed, looking and feeling like a plucked chicken. This is my time. I’m at peace with it.” She reached over him to pull the nightstand drawer open and take out the letters. “There’s one for Matthew and Ephraim and Maggie. To be given to them on their wedding day.” It could have been hours later or only moments when she lifted the fourth letter and placed it gently on top of his chest. “This one is for you, Cal. For your wedding day.”