“So, your time in our little town is coming to a close, I hear?” Calvin asked as they walked along the path between their two houses. The day was almost warm, not too hot or humid. Honeysuckle bloomed in thickets around them, permeating the air with their sweet smell.
“Jah. I’ve been here a whole month now. It’s time to go home.” She attempted to smile, but it was difficult. So much had changed in just one month’s time. When she’d first arrived, the ground had been damp from the rains and many flowers were just popping up from the ground. Now there was a riot of color surrounding them; vivid shades of pinks and yellows and reds greeted them wherever they looked.
She’d also changed. And, just like the flowers, she had bloomed. Lucy knew she was no longer the same person she was on the train. She’d become stronger inside. More self-assured.
And because of that, she felt her usual reticence had diminished and she was more able to speak with other people. It was easier to smile. To laugh. To come out of her shell.
To hold her head up high.
“It’s time that I got out of Aunt Jenna’s kitchen. Hardly a day passes when I’m not in her way,” Lucy quipped.
“I doubt she has minded your help. Although perhaps not your mess?”
Enjoying his teasing, she added, “I have a feeling Mattie might feel relieved to see me on my way as well. I’ve been fussing over her something awful, practically talking her ear off. And, well, you know the saying about houseguests . . .”
“What, that they go bad after a few days? That wasn’t you, Lucy.” Darting forward, he held up a branch so she could step under it as they continued down the windy dirt path. “I’m sure Mattie has been grateful for all of your help. Your being here did make a difference.”
“I hope so. I tried my best.”
“I know so. Actually, I’ve heard she’s enjoyed your visit verra much.”
“I’ve enjoyed being with her, too. I just wish I had been able to make things better.”
“Lucy, you can’t take the blame for not curing Mattie’s cancer.”
She smiled. Calvin was right, though it made no sense. A time or two she had stayed up during the evening, blaming herself for that very thing. “I didn’t mean to take the blame, but sometimes I fear I did.” Then, thinking about why she was like that, she added, “It’s a habit of mine.”
He stopped. “Because of your husband?”
Well, here it was. She either had to take a chance and reach out to Calvin, and tell him all her truths, or push them away into the dark place where they’d dwell . . . and hope that they wouldn’t surface again.
“Yes. Because of Paul. When we were married, I felt myself taking the blame for a lot of things,” she said. “Somehow, I began to believe him when he constantly said I wasn’t good enough.”
“He was a cruel man, Lucy.”
“At first I didn’t think so. At first I thought he just had a terrible temper.”
“Which is why you were worried about mine?”
“Yes.” Though her insides were quaking, Lucy pushed herself. She could do this. She could talk about her past in a strong way. In a way that would illustrate how far she’d come. “Calvin, I lived with him for two years. During that time, I started doing whatever I could to survive. Even if it meant I pretended it was only his temper that drove him to hit me.”
He stilled. “Lucy, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think of that man as anything but evil. I hate to think of him hurting you so. Of abusing you so.”
Abused. It was such a harsh word. So many people in her life had glossed over it, choosing to say instead that Paul had difficulties with his temper.
But now she knew that abuse came in many forms. It didn’t just happen in one way, or for one reason. No, the abuser made a decision to be that way, long before any words were said or pain was inflicted. Nothing she could have done back then would have made Paul act differently. And nothing she could say now would erase the pain—and the images from her mind.
She finally replied. “Soon after we married, Paul got mad at me and slammed me against our bedroom wall.” Keeping her eyes averted so she wouldn’t see the dismay in his eyes, Lucy continued: “The next morning, he cried and apologized. And I vowed to try to be a better wife. But I soon learned that I was never going to be good enough.”
Finally she lifted her head and steeled herself to see his reaction. She’d learned that sometimes people didn’t understand why she stayed.
They didn’t understand what it was like to feel like there was nowhere else to go.
But instead of scorn, Calvin’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so terribly sorry, Lucy.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Lucy, I am so sorry for you.” His voice turning grim, he shook his head. “And I am sorry for the things that I am thinking, too.”
“What?”
“I fear that if that man was in front of me right now, I’d be tempted to give him a taste of his own medicine.”
“Oh, Calvin.” Though the conversation was so hard, his fierce words made her smile.
“I know I shouldn’t want violence. But I hate the idea of you having lived like that.”
She bit her lip. What could she say? “It was a horrible way to live. I felt trapped.” Remembering the things she wrote in her journal, she swallowed hard.
“I know you did.”
When their eyes met, the words she’d written in her journal flashed in her mind. “Calvin, what you saw, what you read . . . it was just words, you know?” Before he could say a word, she rushed on. “I promise, I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t celebrate it. Those things I wrote . . .” Feeling inadequate, she let her voice drift off.
“Everyone has private thoughts they aren’t proud of. I was the one at fault, not you.”
“Will you ever be able to forget what I wrote? I . . . I would hate for you to think the worst of me.”
He stilled. “I don’t.”
When he didn’t add anything, Lucy steeled her spine. Instinctively, she knew that she was never going to be able to move on if she didn’t finally tell someone the whole, awful truth. “When I cried for him . . . it was tears of relief. It was very hard, living in fear.”
“I would have felt the same way,” he said after a moment. “I’m glad you didn’t mourn him.”
With his words, a huge weight lifted off her shoulders. At least he understood.
When they got to the blackberry vines, Calvin plucked one and immediately popped it into his mouth. Lucy did the same, enjoying the sweet, tart juice. After Calvin had eaten two more, he pulled another four berries and deposited them in her pail.
“Lucy, it just occurred to me that you were a caregiver then, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you did your best to shield your family from worry. You didn’t want your sisters to worry over you. Or your parents to feel that burden of guilt.”
“I’m the oldest. They shouldn’t worry about me.”
“You’re one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met, Lucy Troyer.”
“No. Just someone who was trying to survive.”
“Perhaps more than that?”
“Like I said, Calvin. It is over now. It doesn’t really matter. I just wanted you to know the whole truth about my marriage. About why I don’t speak of him much. And about why I don’t grieve for my husband as much as other widows.”
He took a deep breath. “And now I understand, too, why you acted the way you did outside the train station in Toledo.”
Thinking back to the turn of her thoughts, Lucy wondered how she could have so misjudged him. “All I heard when you yelled was Paul. I wasn’t even thinking that you weren’t out of control, or that you were simply trying to help the horse. All I saw was a man who could get angry.”
“And so you ran.”
“I ran. I wish now that I hadn’t. I wish that I had trusted you more.”
“It’s okay now, don’tcha think?”
“It is okay now.”
As the sun rose above them, and its warm rays heated their skin, Lucy relaxed. At last, Calvin understood. And though he might always have questions about her past, at least now he could understand why she was the way she was. And that was worth much to her.
But there was one more thing that lay between them: Gwen.
“Are you still upset with Gwen and Will?”
“No. We ended up talking, and I talked with Will, too. The Lord was really at work with the three of us, I’ll tell you that. Left to our own devices, we might have all ended up bitter and miserable with each other.”
“What led you to the discussion?”
“You, as a matter of fact.”
“Me?” She couldn’t have been more surprised. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re right. You did everything. Lucy, you showed me what it was like to give of yourself instead of take. You helped me understand that sometimes what we want isn’t what we should get. And because of your example, I learned to accept that.” He paused, then blurted, “Lucy, I care about you. I care about you a lot.”
She smiled, feeling like her whole being was glowing from his words. “I feel the same way.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?”
“I wish I could, but I can’t. My parents asked me to help with the little ones so they can go to a wedding. I promised them they could count on me.” Lucy looked at him, silently asking him to give her a reason to stay. Waited for him to offer to visit her.
“All right, then,” he said with a sigh. “I guess we can still write to each other . . .”
“Yes. I’ll write to you often.”
His mouth opened, just like he had something very important to say. But just as quickly, he closed it again.
A moment passed. “Well,” he finally said awkwardly. “I guess we’ll just have to make the most of today, hmm?”
Her heart deflated, but she did her best to try to be positive. They’d had enough dark and sad conversations for a lifetime. “That’s a good plan.”
He held out a hand. “Want to walk a bit more?”
“Sure.”
But instead of taking her hand, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips to her brow. Helping her feel at peace. And very, very cherished.
Later that afternoon, when they were just steps from Mattie’s house, Calvin pulled her into a fierce embrace. “I’m going to miss you,” he murmured. “I’m going to miss you very much.”
Closing her eyes, Lucy leaned into him. With all her heart, she hoped she would never forget this moment. Never forget feeling treasured and wanted and cared for.
For about the twentieth time that night, Lucy glanced at the clock ticking too loudly on Mattie’s dresser. It was after nine now. Late.
In less than an hour, John Weaver would be by. He’d very kindly offered to drive her to the train station so she could stay as long as possible with Mattie.
Wearily, Lucy brushed a cool cloth over Mattie’s brow and continued to pray for her cousin. Mattie flinched from the compress but otherwise lay motionless.
Lucy closed her eyes and willed the tears not to fall. Crying wouldn’t help anything, and would only upset Mattie.
But, oh, it was hard.
“I’m so tired of being this way, Lucy,” Mattie said after a while. “I’m so tired of being so weak.”
“I know.” Hoping she sounded more optimistic than she felt, Lucy said, “Your doctors said you are almost done with the worst of it.”
“I doubt it. Sometimes I think they say those things just to keep my hopes up.”
Privately, she wondered if that was true. Mattie was so terribly sick and weak.
Then again, perhaps there wasn’t anything wrong with the doctors and the rest of the medical staff trying to keep up the optimism.
Lately, Mattie had been in a dark place and had refused to pray with her. “The doctors aren’t in the business of telling people what they want to hear,” she said briskly. “They have to concentrate on the facts.”
“Well, my fact is that this chemotherapy is making me terribly ill, indeed,” Mattie pronounced, her voice sounding hollow, almost lifeless. After another heartbeat, she closed her eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let them treat me.”
“What are you saying?” Feeling at a complete loss, Lucy grew frantic. “Of course you needed treatment! That’s the only way to get better.”
“I’m not feelin’ so much better now.”
“But you will.”
“I don’t know.” Mattie sighed, her eyes still closed. “Lucy, I feel bad. Really bad.”
Lucy’s hands shook as she dipped the cloth into the cool water again. “I know.”
“I—I don’t want to do this much longer.” Her eyes opened, revealing dilated pupils. “Lucy, perhaps the medicine isn’t working.”
Injecting steel into her voice, Lucy shook her head. “Come now, Mattie. Please try and think more positively. This medicine is working. You and I both know it—and the nurses and doctors said it, too. Soon, this difficult time will pass. We both know that difficult things are only sweet after hardship.”
“You can say that. But has anything really improved with you?” she asked bitterly. “You are still hurting. You’re still afraid to move forward.”
Lucy pushed down her hurt. Mattie was not being herself. She wasn’t meaning to be so cruel.
“I’ve found peace,” Lucy said finally. “I’ve found strength. Both come from the knowledge that the Lord has been by my side, guiding me.”
After a moment, Mattie spoke: “I think He left me.”
Lucy was confused. “Who, dear? Who left you?”
“God.”
“Oh, Mattie! Don’t say that. God would never leave you.”
“I can’t help it. It’s how I feel. I feel that if He loved me like we were taught that He does, He wouldn’t be making me suffer so.”
“Stop that talk.”
Mattie blinked, then smiled weakly. “What happened to your patience? What happened to the best caregiver I’ve ever had? Where’s the woman who has been so angelic? Who’s been praying and working and smiling . . . who’s been constantly saying the right thing?”
“My cousin has used up my supply of patience,” Lucy snapped.
Meeting her gaze, the spark in Mattie’s dark brown eyes faded again. “Then we’re both in a world of hurt,” she said, her voice flat.
Scooting closer, she slid a hand along Mattie’s soft quilt and gripped her hand. “Listen. You must get better. And you must believe that you can.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s your job.”
“Lucy—”
Desperate times called for desperate words. “Mattie, if I can survive two years with Paul, you can certainly survive this.”
Her cousin’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe you said that. I’ve never heard you speak of your life with Paul as ‘surviving.’ ”
“Maybe you never needed to hear those words before. But I promise you that’s how I feel. Living is sometimes easy, Mattie. But surviving . . . surviving is the difficult thing. And that is what makes you grow and become strong.” Leaning close, she murmured, “Don’t you dare give up.”
“But, Lucy—”
Lucy shook her head. “Don’t say it. You need to find the strength and start fighting. Be a survivor, Mattie,” she urged. “Be a survivor, not a victim.” Minutes passed as they stared at each other in silence so sharp and tense it felt like a tangible thing.
Then finally . . . finally Mattie nodded. “All right.”
Lucy sighed in relief. “Thank the good Lord.”
After a bit, Mattie clutched her hand. “Hey, Luce?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is there any way you can stay here longer?”
Lucy shook her head with regret. As much as she wanted to be there for her cousin, she knew it was time to go home. “I’m afraid not. I promised my mamm that I’d come home and help with the little ones. She’s counting on me. I can’t let her down.”
“No, you can’t.” Her lip trembled. With effort, Mattie controlled herself. “I suppose we’re all counting on you, Lucy. You must be careful, or we’ll all take and take . . . until you have nothing left.”
“That won’t ever happen. God is with me, and He will help me. Just as He will help you, if you open your heart again.”
For one split second, Mattie met her gaze, and all the love that they held for each other passed between them. For one split second, Lucy felt as if they were as close as they ever were.
As close as they’d be, if they were truly sisters.
But then Mattie looked away and closed her eyes. “I’m so, so tired.”
“You should try to sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep until you leave.”
As if on cue, Jenna poked her head into the room. “Lucy, John Weaver is here. It’s time for you to go.”
Gently, Lucy pulled her hand away from Mattie’s and reluctantly got to her feet. “All right. I’ll be right out.”
Turning to Mattie, she whispered, “I will be writing you and checking up on you, too. And I will be praying for you as well. Enough for the two of us.”
Though Mattie said nothing, she swallowed hard.
“Mattie, do you understand?”
“I do,” she finally replied. “But there’s no need.”
“You did it for me,” Lucy coaxed. “You prayed for me when I needed it. When I needed the prayers but had no strength, you prayed enough for two. Now it’s my turn. I will pray for you and me, Mattie. And I will keep praying, as long as it takes. I promise you this.”
Quickly, before she burst into tears, she bent down and kissed Mattie’s brow. Then, after brief hugs to her aunt and uncle, she ran out the door and to John, who was loading her bag in the back of his truck.
“Hi, Lucy,” John said gently. “You ready to get back to your own home?”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, doing her best to sound cheerful.
But inside she was wondering what in the world she was going to do. She’d done her best. Everything she possibly could. But the reality was that she’d tried her best and failed.
In many ways, she’d failed as a caregiver. And that knowledge almost broke her heart.