Simple Choices (26 page)

Sweetie made a clucking noise with her tongue. “That woman is just plain cantankerous. I’m glad to see her plan to break those two kids up didn’t succeed after all. It might a taken awhile, but the good Lord put back together what Abigail tried to destroy. Good for Him.”

“Yes,” Ida agreed. “I will pray that this time C.J. finds happiness with the woman he loves.”

“I’ll pray for him, too,” I said.

Ida laughed softly. “Ach, I just remembered what his initials stand for.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Must be good. What is it?”

“He was born during Abigail’s involvement in some kind of odd religion. His mother named him Cosmic Journey.”

Sweetie burst out laughing. “Are you kiddin’ me? That poor man.”

“Oh my.” I covered my mouth with my hand. “I’d rather be called Snicklefritz than something like that.”

Ida nodded. “A name left over from the sixties, I believe. Maybe C.J. has had it changed. Anyway, I hope so.”

“And I thought being saddled with Myrtle was bad,” Sweetie said, giggling.

I didn’t mention that most people wouldn’t want to be called
Sweetie
, but she loved her nickname. Ida cast a quick glance my way, and I grinned at her. She was probably thinking the same thing I was.

We moved on to looking over Hector’s choices for the reception dinner. I finally decided on a menu, and we set a time for the wedding rehearsal.

“The rehearsal dinner will be here,” Sweetie said. “I may not be cookin’ for the reception, but I sure as tootin’ can handle dinner for the families and Pastor Jensen.”

We’d just started talking about that menu when the front door opened and my father’s voice boomed out. “Anyone here?”

“We’re in the kitchen,” I hollered.

Sam was a few seconds behind my dad, and as soon as I saw his face I knew something was wrong.

“You about ready to go, Snicklefritz?” Dad said. He ignored Ida and Sweetie, which wasn’t like him.

“I—I guess so.” I looked at Sweetie. “Why don’t you finish the menu for the rehearsal dinner on your own? I trust your instincts.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything. I could tell she’d picked up on the tension in the air. Part of me wanted to throw my hands up in the air and say, “What now?” Surely there was enough drama going on around me without my father and my fiancé having problems.

“Dad, why don’t you and Ida go on out to the car? I want to talk to Sam a minute.”

My father hesitated for a second or two, but finally he helped Ida up and silently guided her down the hall and out the door.

“Okay, what in the world is going on?” I asked Sam after we heard the front door close.

He slumped down in a nearby chair. “Wow. I really don’t know what happened.” He shook his head. “Everything was going just fine, and then all of a sudden your dad went off on me.”

“What do you mean he went
off on you
?” I couldn’t keep the exasperation I was feeling out of my voice.

Sam rubbed the side of his face. “We were talking about the farm. You know, why Sweetie and I chose peaches and apples. Then he started asking about our berry crop. Suddenly, he started going on and on about weather and crop failure. What would happen if we had a couple of bad seasons? I tried to explain how we operate, that we have savings in reserve in case we have a poor crop, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Your father seems to think I can’t take care of you properly.”

“I have a job, too,” I said. “It’s not like we’re completely dependent on the farm to—”

Sam slapped the table with his hand. “I don’t need your money. I can take care of us just fine.”

Stunned, I couldn’t form a response fast enough. “I—I …”

He stood up, his face flushed and angry. “I don’t need you or anyone to support me, thank you. If you don’t believe I can provide for you …”

“All right, that’s enough, you two,” Sweetie bellowed. “I won’t have you goin’ at each other like this.” She jabbed a finger into Sam’s chest. “Sit down, young man. And I mean now!”

Sam slid back into his chair like a whipped puppy.

“And you …” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “You watch the way you talk to this man. He don’t want no woman supportin’ him. It ain’t respectful to talk to a husband like that.”

I wanted to ask just what she knew about husbands seeing that she’d never been married, but I wisely kept my mouth shut. Sweetie was on a rampage, and it was best to stay out of the way when she let loose.

“Now the way I see it, you’re both wrong … and you’re both right.” She pointed at Sam again, but this time kept her finger out of his midsection. “Gracie has a talent, boy. And she not only wants to use it to help support the family you’re gettin’ ready to make, she has a responsibility to use the talents the good Lord gave her. You don’t need to sound like some old-school, he-man type who’s gonna take care of his little woman. This here marriage is gonna be a partnership, buddy. And you better get used to it.” She swung her gaze over to me, her irritation making her look like she’d been “suckin’ on a pail full of lemons.” Another one of Sweetie’s favorite expressions. “You gotta understand that Sam is gonna be the head of your house, young lady. You gotta treat him like you respect him, even when you don’t.” She shook her head. “I may not be married, but I done watched some folks down through the years. It’s the marriages where both people treat each other with respect that make it through the storms of life. I seen some women pick, pick, pick at their husbands until they turn into almost nothin’. Man’s gotta feel like his wife looks up to him.” She moved her face a little bit closer to mine. “And if you want your husband to change, you go talk to God about it. Don’t nag him yourself. Only God can change the inside of a human bein’. I seen folks turn into different people when their spouse quits harpin’ at ‘em, and they put the situation at the Lord’s feet.” She glanced at Sam. “This is for both of you. You both gotta love the good stuff and turn the other over to God. It’s the only way it’ll work. I’m as sure of that as I’m sure Gracie’s daddy is gonna come around.”

“And how could you possibly know that?” I asked.

Sweetie nodded and looked off into the distance. It was obvious she was thinking about her answer. After a moment she said, “That man is dealin’ with the past. He ain’t mad at you, son. He’s mad at himself. You two gotta give him time to work it out. He’ll be okay. I guarantee it.”

My father, who was supposedly “gonna come around” honked his car horn as a sign he was getting impatient.

“Sweetie, I hope you’re right,” I said. I got up, went over to Sam, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sure everything will be okay. Give me time to find out why my dad’s upset.” I smiled over at Sweetie. “Correction. Give me time to pray for my dad. Sweetie’s right, we’ve got to give God a chance to work this out.”

“And if He doesn’t?” Sam asked glumly.

I slapped him playfully on the head. “How about we just believe, and leave the rest of it up to Him? My mother told me once that faith doesn’t have a Plan B. There’s no option for failure. I say we stick to Plan A.”

Sam was quiet for a few seconds before he chuckled softly. “I have no chance against two women of faith, do I?” He reached up and grabbed my arms, pulling me down to him. Then he kissed me. “Okay, okay. Plan A all the way.”

My father’s car horn blared again, longer this time. I kissed Sam once more, ran over and threw my arms around Sweetie, hugged her, and then hurried out the front door. I opened the car door and slid into the backseat. Ida sat silently in the front passenger seat. The air was thick with tension, and I got the feeling that Ida and my father had been talking before I came out of the house. Must not have gone well. Dad drove Ida home and started to get out of the car so he could assist her to her door, but I jumped out quickly and announced that I would help her instead. I had Ida’s door open before my dad could protest. Holding on to my arm, she got out of the car and we walked slowly toward her porch.

“Your father is dealing with some painful feelings,” she said quietly as we stepped up on her stairs. “You must be patient, liebling. God is speaking to his heart.” She smiled up at me. “Everything will work out the way it is supposed to. I believe it in my heart of hearts.”

When we reached the top of the stairs I hugged her. “Sweetie said the same thing. I think you’re both right, although I can’t figure out what he’s so upset about. I know he’s felt bad about Uncle Benjamin, but I thought he was just about over that.”

Ida glanced back at the car where my father sat waiting. “Sometimes we make choices, Gracie. At the time, they may seem right in our minds, but in our hearts they may not set as well. We might ignore the voice of the heart; we may even cover it up with other things. But one day we will face it again, and then we must decide. Was the choice wrong or right? And if it was wrong, what can we do about it now?” She shook her head. “We make a mistake if we torment ourselves about the past since it does not really exist anymore. It is nothing more than a memory without weight or substance. The key is to leave the ghosts of yesterday behind and move forward with new choices. It is never too late with God.” She reached over and kissed me on the cheek. “Now your father faces a past choice—and a new one. I am afraid Sam only represents the choice he made long ago—one he may now regret. When Daniel realizes that today he can choose again, and that’s it’s not too late to get back what he lost, he will drop his misplaced anger toward Sam. I promise this.” She stroked my cheek. “You trust God, liebling, ja?”

I wrapped my arms around her. “Ja,” I whispered. “Ja.” I waited until Ida’s front door closed behind her before I went back to the car. I glanced at my father when I got into the front seat, but his expression didn’t invite conversation. We pulled out onto Faith Road and had almost reached my house when I noticed something strange on the road ahead. A black buggy was stopped on the side of the road, not moving. No one seemed to be near it.

“Dad, I want to check out that buggy. It looks like Gabe and Sarah’s.”

He drove past the house and parked on the side of the road. I got out and walked up to the side of the black buggy. Sarah Ketterling lay slumped over in her seat. I jumped up next to her and called out her name. Then I tried to rouse her, but she didn’t appear to be breathing.

M
y father helped me lift Sarah out of the buggy and onto the ground. He winced more than once from supporting her weight on his leg, even though she felt light as a feather to me. After checking her breathing, he yelled at me to go home and call John while he did CPR. I got in his car and quickly drove the short distance back to my house. I pulled the car up near the house, jumped out, and ran inside to the phone. Thankfully, John answered right away. My breath came in fast spurts as I told him about Sarah.

“I’m on my way, Gracie,” he said. “Try to get her cool and continue CPR until I get there.”

I hung up the phone and ran to the kitchen to get a pail of cool water and a towel while trying to explain what was going on to my mother. She promised to pray for Sarah as I hurried to the car.

When I got back to my father, I told him what John had said.

“She’s breathing,” he said, “but it’s shallow.” He frowned. “Help me get her out of these clothes.”

“Oh Dad. I don’t think …”

He stared into my face, his jaw tight. “Gracie, do you care more about this girl’s modesty or her life?”

I reached down and unfastened Sarah’s cap. Then with Dad’s help I rolled her onto her side and untied her apron.

“Foolish to wear all these clothes in hot July weather,” Dad said, his face flushed with frustration. “She probably has heatstroke.”

“Maybe that’s why John wanted us to cool her down.” I unpinned the back of her dress and pulled it down. From a situation last winter when Sarah had been found in the snow, I knew she wore a kind of sleeveless undergarment with an attached slip under her dress. She was still covered but now would feel much cooler. I moved the heavy clothes to the side and put her head on my lap. Then I began to wipe her face with cool water. My father bent over to check her breathing.

“We need to watch her carefully in case we need to start CPR again.” He tried to find a comfortable position kneeling next to the unconscious girl, but the pain on his face was evident.

“Dad, I know CPR. If she needs it, I can do it.”

“We may both need to assist her.”

“No. I can take care of it myself.” I gently pushed him away. “You get off that leg. I don’t need to take care of both of you.”

He started to argue with me, but his face suddenly went white from pain. He struggled to stand up. I left Sarah and helped him to his feet, guiding him over to the buggy where he sat down on the back axle. Once I knew he was comfortable, I returned to Sarah and continued to keep her face, chest, and arms damp. Finally, I heard a small noise, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Sarah, can you hear me?”

She seemed confused at first, but then she stared up at me. “Oh my,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

She started to sit up, but I gently pushed her back down. “We don’t know why you passed out, Sarah. I need you to stay still until John gets here. You’re probably just overheated, but we need to make sure.”

Although I’d been concentrating on making sure she was breathing, I was stunned by how thin she was. Her breastbone and ribs were visible beneath her damp undershirt.

“John?” she said, her voice thin and high pitched. “John’s coming here?”

I wiped her face with the wet rag. “Yes, of course. He’s a doctor.”

Sarah’s hands flew to her chest and she felt the thin material of her undershirt. “Oh Gracie! I can’t have him see me like this. Please … please …”

“Young lady,” my father said in a gruff tone, “wearing all that heavy clothing on a day like today is ridiculous. No wonder you fainted.”

Sarah’s dark eyes were huge in her pale face. “Gracie …”

The plaintive plea in her voice moved me to action. I pulled up the top part of her dress, covering her chest. “I will not put the rest of it on, Sarah,” I said, trying to sound as firm as possible. “I just won’t do it.”