Looking for a Miracle (3 page)

Get on with our day?
Rebekah gripped the arms of her wheelchair. Today was just another day. Nothing to look forward to, that was for sure. When Rebekah was a child, her disability hadn’t bothered her so much, but now that she’d become a young woman, things were different—she was different.
That must be why Mom wants me to go to the convention in Ohio—everyone there will be different, too.

She glanced at the door leading to Grandma’s room.
Maybe if I did something worthwhile today, I would feel better. As soon as breakfast is over, I think I’ll fill a plate with eggs and bacon and take a tray into Grandma. Then maybe I can read to her for a while. Since she’s not feeling well, it will give me a chance to minister to her for a change.

After the men had washed up, everyone took their seats at the table. Following a short time of silent prayer, Mom passed the platter of scrambled eggs around the table, along with some biscuits and crispy bacon.

Rebekah only nibbled on her food, as her thoughts vacillated between Grandma not feeling well and Mom wanting her to attend the handicap convention in Ohio. Even if the convention did have some helpful things to offer, she didn’t want to be away from home that long. She would miss her family too much—especially Grandma, who seemed to understand her needs more than anyone else.

“You’ve hardly touched your food, Rebekah,” Dad said, breaking into her thoughts. “Has your appetite gone away this morning?”

She nodded. “I’m worried about Grandma.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine after a few more hours of rest,” Mom put in. “But as I said before, if she’s not feeling better by this afternoon, we’ll take her to see the doctor.”

“That’s right,” Dad agreed. “Even if it means we have to tie her to the buggy seat in order to get her there.”

“Now why would you have to do something like that to Grandma?” Nadine asked, tipping her head and looking at Dad as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

Simon, who sat next to Nadine, poked her arm and snickered. “He’s only kiddin’,
dummkopp.
”

“I am not a dunce,” she shot back, giving him a jab to the ribs with her elbow.

Mom wagged her finger. “That will be enough, you two. Just eat your breakfast, and no more goading each other.”

“I wasn’t.” Nadine’s bottom lip jutted out. “Simon was the one who started it.”

“It doesn’t matter who’s at fault,” Dad said, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Just do as your mamm says, or I’ll give you both double chores to do for the next week or two.”

Simon and Nadine fell silent, and Rebekah was glad for it grated on her nerves to have to listen to their senseless chatter.

When everyone had finished eating, the men excused themselves, saying they were headed out to the fields and would be back in time for lunch.

“Jah,” Mom said as she pushed away from the table. “We’ll be sure to have the noon meal ready on time.”

“Do you want me to help with the dishes now, or should I take Grandma a tray with some breakfast first?” Rebekah asked her mother.

“You can go ahead and do up the tray while Nadine and I start the dishes.”

Nadine looked over at Rebekah and scowled, but she grabbed a clean dish towel without a word of protest.

As soon as Rebekah had placed a plate of scrambled eggs with a biscuit and two strips of bacon on a tray, along with a cup of tea, she set it in her lap and wheeled out of the kitchen, being careful not to bump into anything along the way.

When she reached Grandma’s door, she knocked softly. Hearing no response, she rapped a little louder. “Grandma, it’s Rebekah. Can I come in?”

Still no reply.

Rebekah opened the door a crack and peered inside. She spotted Grandma lying in her bed with her long gray hair fanned out across her pillow. It was one of the few times Rebekah had seen her grandmother with her hair down. Of course, Grandma was usually up and dressed way before anyone else in the family, so her hair had always been done up in a bun with her kapp set in place by the time Rebekah came to the kitchen each morning.

“Grandma, are you awake?” Rebekah called softly. “We had scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits for breakfast this morning, and I have a tray for you.” She pushed the door open more fully and wheeled into the room. Grandma Stoltzfus’s eyes were shut, and her Bible lay open across her chest. She looked awfully still. A strange feeling crept over Rebekah. Why hadn’t Grandma answered her call? Maybe she was sicker than she had let on. Maybe she was too weak to respond.

Rebekah wheeled closer to Grandma’s bed, being careful not to jostle the tray. “Grandma, can you hear me?”

Grandma remained silent and unmoving.

Rebekah looked down at the open Bible and noticed a passage of scripture from Proverbs that had been underlined: “Trust in the Lo r d with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

One of Grandma’s wrinkled hands lay across the open page, so apparently she’d been reading her Bible sometime during the night or early this morning. Rebekah reached out to touch the dear woman’s hand. Cold! It was ice cold!

“Grandma, wake up! Please open your eyes and look at me.”

There was no response from Grandma Stoltzfus. None at all. Her body seemed lifeless like a sack of corn. She had obviously gone to her reward in heaven and wouldn’t have to do another chore or suffer any of life’s pains ever again.

Rebekah sat still for several seconds as she let the reality of the situation fully sink in. Then, with an anguished cry, she let her head fall forward and sobbed for all she was worth.

Mom stepped into the room a few seconds later. “Rebekah? What is it, daughter? I thought I heard you weeping in here.”

Rebekah jerked her head up and gulped on a hiccup. “Sh–she’s gone, Mom. I’m sure that Grandma is dead.”

“What?
Ach,
that just can’t be! I spoke to her but a few hours ago.” Mom rushed over to the bed and picked up Grandma’s hand, feeling for a pulse. Glancing at Rebekah, she slowly shook her head. Then she placed her hand in front of Grandma’s mouth, and held it that way for several seconds. “Oh, Rebekah, I believe you’re right. Grandma’s gone home to heaven.”

“Good-bye, Rebekah. I’m leaving you now.” Grandma held her hand out to Rebekah, but when Rebekah reached for it, Grandma shook her head, turned, and walked away.

“I need you, Grandma. Please don’t leave me all alone.” Rebekah tried to run after Grandma, but her legs wouldn’t move. She glanced down at the ugly metal braces strapped to them and drew in a shuddering breath. “Come back, Grandma. Come back to me!”

Grandma was gone—vanished into some kind of a misty, thin air. Tears streamed down Rebekah’s face, and she trembled. “Please, please ... don’t leave me. I need you!”

“Rebekah, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Rebekah turned and saw her mother moving slowly toward her. She extended her arms, but Mom kept walking right past Rebekah, heading in the same direction as Grandma had gone.

“Mom, don’t go. Wait for me, please.” Rebekah struggled to lift her right foot, but it wouldn’t budge. She gritted her teeth and tried to move her left foot, but it seemed to be stuck like glue. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!” she shouted as Mom disappeared into the eerie mist.

“Calm down,” Dad said as he trudged past her. “You’ll wake
the dead if you keep on hollering that way.”

“Something terrible is happening, and I can’t seem to stop it.” Rebekah gulped in some air and almost choked on a sob. “Can’t you make it stop, Dad? Can’t you bring Grandma and Mom back to me?”

He shook his head and kept on walking as though he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“I need you!” Rebekah shouted to her father’s retreating form. “I can’t make it on my own. I need someone to love me and care for my needs.”

Dad lifted his hand in a backward wave; then he disappeared into the misty vapor.

“Come back! Come back! Come back to me!”

“Wake up, sister. Wake up. Do you hear me, Rebekah?”

Rebekah felt someone shaking her shoulder, and she struggled to open her eyes. Was it Grandma? Had the dear woman come back from the shadow of death to be with her?

She tossed her head from side to side and moaned. “Grandma. Grandma, don’t leave me.”

“Rebekah, calm down at once, and look at me.”

It took great effort on Rebekah’s part, but she forced her eyes open and squinted against the invading light. “Wh–where am I? What’s happened to Grandma?” she asked as Nadine’s face came into view.

“You’re in your own bed. You must have been having a bad dream because I could hear you hollering all the way upstairs.” Nadine’s forehead wrinkled as she stared at Rebekah. “That must have been some nightmare you were havin’.”

Rebekah nodded, noticing that her nightgown was sopping wet, and so were her sheets. “I—I dreamed that Grandma was with me, but she disappeared in a fog. Then Mom and Dad came along, and they vanished, too.” Her voice caught on a sob, and she shuddered. “It—it was so real, and I—I was so scared.”

Nadine patted Rebekah’s shoulder. “You’ll feel better once the funeral is over. Mom says it’s easier to deal with the loss of a loved one once we see them buried and allow ourselves some time to grieve.”

Grabbing the sides of her bed, Rebekah pulled herself to a sitting position. That’s right ... today was Grandma’s funeral. No one could have foreseen that just three short days ago the dear woman would be taken from them, but she had slipped quietly away from her family, making her journey home to be with the Lord. It had been determined that she’d died of a stroke. As soon as the news of her death had gotten out, the entire Amish community had rallied to do whatever was necessary in order to help with the preparations for the funeral service and the meal afterward.

Rebekah supposed that was some comfort, but oh, how terribly she missed her dear grandma, and not just because the woman had taken care of Rebekah through so much of her childhood. Rebekah would miss everything about Grandma Stoltzfus—her kind, helpful ways; her soft-spoken words; and her sweet, tender spirit, which was a testimony of God’s love in action.

As Rebekah rolled her wheelchair into the living room a short time later, she caught sight of Grandma’s coffin—a plain pine box with a split lid. The upper part of the lid was hinged so it could be opened for viewing the body. According to tradition among the Lancaster Amish, Grandma’s dress had been covered with the same white cape and apron she had worn on her wedding day many years ago.

Grandma’s funeral service would be held after breakfast, right here in the house, with a second service going on in the barn simultaneously if there were more people than the house could hold. For two days prior to the service, Grandma’s body had been available for viewing, but after today, Rebekah would never look on the dear woman’s face again—not until they met in heaven someday.

Rebekah gulped on a sob and guided her chair out of the room, knowing her help would be needed in the kitchen and hoping the action of doing something constructive would take her mind off the pain in her heart. She discovered Mom and Nadine scurrying around the kitchen as they made preparations for breakfast.

“Are you all right?” Mom asked, casting Rebekah a look of concern. “Nadine said you’d had a bad dream and seemed quite upset when she woke you.”

Rebekah’s only reply was a quick shrug. She didn’t want to talk about the terrible nightmare that had left her nightgown and bed sheets drenched in sweat. Talking about it would do no good, and it certainly wouldn’t bring Grandma back.

“Rebekah?” Mom persisted. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Rebekah rolled her chair farther into the room. “Want me to set the table?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I would have done it, but Mom’s got me squeezing oranges for fresh juice,” Nadine said from her place in front of the counter. “Simon says he’s comin’ down with a cold, and he seems to think the vitamin C he’ll get from the oranges will lick it quicker than anything.”

“Grandma used to drink a lot of orange juice whenever she had a cold,” Rebekah said, swallowing hard in hopes of pushing down the awful lump that had lodged in her throat. She guided her chair quickly over to the silverware drawer, determined to keep her hands busy so her mind wouldn’t dwell on the funeral service that would be starting in just a few hours.

Rebekah didn’t know how she had made it through Grandma’s service, but she had—and without breaking down in front of everyone. All too often, she got looks of sympathy or curious stares from others because of her handicap, and the last thing she needed today was anyone’s pity. All she wanted to do was get through the graveside service, which would soon take place, mingle with their guests awhile during the afternoon meal, and retreat to the solitude of her room.

As Dad’s horse and buggy pulled away from the barn, Rebekah glanced out the back window. In perfect procession, Grandma’s close family members followed the simple horse-drawn hearse, with the other buggies coming up behind them. Single file, the Amish carriages wound their way down the Stoltzfus driveway and continued onto the narrow road. The mourners passed fields of growing corn, soon-to-be-cut alfalfa, and Amish farmsteads dotting the countryside. The long column turned down an even narrower road and finally came to a halt at a fenced-in graveyard.

The drivers got out first and tied their horses to the fence. Soon everyone was assembled at the graveside, and the pallbearers slid Grandma’s coffin from the wagon and carried it to the grave that had been dug the day before. Right beside the new grave was the small, simple headstone of Grandma’s husband, Henry Stoltzfus, who had preceded her in death some thirteen years ago.

Wooden poles with long straps extending the width of the grave had been placed across the hole for the coffin to rest upon. Rebekah’s family mourned openly when the box was lowered into the ground and the hole was covered with dirt. Their beloved grandma was laid to rest. After the men had all removed their hats, Bishop Benner conducted the graveside service, which included the reading of a few verses from one of their Amish hymns. He closed the service by inviting those present to pray the Lord’s Prayer silently with him.

Rebekah’s stomach felt like it was tied in one big knot, and she fought to keep her emotions under control. She knew in the days ahead she would pine for the long talks she and Grandma used to have; for the board games they often played; the times spent together caring for Grandma’s houseplants; and the meaningful hours she had listened to Grandma read the scriptures to her. There were so many precious memories of the dear woman.

Rebekah glanced at the somber faces surrounding her and knew she wasn’t the only one in pain. Aunt Mim wept openly as she leaned against Uncle Amos’s shoulder, and Mary Ellen and her twelve-year-old brother, Henry, stood near their parents with tears streaming down their faces.

To the left stood Uncle Jonas and Aunt Crystal with their fifteen-year-old twin sons, Jacob and John, and eleven-year-old daughter, Maddie. Next to them were Uncle Lewis, Aunt Grace, and their children, Peggy, age twelve, and Matthew, who was seven. To the right stood Rebekah’s own family—Mom, Dad, Simon, and Nadine. They were all shedding plenty of tears—everyone but Rebekah, who was determined to remain in control.

This was the first time Rebekah had lost someone so close to her. She’d only been six when Grandpa Stoltzfus died of a heart attack. She barely remembered him, and at the time of his death, she hadn’t been so greatly affected.

Despite Rebekah’s resolve, a few tears slipped out from under her lashes and splashed onto her cheeks.
Oh, God, why did you have to take my
mammi
? Why must life be so unfair?

No answer. Just the whisper of the wind wafting through the trees overhead.

Rebekah wondered if God had even heard her prayer. She wondered if He cared about her at all.

The funeral dinner was held at Rebekah’s folks’ place, and an array of food and beverages had been prepared and brought in by many of their friends and neighbors. Most of the adults had been served inside the house, but some of the younger ones decided to eat their meal at one of the picnic tables set up on the lawn since it had turned out to be such a warm day.

As Mary Ellen walked across the grass carrying two plates of food, she noticed Rebekah sitting in her wheelchair under the branches of a large willow tree. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was pursed tightly as if an invisible drawstring had pulled her lips together.

“Are you sleeping?” Mary Ellen asked as she approached her cousin.

Rebekah’s eyes snapped open. “No. Just resting my eyes.”

“Sure is a hot, muggy day, isn’t it?”

“Jah, but then that’s typical summertime weather.”

Mary Ellen held one of the plates out to Rebekah. “I brought you something to eat.”

“Danki, but I’m not so hungry.”

“Maybe not, but you need to keep up your strength.”

“My strength? My strength for what—crying?” Tears seeped under Rebekah’s long lashes and dribbled onto her flushed cheeks. “I—I was determined not to do that, yet here I am, giving in to my tears anyway.”

Mary Ellen bent down to place both plates on the ground; then she leaned over Rebekah’s wheelchair and gave her a hug. “We’ll all miss Grandma, but you probably will feel the greatest loss. She lived with you and took care of your needs for a long time.”

Rebekah nodded.

“God knows what’s best for each one of us, so I’m sure He will give you the strength to get through this time of loss.”

“It was best to take Grandma away?”

“Not better for us, maybe, but for Grandma, it surely was.”

“She’s dead, Mary Ellen.”

“I know that, and I’ll miss her, too. But remember that the Bible says for a believer to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” Mary Ellen smiled as she looked up at the cloudless sky. “If we could only know what heaven is really like, I think we would all long to go there.”

“Maybe so.”

“Grandma’s no longer confined in her aging body. She doesn’t have to toil here on earth or feel any more physical pain. She’s probably having the time of her life, walking all over heaven with Grandpa and Jesus right about now.”

Rebekah nodded slowly. “I—I know you’re right, but it’s ever so hard to let go of my precious mammi because I miss her so much. Every time I go into her room or see something that reminds me of her, I feel as if my heart is breaking in two.”

“Grieve if you must, Rebekah, but don’t let your grief consume you. Grandma wouldn’t want that.”

“Last night I had a distressing nightmare about her leaving me. Mom and Dad were in the dream, as well, and they disappeared into the same foggy mist that Grandma walked into after she told me good-bye.” Rebekah groaned and held her stomach as though she was in terrible pain. “Do you think that means they’ll be leaving me soon, too?”

Mary Ellen shook her head. “Of course not. It was only a dream—a dream that most likely came about because you are grieving over the loss of our mammi.”

“You’re probably right, but it was so terrifying, and I–I’m afraid of what it might have meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it was a warning of things to come ... a time when I’ll be all alone with no one to care for me.”

“That won’t happen because you have plenty of family who will be around to help take care of your needs.” Mary Ellen patted Rebekah’s arm in a motherly fashion. “I’m sorry about the nightmare, but I’m sure it won’t happen again, and you can’t let anything steal your joy.”

“How can I feel joy when I’ve just lost Grandma?”

“We all lost her, Rebekah. But life goes on, and we need to keep a positive attitude and look for things to be joyous about.”

“It’s not so easy for me to feel joy the way you do. You’ve always been able to smile, even in the face of difficulty. I remember when we were kinner and some of our classmates used to pick on you. Your loving, forgiving spirit was evident even back then.” Rebekah slowly shook her head. “I don’t know how you managed to stay so sweet and kind.”