A Time to Love (3 page)

"Well, maybe a little."

"A good bowl of hot soup on a cold day," her grandmother said, serving it up with slices of bread.

Comfort food,
thought Jenny. She needed it.

Matthew walked into his house, letting in a blast of cold air. He stamped his feet on the doormat and pulled off his gloves, tucking them into his coat pockets. Shrugging off the coat, he hung it and his hat on the pegs on the wall by the door. He rubbed his hands together. "Cold out there."

His sister Hannah hurried over to take Annie's hat and coat off. She picked her up and gave her a big kiss on her cheek."Your cheeks are cold, Annie. Go wash your hands, and we'll eat."

Obediently, Annie ran from the room. Hannah turned to Matthew. "How did her session go?"

"The therapist feels her speech is coming along fine," Matthew told her, washing his hands at the kitchen sink.

As he dried his hands, he watched her move about the kitchen, stirring the pot of hearty split-pea soup with chunks of ham, then getting out soup bowls and setting the table. She'd been sixteen when his wife had died three years ago and had moved in to help him take care of his
kinner.
The two of them were separated by twelve years, but they agreed on most things as a rule, so the arrangement had worked out well.

"You took longer than usual."

"I stopped by Phoebe's with some things she needed from town."

"Ah, I see."

Matthew settled into a seat at the kitchen table and Hannah put a bowl of soup before him. "You see what?"

"I heard that Phoebe's
grossdochder
is visiting."

Matthew nodded. He smiled when Annie ran back into the room and held out her hands for his approval. Smiling, he patted the seat of the chair beside him. "Your
Aenti
Hannah has prepared some nice warm soup for us."

Hannah set a bowl of soup at her own place, then a smaller one at Annie's. "That should warm you right up. Then it's time for a nap before Joshua and Mary come home from school."

The three of them bent their heads to ask a blessing for the meal before they began eating. Hannah buttered a piece of bread for Annie, took one for herself, and passed the plate to Matthew.

"The lady had a bad dream," Annie said suddenly.

"Lady?" Hannah looked curiously at Matthew.

"Jenny, Phoebe's
grossdochder."

Hannah waited but Matthew didn't say more.
Men!
she thought. Well, there was more than one way to get information. She smiled at Annie. "What happened?"

"She was taking a nap, and she had a bad dream." Annie stirred her soup. "And
Daedi
held her hand."

Her eyes wide, Hannah turned to her brother. He looked a little embarrassed but said nothing as he reached for a slice of bread and buttered it with unusual care.

"He told her she was safe," Annie told Hannah.

"Annie, eat your soup."

"
Ya, Daedi."
She put a spoonful into her mouth, then swallowed."She says some words funny, like me."

"Matthew?"

He looked up from his soup.

"Do I have to pull it out of you?" she asked, exasperated.

"The Amish grapevine isn't working well enough to get information about Jenny?"

She frowned. "It's not wrong to be curious."

"If you say so."

"I remember how you felt about—" she stopped as she caught Matthew's warning look.

Glancing over, he saw Annie drooping over her empty bowl."Time for a nap, Annie. Sweet dreams."

Annie slid down from the chair and stood by her father. She stared up at him with big blue eyes. "
Daedi,
you should have told the lady to have sweet dreams."

He nodded solemnly. "You're right. Next time I will."

When she held out her arms, he reached down and hugged her.

Hannah smiled as she got a hug, too. "She is such a loving child." Getting up, she poured her brother a cup of coffee and set it before him. "Pie?"

"Of course."

She cut him a piece and smiled as he forked up a bite and sighed as he chewed it. He loved her baking. "It's time you thought about getting married again."

Matthew choked on the pie and took a gulp of coffee."Where did that come from?"

"It's been three years. You need a wife. Your children need a mother." She sat again at the table. "Amelia would want you to be happy, for the children to have a mother. You know that."

Leaning back in his chair, Matthew regarded his sister thoughtfully. "You've been a wonderful sister, coming here to help—"

She waved away his words. "Family helps family."

"But you've put aside your own life. It's time you did what you wanted. Time you got married."

Standing, she gathered the bowls to wash them. "I have been doing what I wanted. And you're trying to change the subject."

He hid his grin by taking another sip of coffee. She knew him well. "How is Jacob?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Hannah told him. "But he's not the right one for me." She sat again. "I remember how you felt about Jenny."

"That was years ago."

"And now she's back."

"She's back to heal, Hannah, not to look in my direction again."

"But it could happen."

Taking a last sip of coffee, Matthew stood. "I have work to do."

She swatted at him as he passed her to reach for his coat."Think about it," she told him.

"Did you forget she's
Englisch?"
he asked her gravely, settling his hat on his head. "She's not part of our world."

"No? Then why did she return?" Hannah wanted to know.

Matthew stared at her for a long moment. "Because Phoebe is her family. Jenny needs to recover, to have someone watch out for her. That is the only reason."

Hannah tilted her head as she watched him pull on his gloves. "Maybe. Maybe not. All I'm saying is you should think about it."

"I have work," he repeated. "And so do you. No more romantic daydreaming, Hannah. Idle hands, remember?"

Exasperated, she threw a kitchen towel at him, but she missed, and he walked out the door, laughing. Another blast of cold air, then he shut the door.

Matthew thought about what Hannah had said as he moved about doing his chores. She'd shocked him when she'd said it was time for him to get married again. He hadn't thought about such a thing since Amelia died.

And he hadn't thought enough about what her living at his house, caring for it and his kinner, had done to her own life. He'd been selfish.

It was true that he'd been in shock from the day his Amelia had died after six months of desperate attempts to save her. He'd walked and talked and taken care of his children and his farm, but he'd been lost in his grief.

Then one day he woke up and realized that for two years he'd just existed.

Now he realized his children were his responsibility and it was time to see that Hannah found a life beyond his home. Time she found the happiness she deserved so much.

As he forked up hay for his horses, he thought about Jenny, too. If Hannah had seen Jenny as he had today, she'd have known that Jenny hadn't returned hoping to rekindle their relationship. She'd come at her grandmother's invitation to heal here.

Jenny. She was so fragile, reminding him of a bird with a broken wing, a broken voice. Her eyes had looked so lifeless. The long blonde hair he remembered had obviously been shorn for her surgery. And the scar on her face. . . .

His hand tightened on the bucket of feed for his horses. How his heart ached at the way she'd been so self-conscious about it. She was still beautiful, but it was obvious that she didn't feel that way. She was so different from the bright, happy, carefree teenage girl he remembered and not just because she was older and she was struggling to talk and to move. No, it was obvious that Jenny was experiencing so much inner pain. He'd been getting a box from his buggy when he'd heard her scream as if monsters were chasing her. She'd been shaking so hard her teeth chattered when he reached her.

He hadn't told Hannah that Jenny didn't remember him. Shame came over him again now as he thought of how his pride had been hurt. Then he'd realized how badly Jenny was injured and he knew it would be very small of him to tell her about his hurt feelings.

Their worlds were so different and so much time had stretched between them, so many experiences. Once, they'd been friends. Once, they'd almost been more.

Then Matthew and her father had talked. The older man had shown up several weeks before the time Jenny was due to leave. He found Matthew out in the field and insisted they had to talk. Somehow the man had found out that his daughter was seeing Matthew. He said the relationship was over, that he'd left the Amish community behind, and he wouldn't allow her to be married to someone from it. He insisted she deserved a chance to go to college. He'd wanted her to have more than she'd have in the Amish community.

And that was that. Matthew was forced to agree there was no future for him with Jenny. It was all he could do. He had to respect her father. Respect for the head of the household came first in the community.

He never got a chance to talk to Jenny again before her father took her away later that day. He never knew if her father told her they'd talked. But she never answered the two notes he sent to her—even sent them back unopened.

Matthew tried to force away the painful memories. God hadn't meant for them to marry, he told himself, and he'd worked hard to forget her and married another.

He'd be a friend to Jenny now if she wanted one. He'd help her in any way that he could, for he'd discovered that he still cared so much for her.

And he'd pray that God would keep His gentle hand on this child of His and help her to heal.

D
reams were funny things.

Even before she opened her eyes Jenny knew she'd been dreaming. She'd been running barefoot through the grass on the farm, laughing, feeling free and joyful. The sky had been so blue, the sun so warm.

She wanted to stay here forever.

The pain was the first clue it had been a dream. She came awake feeling it in so many places that it became one big ache. The awkwardness of movement was next—her limbs moving like they were filled with molasses when she tried to roll over.

Still, she said her morning prayer of thanks for the day, just as she'd done every day for so many years. She was grateful for a day to be alive, no matter how pain-filled, no matter how disappointing.

And it was one day closer to getting better. Even if she often complained that it was taking too long.
God's time definitely isn't the same as mine,
she thought with a sigh.

Lying here thinking about it wasn't getting her anywhere. A glance at the clock on the bedside table showed her that it was 8 a.m. Her grandmother would have been up for hours.

Jenny winced as her body registered aches and pains that seemed to have grown worse through the night. She supposed she should have set the alarm to take her pain medication during the night, but she was trying so hard to wean herself from it. Too often she'd heard of surgery patients having problems with addiction after being on painkillers.

Kicking back the covers, she began the exercises the physical therapist instructed her to do each morning. Determined, she forced her body to work harder, pushing herself to add a few more to each prescribed set.

Panting, exhausted, and sweating, she finished and lay back, trying to catch her breath.

A warm bath helped to soak away more of the aches and pains. As usual, as she soaped and scrubbed, she avoided looking at the scars, the visual reminder of why her body hurt.

Her grandmother looked up from the kitchen table as Jenny limped into the room.

"You look like you're moving more easily," she remarked after they said their good mornings.

"If you say so," Jenny told her. "My body doesn't say so."

She poured a cup of coffee and moved carefully toward the table. Setting her cane beside it, she lowered herself into the chair. "Mmm, something smells good. Cinnamon rolls?"

Phoebe raised a brow as she served her scrambled eggs."Cinnamon rolls?" She sniffed the air. "I don't smell cinnamon rolls."

Jenny grinned. "Yeah, right. What are you baking?"

She glanced toward the oven, watching as her grandmother pulled out a pan of warm cinnamon rolls and set it on the table before her. They looked perfect, but then her grandmother was spooning out vanilla-scented frosting that melted and oozed all over them .

"My favorite. I'm going to be so fat," Jenny complained.

But she had to try one. She bit into it, not caring that it was still a little too hot, and it melted on the tongue, all rich dough and cinnamony, sugary goodness. Licking the frosting from her fingers, she pulled the pinwheel roll apart and popped it bite by bite into her mouth.

"I bet I've gained five pounds in two weeks."

"And could stand to gain a lot more," Phoebe told her."You're still skin and bones."

"Not for long," Jenny mumbled around a full mouth. Her appetite was coming back. She finished the roll and eggs, then found herself looking longingly at a second roll. Sighing, she took it. She could never resist her grandmother's cinnamon rolls.

After she helped with cleanup, Jenny stood to look out a kitchen window.

"Feeling restless?"

Jenny glanced over her shoulder and nodded.

"Join us this afternoon. Even if you don't like quilting, I think you'd enjoy meeting the women, especially the ones your age."

Her hand went to her cheek. "I'm not ready to see anyone yet."

Phoebe regarded her with steady eyes. "Jenny, can you show yourself to others only if you think you look perfect?"

Jenny laughed ruefully. "No, I never thought I looked perfect before. But—this!" She gestured at her face and shook her head. "I'm just not ready yet."

"Jenny, there is something we must speak of."

"That sounds serious."

"It is." Phoebe squeezed her hand. "Sometimes a parent—a grandparent—must push the baby bird from the nest so she can fly."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Have I overstayed my welcome?"

"No," Phoebe rushed to say. "But you have been hiding here and I have let you. And it's not the best thing for you."

Jenny sighed. "I know."

"The physical therapist left a phone message. I was going to talk to you about it later but perhaps now is the time."

"Called?" Jenny looked around for a phone, wondering why she hadn't heard it ring, and then realized it was in the shanty outside. "I wonder how she got my number here?"

"Your therapist at the hospital called her to do a follow-up."Phoebe stared at Jenny, her forehead creased in a frown.

"I do the exercises she gave me." Jenny heard the defensiveness in her voice and fidgeted as her grandmother continued to stare at her.

"I'm not going to say you're not. You're an honest young woman. But maybe they're not enough."

Sighing, Jenny nodded. "Okay, I'll call her right away. Therapy isn't the most pleasant thing, but it helps."

In fact, it had helped enough that the doctors had decided to take a wait-and-see attitude about whether Jenny would need more surgery on her hip.

As Jenny reached for her coat, Phoebe did the same. "You don't need to come with me," she said hurriedly.

"I'm not coming to check up on you," Phoebe told her. "I want to help you on the steps so you don't slip."

"I'll be fine. And I don't want to worry about
you
slipping and breaking a hip."

Phoebe made a harrumphing sound. "Are you saying I'm old?"

Jenny made a face. "I didn't know I could get my foot all the way up into my mouth."

"I know how to be careful."

Putting her hand on her hip, Jenny just stared at her. "And I don't?"

Tucking her hand in Jenny's arm, Phoebe started walking toward the door so Jenny had to follow. "We'll be careful together."

Her tone brooked no protest.

"I'd like to take you for the appointment," her grandmother said as they stepped outside into the cold, crisp air.

"I don't want to put you to any trouble," Jenny said. "I can call a taxi or something."

"It's no trouble."

Jenny hesitated and then she nodded. "That would be nice.
Danki."

Phoebe smiled. " Gem gschehne."

"I was afraid of this."

Tears ran down Jenny's cheeks. "Me, too. It
hurts!"

"You should have made an appointment as soon as you got here," Sue, the physical therapist, told her.

"But I've done my exercises."

"You need more for a while. I know they explained this to you." She looked at Jenny. "Right?"

Jenny had never been able to tell the smallest untruth."Right." She wiped away the tears with the heels of her hands.

The therapist, a woman not much older than she was, patted her arm. "So take a deep breath, and let's do some more work. Okay?"

Nodding, Jenny took the deep breath and began again.
As soon as I get back home, I'm taking a warm bath, she thought.
Climbing into bed. Doing nothing for the rest of the day. Maybe not even climbing out of bed to eat.
Then she remembered how her grandmother had put a pot roast with winter vegetables in the oven before they'd left.

Well, maybe she could make it to the kitchen table. It wouldn't be right to let it go to waste, especially since her grandmother had worked so hard to cook it! And she was right—Jenny knew she was too thin.

"Let's set up a schedule of appointments," the therapist said at last.

She helped Jenny to sit up, then stand, and handed her patient her cane. They walked to an office where Jenny sank down gratefully into a chair. The therapist took a seat at a computer and worked out a several-times-weekly schedule of appointments, then printed it out and handed it to Jenny.

"I've seen you on television," the therapist said, leaning back in her chair. "I watched you go to all those countries where war is making the lives of children so horrible."

Jenny nodded. The woman spoke of it in past tense. And it was, after all.

"Sometimes I wondered how you could stand what you were witnessing, what you were making sure we saw was happening," the woman said quietly. "But it was so clear how much you cared about the children."

"Thank you." Jenny looked away, uncomfortable with the praise. "But anyone would have done it."

"That's not true," the other woman said. "No one's rushed in since you were hurt to take your place. I'd like to help you get back in shape to return if that's what you want."

"I—" Jenny didn't know what to say. "Thank you."

Nodding, Sue stood. "See you Friday."

"How was it?" her grandmother asked when she joined her in the waiting room.

"Okay." She kept her head down so her grandmother wouldn't see that she'd been crying.

They walked outside and got in the buggy. "Would you like to have something to eat while we're in town?" Phoebe asked her.

"Would you mind if we didn't today?"

Her grandmother patted her hand. "Of course not. I wondered if you'd be tired afterward."

Tired wasn't the word. She felt like her limbs were filled with lead. Depression threatened to overwhelm her, but she smiled when her grandmother glanced her way.

The ride home in the buggy seemed longer than the ride to therapy. By the time she climbed the steps to the house, Jenny was miserable. She offered to help put the horse and buggy in the barn but was secretly grateful when her grandmother refused her help. Somehow she'd make it up to her later.

"Well, if you don't mind, then, I think I'll take a warm bath and soak for a while."

"Let's eat first."

Jenny shook her head. "I'm not hungry. You go ahead and eat."

Phoebe frowned. "If you're in pain, perhaps you should take one of your pills."

"I might." She leaned over and kissed her grandmother's cheek. "I'll be fine. I just need to soak and I'll be fine."

But as she pulled off her clothes and started the tub filling, she felt the tears coming.

They slipped down her cheeks and tasted salty on her lips. Once she started crying she couldn't stop. Afraid her grandmother would hear, she reached for a washcloth to cover her face.

Drained and gasping for breath, she leaned back and soaked until her fingers and toes were wrinkled. She was miserable.

Totally miserable.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Jenny? Are you all right? You haven't slipped down the drain, have you?"

"N—no. I'm getting out now."

"Good. You need to eat something."

"I will."

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was surprised to see her grandmother sitting on the wooden chair in the bedroom.

Startled, Jenny tucked the towel more securely around her.

"You've been crying," Phoebe observed. "Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you to go to therapy."

Sinking down on the bed, Jenny reached for her robe and drew it on. "No, you should have. I
was
hiding here. And I need the therapy."

"But? I hear a 'but' coming."

Jenny shook her head as if she didn't know what her grandmother was talking about. Then she just couldn't hold it in. "It's just that she said—she said something— " her lips trembled.

"Did she hurt your feelings?"

"No." Jenny swallowed. "She said nice something . . . something nice," she corrected herself, hating the way expressing herself came so hard. "She said she'd watched me on television and I—I cared so much about the children."

Phoebe came to sit beside her and put her arm around Jenny. "Why did that make you cry?"

"She said no one else had rushed in to do my job since I was hurt." Jenny took a shaky breath.

Her grandmother sighed and put her arm around Jenny's waist. "Ah, now I see what makes you so sad. You're worried about the children."

Her throat was choking with tears. "Someone will. I have to tell myself that someone will do something now that they know."

"God is looking out for all His children, even when it seems He is not."

"I know." Jenny pulled a tissue from the pocket of her robe and wiped her eyes. "I know."

"Pray for the children. That's what you can do for them now."

Nodding, Jenny took a deep breath. "I will."

"Now, I think you'll feel better if you have something to eat then take a nap.
Ya?"

"You're probably right."

Phoebe gave her a hug and stood. "Good. Come eat."