The Letters (32 page)

Hank yawned. “I used to have a handle on life, but it broke.” He pushed his hat back and sat straight up. “I nearly forgot! I want you to put on a fireworks show for the end of my birthday party. It’s a paying gig.”

“Yeah? How much?”

“All you can eat. Tell Galen he’s invited too. We’re going to have fun.”

Jimmy snorted, amused by the comment. “Galen never had fun in his whole livelong life. He wasn’t made for fun. That’s my department. That’s why he needs me.”

“Yes, but what’s far more interesting to me,” Hank retorted, “is why you need Galen King.”

19

W
hat a difference a week made.

Delia drove Rose and Vera to Charles’s office to find out the results of the MRI. Charles had arranged for the test to be done at a local facility in Lancaster, then had the results sent to his office. Delia could see that Vera had never been so frightened in all her life. Getting an MRI had terrified her. Usually, an MRI took about ten to fifteen minutes. For Vera, it took nearly an hour. She had a fit of claustrophobia and needed to be pulled out of the machine, then she sneezed and that slowed it all down. She complained about everything—claustrophobia, the noise of the vibrating magnets. She had to wear earplugs, then earphones over the earplugs. And she had to be absolutely still—that meant no talking. A terrible thing for Vera to endure!

Rose stayed by Vera’s side through it all. Delia knew Vera was grateful, though she would never let on. Even she could also see the decline in Vera since she had arrived at Eagle Hill. Her physical weakness and confusion were escalating, and whenever she felt stressed, real or imagined, the hiccups started up again.

Delia was so focused on Vera and Rose that she hardly
thought about the fact that she would be going to Charles’s medical office for the first time since they had separated. She knew the office staff—had known them for years—and was warmly welcomed by them, but her mind was preoccupied with Vera.

When the receptionist asked them to wait in Charles’s office, Delia assumed she would stay in the waiting room. “Please, come with us,” Rose said.

So Delia followed behind them and went into her husband’s office. On the desk and in the bookshelf were pictures of her and Will. When Charles came in, his eyes met Delia’s and softened. He greeted Rose and Vera, then he sat at his desk and turned on the computer monitor to show Vera the picture of her brain.

“It turns out that you didn’t have a stroke after all, Vera, just like we had discussed at your farm. But you do have a brain tumor.” He turned the computer screen around and showed her the picture of her brain.

“I don’t see anything,” Vera said.

“It can be hard to see,” Charles said. He ran a finger around the outline of the small tumor. “The tissue is one texture. The tumor is a different one.”

“All I see is a gray blob.”

“That’s the tumor. It’s grayer than the gray of your brain. It’s called a primal tumor. Symptoms mimic a stroke so similarly that about 3 percent of primal brain tumors are misdiagnosed as stroke victims. In a way, you’re very fortunate. Most brain problems don’t give warnings. Aneurysms, for example, can hide in the brain like a ticking bomb.”

Too much. He’d said too much. Delia could see Vera gasp at the words “ticking bomb.”

Charles saw it too. “But lucky for you,” he hastened to add, “your symptoms of aphasia and singultus and weakness have given us a heads-up.”

Vera and Rose swiveled in their chairs to look at Delia for translation. “What’s he saying?” Vera asked.

“
Aphasia
means having trouble with word recall,” Delia explained. “Tip-of-the-tongue-itis.
Singultus
means . . . hiccups.”

Vera’s face pinched in fear. Her hands worked in her lap. “I knew it! I knew it. I’m dying!”

“No, no,” Charles said, hastening to reassure her. “The brain tumor is located in a part of your head that is very accessible. I believe we can remove it.”

“Brain surgery?” Rose said.

“I don’t want my head split open and have people rooting around in it like a pumpkin,” Vera said. “Tell him, Rose.”

Rose reached over and held Vera’s hand. “Let’s find out more before we decide anything.”

“Charles, is it benign?” Delia asked.

“We won’t know until it’s been removed and sent to the lab, but I’m cautiously optimistic that it’s not malignant.”

“What do them hundred-dollar words mean?” Vera whispered to Rose.

“Cancer,” Rose whispered back and Vera shuddered.

Charles turned off the computer monitor. “Vera, I recommend we take care of that tumor. Soon. Very soon. I have every confidence that the tumor can be removed.”

Vera fixed her gaze at him. “Can you guarantee that? One hundred percent guarantee that?”

Charles and Delia exchanged a look. She wondered if he was thinking about the malpractice suit. “No, of course not. No surgery is without risks.”

“Then I don’t want it.”

Rose sighed. “What would happen without the surgery?”

Vera sat up straighter in her chair. “Maybe I can wait. Maybe it’ll go away on its own. Like Hank Lapp’s toothache.”

“Hank had that tooth pulled,” Rose said.

Charles looked like he was starting to run short on patience, which, at best, was never a leisurely path. “The tumor will continue to grow and eventually affect other regions of the brain. And then . . .”

“And then I’ll die.” Vera clapped her hands together over her chest. “I am ready to meet my Maker.”

“Vera, before you do, let’s hear more about the option of surgery.” Rose turned to Charles. “If the surgery is successful, will her symptoms disappear?”

“Most should. And if it’s benign, then she won’t require any treatments—just follow-up scans. Physical therapy will help her regain her confidence in her strength and balance.”

Rose turned to Vera. “I think we should consider it.”

Vera huffed. “And how are we going to pay for this brain surgery? Have you thought of that?”

Rose, normally so capable, seemed at a loss for words. “Well, I . . . I’ll speak to Deacon Abraham. I’m sure the church will help. We’ll manage somehow.”

“Charles will volunteer his services,” Delia blurted out. Charles’s eyebrows shot up. “He does it all the time. Bona fides. It means free. He’s generous like that.” She studiously avoided Charles’s stare, but Vera did calm at that news.

Rose walked back and forth in the room. “When do we need to decide?”

“Right now,” Charles said. “There’s an opening for tomorrow morning. We had to postpone a patient’s surgery
because his blood pressure is too high. Delia can drive you over to the hospital now and get you settled in.”

“You’re going to do it?” Vera asked, the first, tiniest glimmer of hope crossing her eyes.

“My specialty is with vascular neuropathy,” he said. “My job is to cut off the blood supply that feeds tumors and allows them to grow. The surgeon I have in mind for you is excellent. He’s available tomorrow because of the canceled surgery.”

Vera flashed a look of panic at Rose, who turned to Delia. Delia could see this was a new wrinkle. Possibly, a deal breaker. If Vera was going to agree to this, it hinged on Charles’s performing the surgery. “But Charles, you have done this surgery. Hundreds of times.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“And you’ve always said that every single brain surgery is unique. There are no two situations that are exactly the same when it comes to brain surgery. You’ve said that the reason you’re such a good neurosurgeon is that you’re prepared for every possible scenario. You’ve kept your skills current. I’ve heard you say that, dozens of times.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“So you are familiar with this type of surgery?” Rose said.

His eyebrows shot up. “Of course. As Delia said, I’ve performed open brain surgery more times than I can count. But, just to be clear, I’m a specialist for an even more complicated type of brain surgery . . .” He looked at Rose, then at Vera, who looked back at him with eager anticipation. “I . . . but I . . .” He looked at Delia. She saw his expression slide from disbelief to confusion to acceptance. She knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. He hadn’t expected this turn of events—but he was pleased, nonetheless. Charles
had a great deal of confidence in himself and knew he was an excellent surgeon, but he was not immune to others’ appreciation for his skills. In other words, he could be bought. “Yes . . . I could perform the surgery. Assuming Vera gives her consent.”

Then all eyes turned to Vera, waiting for her to agree to the surgery. She sat quietly as she considered all that Charles had said to her. “Why? I don’t understand why this is happening. Why would God do this to me? Why would he let me down?”

Rose crouched down beside her chair. “Vera, I know one thing. I know that God has never let us down. Not even when Dean passed. He has never abandoned us. It’s not possible. God is good no matter what circumstances you’re facing. We need to remember that, and to keep declaring that God is good, no matter what. That we know it to be true.”

Vera nodded in agreement. “I need more faith.”

“Then borrow mine,” Rose said.

Those three words felt like an electric shock to Delia. Was that even possible? To borrow someone’s faith? She’d been leaning heavily on Rose’s faith since she arrived at Eagle Hill. Or maybe Rose meant that a person’s faith could be inspired to grow just by observing the depth of another’s faith.

Whatever Rose meant by that, it seemed to do the trick. Doubt and blame seemed to be pushed away, and peace rolled in. Vera turned to Delia. “Is he any good?”

“Vera, if I had to have brain surgery, I would insist that Charles perform the surgery.” Delia looked at Charles. “He’s the best, Vera. The very best.”

Charles didn’t even exhale when she said this. It was as though he was holding his breath, waiting to hear Delia’s response to Vera. Then he let out a breath and turned his
attention to Vera. “I have the skills to help you, Vera, and I love using those skills. I want to try to help you so you can get on with the rest of your life. But I can’t guarantee a perfect outcome. No one can. All I can promise is that I will do the very best job I can.”

Vera rose, a little wobbly. “Let’s get this over with.”

As Charles held the door for them, Delia was last out the door.

“Bona fides? I think you meant to say pro bono. That means free. Bona fides means in good faith.”

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Same thing.” She turned to him. “Charles—this family, well, I can’t explain it, but they have become a very special family to me.”

His eyes softened again. She had forgotten how he used to look at her in that special way. A just-for-her way. How long had it been? “We’ll figure something out,” he said.

“Thank you for agreeing to perform the surgery. I think that made all the difference to Vera.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I’d forgotten how the Amish can be surprisingly stubborn.”

She arched an eyebrow back at him. “I hadn’t.”

Delia took Rose and Vera over to the hospital to get Vera checked in. Charles’s office had called over to smooth the path—and still, it was daunting. She wasn’t sure how two Amish ladies could have navigated the complexity of hospital administration without this kind of streamlining help. She could barely wade through it all herself.

As a nurse settled Vera into her hospital room—a private room, which she knew Charles had arranged—Delia spoke
quietly to Rose. “Tell me how I can help. Would you like me to drive you home tonight? Or would you be willing to stay at my house here in town?”

“I think I should stay at the hospital tonight,” Rose said. “Vera is frightened. This is all happening so fast.” There was a pull-out bed in the corner. More like a padded bench.

“I can call the farmhouse and leave a message.”

Rose frowned. She wasn’t sure if the children would remember to check the messages for her. “Maybe you could call Galen. He has a phone in his barn. There’s a better chance of getting through.”

“Rose, would you like me to drive out tonight? I could let everyone know what’s happening.”

Relief flooded Rose’s face. “Oh, Delia, would you? Then they could pray. And that would put their minds at ease.”