The Keeper (26 page)

Mary Kate lifted her tearstained face. She, of all the children, was the most like his Maggie. She would be fine, even if she didn’t know it yet. “What does it feel like to die?”

He put his hand on her small head. “Do you remember how we would wake up before Menno and Julia and Sadie? And we’d sit together—you and me and Mom—and Mom would make hot chocolate for you, and I’d have my coffee, and Mom would have her tea, and we’d sit quietly, listening for the rooster to crow? Then Mom would take the lamp that sat on the kitchen table, and she’d blow out the wick. Because she knew morning had come.” He lifted her chin. “That’s what it’s like, M.K. It’s like blowing out the wick of a lamp because morning is coming.”

Menno crouched down by Amos’s bed. “Dad, does a person have two hearts? Like he has two kidneys?”

He put his hand on Menno’s soft hair. “No, Menno. Just one heart per person.”

“If I had two, I could give you one.”

With that comment, Amos’s tears flowed freely. Rome dropped his head, and Sadie sniffed loudly. Finally, Fern had enough of this emotion. “That’s enough. Everybody out. He’s not going anywhere today.” She waved everyone downstairs. As they filed out past her, she said, “We don’t put a question mark where God has put a period.”

Rome waited at Amos’s door until they all left. He had one boot against the doorjamb, with his arms crossed. “What Fern just said—those words are true. But Amos, what if God has just put a comma? Not a period?” He reached a hand for the door and quietly closed it as he left.

A comma? Amos knew what Rome was getting at—a heart transplant. He’d been hammering that home the last few weeks. Amos leaned his head against the pillow. He had been against the idea since he first heard the word mentioned at the doctor’s office, months ago. It didn’t seem right to him. The Bible said a man was appointed to live once and to die once. He closed his eyes. How could he dare hope for a new heart? That would mean a person’s life had been taken. How could he even pray such a prayer?

There were seasons in a person’s life. A time when one knew heaven couldn’t be far away, when a man’s life was ebbing away. This was Amos’s last season. He needed to search his soul, to confess all sin—what he had done and what he had failed to do—and to seek God’s forgiveness.

A comma, Rome had said.
Lord
, Amos prayed,
you will have to tell me clearly if that’s what you want me to pursue. I just don’t think I could accept such a thing. It’s asking too much.

A few days later, M.K. was playing a game of checkers with her father when Julia and Sadie came into the room, interrupting. They plopped down in the chairs that had been put in Amos’s room for visitors.

“Fern said you wanted to see us,” Julia said.

Not
now!
M.K. thought. She was winning!

“Where’s Menno?” Amos said.

“He and Uncle Hank are out bear hunting,” Sadie said. “Uncle Hank thinks he’s got the bear’s whereabouts figured out. Between the Smuckers’ and the Stoltzfuses’ farm.” She sat back in the chair. “Of course, Uncle Hank has thought that for days now.”

“And he’s always wrong,” M.K. added, jumping two of Amos’s checkers.

Amos frowned at her. “He’s doing his best.” He picked up his checker and jumped one of hers.

Surprised, M.K. studied the board. “It’s no secret that Uncle Hank is a terrible hunter. Even Stern Fern has a better shot.”

Just as Amos opened his mouth to defend Uncle Hank, Julia interceded. “Speaking of Fern, she said you had something important to talk to us about.”

Amos leaned his back against the headboard. “I’m going to sell off the orchards. I can get big money for that acreage. Enough to put a dent in these hospital bills.”

Julia slapped her forehead, gave it a real crack. “So that’s it. Well, you can just forget it. We’ll find a way to pay down that debt, Dad. The church will help us—you know they will.”

“Everyone’s suffering after this drought. I can’t expect them to pay what they don’t have. They’ve already helped us—above and beyond.”

“We can get along without selling off the orchards.” Julia’s chin lifted a notch. “We always have.”

“I’ll keep the house for all of you, so you’ll always have a home, free and clear. I don’t want to leave behind any doubts or debts. And I’ll keep a few acres surrounding it, for a garden and pastureland for Menno’s livestock.”

“Just who do you think you’ll sell it to?” Julia asked, firing up. “What if one of our neighbors can’t afford to buy it and you end up selling to a developer? Why, they’ll bulldoze everything right up to the house. And they’ll stick in as many houses as they can fit in. You’ve seen what it looks like. No yards. Just house after house after house.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Amos said, very dignified. “And you know what my mind is like when I’ve made it up.”

Boy, that upset Julia.

It got quiet then, very quick, while M.K. and Sadie waited to see what Julia had to say to that. It was like watching a Ping-Pong game.

Fern walked in with a stack of fresh laundry. She set the stack down on the bureau top before she turned to Amos. “Just because the boat rocks doesn’t mean it’s time to jump overboard.” Then she left.

15

A
fter supper, Julia and Menno went out to check on the animals and lock the barn. She sent Menno back to the house, and tousled his hair when he gave her a puzzled look. “You go in. M.K. is waiting for you to help her with a puzzle. I’ll be in soon.”

“But . . . the bear,” Menno said. “Dad said not to go out at night by ourselves. He won’t even let Lulu out.”

She smiled. “I won’t be out that long. I promise.”

She walked down the drive to the roadside stand. The last few hours had been so emotionally churning, she had forgotten to close up the stand for the day. The honor jar was still there, plus the day’s produce that hadn’t sold. As she walked, she mulled over the conversation her father had with them. She knew that he was settling his accounts, preparing all of them for his passing. He was trying to solve all of the tangible problems his absence would create—but what about those intangible problems? What about M.K. needing a parent in a role that a sister couldn’t fulfill? And how would Sadie cope? She was so tenderhearted and sensitive. If her father sold most of the land surrounding the house—and maybe that was the right thing to do, maybe not—what would Menno do without a farm? What would he do without a father to guide him each day? What would any of them do without their father? He was their anchor.

No, that wasn’t right. God alone was their anchor, she reminded herself. God’s ways were good and just. If he took their father home now, he must have a good reason.

But what?

She had prayed so often for God to heal her father. She believed in prayer. Prayer worked. Lately, she had prayed and prayed and prayed as she had never prayed before. She prayed one large circular prayer beginning with “Lord, thy will be done” and ending with “Please, God, please, please, please, don’t let my dad die.”

But God seemed to be saying no.

She reached the stand and saw the honor jar was gone. The produce was gone. She had
thought
she had heard a car door slam during dinner. Someone had driven by and taken it all. It wasn’t the amount—maybe twenty or thirty dollars—but it was the last straw on a bad day. Self-pity, which had been buzzing around her all afternoon, settled in. She looked up at the sky. “It’s not fair!” she said to herself, eyes filling with tears. “It’s just not fair!”

“What isn’t fair?”

She whirled around to find Rome watching her, a curious look on his face. “What do you mean, sneaking up on me like that?”

“I wasn’t sneaking.” He took a step closer to her. “So what’s not fair?”

“Everything!”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like . . . my father wants to sell the land to pay off his hospital bills because he’s sure his heart is wearing out on him. And he’s probably right!”

“That’s why I keep encouraging him to get on the heart transplant list.”

“He won’t do it. I’ve tried.”

“We have to try harder.”

“This is between my father and God. A heart transplant is no simple thing. I don’t know how I would feel if I were in his shoes.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “Do you?”

“I would fight to live, that’s what I’d do. I can’t understand why Amos won’t fight for all of you. He has a chance—but without that transplant, he’s going to die.”

“Stop it!” Julia lifted her hands and held them over her ears to shut out the words. She stood frozen, her spine rigid, her hands clamped to her ears. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

Rome wrapped her stiff body in his arms and began stroking her back and shushing her. “There, now, it’s all right. I’m sorry I made you cry. Last thing I want is to hurt you. There, now, everything’s going to be all right.”

Gradually the tension ebbed from her body, and for a moment she sagged against him. He was so solid. So safe.

Safe?
The thought made her jerk away. She drew back her shoulders and stood back, despite the tears she couldn’t quite stop shedding. “I have to go.” She turned her back to him and began to walk toward the house.

“Julia, wait!”

She turned back. Rome reached down and picked up a basket. In it was the honor jar, filled with money, and the day’s unsold produce. “I saw you hadn’t closed up for the night. I was bringing it up to the house when I noticed a fence board had fallen over there, so I stopped to nail it.” He handed her the basket. “Everything’s going to turn out all right, Julia.”

It was a nice thought, but Amos wasn’t Rome’s father, and Windmill Farm wasn’t his home. Still, he was trying to be reassuring and Julia did appreciate the sentiment. Something caught her eye and she looked in the basket to see a handful of fives, tens, and twenties stuffed in the honor jar. So much money for one day! The most she had ever made. And here she thought it had been stolen.

Impulsively, she leaned over and pecked a kiss on Rome’s cheek. Her action surprised them both. She felt her breath catch as Rome turned to look at her more fully. In the fading evening light, his dark eyes seemed black and serious and compelling.

“Hi, guys!” M.K. pranced up. “What are you two doing all alone out here?”

M.K. ran ahead of Rome and Julia to the house. It was close to lightning-bug time, and Uncle Hank said he might have a yarn or two to spin. When Uncle Hank was in a storytelling mood, you didn’t want to miss a minute of it. She told Rome and Julia to hurry, but they didn’t seem as eager to get to the house as she thought they’d be. Uncle Hank and her father were sitting on the front porch, in rockers that Menno had brought out, like two dotty old men. She’d never thought they resembled each other, but the thinner her father became, the more he looked like Uncle Hank. The thought made her sad.

“THERE YOU ARE, MARY KATE!” Uncle Hank thundered. “I can’t start my story without you!”

She sat on the steps with her back against the railing. Sadie sat next to her, and Menno jumped up to sit on the porch rail. Rome sprawled out on the grass, below the steps, where Lulu found him and covered his face with licks. Julia found a place next to Sadie, who had Lulu’s pup in her lap. Tonight, even Fern was joining them. She brought an upright chair from the kitchen out on the porch and sat in it like she was at church. “Shoulders,” she tossed in Sadie’s and M.K.’s direction, and Sadie immediately straightened her back.

Uncle Hank leaned back in the chair, feet spread apart, his head tilted up toward the ceiling, an indication that he was ready to begin. “It was the winter of ’58,” he started. “I was just a lad, not much bigger than our Mary Kate.” He looked down at her when he said that and she smiled. He always began his stories in the same way.

“There had been sightings of a large white buck that winter. Ten points on his antlers! It had become something of a legend. Folks weren’t entirely sure if that buck had been made up or if it was a real thing. Lots of speculation was going on about the big white buck that winter.

“Sure enough, one day, that buck passed the schoolhouse, and a farmer was on his tail. The farmer opened the schoolhouse door and called out for all hands to join in a grand hunt. We had a man teacher and, knowing his boys and what would happen, he put his back to the door to keep us boys from fleeing. No sooner had he done it than up went three windows and out poured a live stream of boys. There wasn’t a boy left to chew gum. Finally, the teacher followed.” He winked at M.K. “He was too timid a fellow to stay alone with the girls.”