A Promise to Heal
Author
Marta Perry
Reads
18.1K
Chapters
33
Chapter One
Matthew King heard the footsteps on the back porch and knew his father had finally come home. He’d been over at the Stoltzfus place next door long enough...talking about Matt, he felt sure. It was dark already, although the daylight lingered long on these August evenings.
Daad would come into the old farmhouse quietly, not wanting to wake the household, and especially Matt, sleeping on the first floor since the accident.
But Matt wasn’t asleep. He didn’t sleep much anymore, not unless he took those little white pills that the doctor had prescribed. And he didn’t even have them at hand. Daad had insisted they be kept in one of the kitchen cabinets, maybe afraid of what Matt might do if they were too easily accessible.
However appealing oblivion might be, even on the worst days, he’d never take that way out. It would be too hard on his parents, as well as being a violation of their faith. He wasn’t sure he even cared about that any longer, but they did.
Matt shoved the pillow up behind him, his gaze wandering around the room. They’d put him in the sewing room, so he could be on the ground floor. The quilting frame was still propped against the wall, and the sewing machine, covered with a sheet, sat in the corner. Inconveniencing everyone, that was what he was doing. Better if he had died in the accident, like David.
The familiar pain and grief swamped him, only to be chased away by rage. Better if he had died instead of David, that was what he thought. And certain sure better if that reckless drunken teenager had killed himself instead of David. But no, he’d walked away with hardly a scratch, while Matt’s family’s lives were changed forever.
Forgive, said the church. But this wasn’t something he could forgive. The bishop came to see him, praying for him, sitting endlessly beside the bed. Time, he’d said. Give it time. God’s purposes will become clear. Our job is just to obey.
But all the time in the world wouldn’t make this any better. David was gone.
The back door closed softly, and he heard Daad’s quiet footsteps cross the wide boards of the kitchen floor and stop. He must have walked to the hall and waited, looking and listening. He’d see that the light was still lit in Matt’s room. He’d come in.
Sure enough, the footsteps approached. A slight tap on the door was followed by the door opening, and Daad stepped inside.
“Everyone else asleep?” he asked.
Matt shrugged. “They went up a half hour ago. Whether they’re sleeping, I couldn’t say. Well, did you convince Miriam to take on the hopeless case?”
He could hear the bitterness in his voice. He wanted to take it away, but he couldn’t.
Daad’s weathered face tightened. “It is not hopeless. Nothing in God’s creation is hopeless unless people make it so. And yah, Miriam has agreed to come and help us.”
“Maybe she can help Mamm. She can’t help me.” His jaw set. “And she won’t be around very long.”
He’d make sure of that.
Daad’s lips quirked in what might have been a smile. “Wait and see. You may be surprised.”
Matt shook this off impatiently. “That little thing? Shy and serious and afraid of her own shadow? She’s not going to make any difference to me.”
He was being unfair to Miriam, he knew. And Daad knew it, too. That’s why he was frowning, but he didn’t say anything more about Miriam. Instead he glanced around the room.
“Do you need anything before I go up?”
Just a new pair of legs, he thought, the bitterness engulfing him. But he wouldn’t say it. Daad had enough to bear without him pitying himself.
He shook his head. “Good night, Daad.”
“Good night, son.” His father went out quickly, probably glad to leave the sound and smell of the sickroom behind.
Matt shoved at the pillow again. Daad might be confident about Miriam, but he figured he knew her better after growing up next door. She was a sweet kid, but there was no way she’d get him to do anything he didn’t want to do. And he didn’t want to waste his time on exercises that wouldn’t make him the man he’d been before.
No, Miriam could try her best. But he was a hopeless case, and the sooner she accepted that, the better it would be for both of them.
Miriam Stoltzfus walked along the edge of the pasture that stretched between her parents’ farm and that of the King family, trying not to think about what she’d gotten herself into. The August sun beat down, hot already though it wasn’t noon yet, increasing her discomfort.
Most of that discomfort came not from the temperature, but from her own feelings about accepting this new challenge. After all, she’d just returned from a lengthy stay with relatives out in Ohio, helping with a new baby, then with her aunt’s recovery from surgery, and then...
She’d as soon forget what had happened next.
In recent years, word had gotten around in the close-knit Amish communities that Miriam Stoltzfus, still unmarried at twenty-six, had a gift for helping out when folks were sick or injured, and the requests had been thick and fast in the past year. She’d come home hoping for a rest, only to be confronted by Abel King, who was distraught over the loss of one son and desperately worried about the recovery of the other.
The two families had been neighbors for generations. It wasn’t possible to turn down a request like that. So here she was, approaching the King farmhouse, more than apprehensive about what she was going to find. Her own confidence was at an all-time low, and Matthew King had certain sure never lacked for that quality. If he didn’t want her here—
With a silent prayer for help, she paused at the screen door.
She hadn’t timed that very well, since their family was obviously getting lunch on the table. But Abel spotted her and waved her in.
“Wilkom, Miriam. Will you join us for a bite?”
Elizabeth glanced up from the stove at the sound of her husband’s voice. She didn’t speak, but Miriam was shocked at the sight of her. Elizabeth’s worn, pale face seemed to have been wiped free of all emotion. She moved mechanically, ladling chicken potpie into a bowl for serving. It was if she’d turned her inner self off, leaving only the outer shell.
Miriam collected herself with an effort. “No, denke.” She tried to smile at Abel, tried to sound normal. “I ate before I left home. Don’t let me interrupt you. Can I help?”
She glanced around the kitchen, in some ways a replica of theirs next door, with its wooden cabinets and long oak table, except that this table was oval instead of rectangular. And smaller. The King family had been much smaller than theirs, with Matt, David and Betsy the only children. Betsy stood at the counter near the stove, putting dishes on a tray—for Matt, obviously.
As if feeling her gaze, fourteen-year-old Betsy looked up and murmured a welcome, but the wariness in her blue eyes seemed to deny the words.
Curious at her reaction, Miriam crossed the kitchen to her. Betsy had buttered two slices of bread and cut them into small pieces, and now she was cutting up the morsels of noodles and chicken in the potpie.
Odd. From what she’d been told, she’d thought Matt’s injuries were mostly to his legs.
Trying to be helpful, she reached for the tray. “Why don’t you go ahead and eat, Betsy? I’ll take this—”
“No!” Betsy grabbed the tray and jerked it away from her. “I’ll take Matt’s meal. I always do.” The accompanying glare suggested Miriam had better back off.
“If you want,” she said, keeping her voice mild, but she didn’t back away. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by a teenager. “But I did come to help with Matt, after all.”
Betsy’s eyes widened. She spun, zeroing in on her father with a look of outrage. “You didn’t say anything to me about this.” Her voice rose. “I can take care of Matt perfectly well. I don’t need anybody’s help.”
So Abel hadn’t told anyone about his plans—or at least, not Betsy.
A glance at Elizabeth didn’t make things any clearer. Either she hadn’t known, or if he’d spoken, the words hadn’t registered with her, caught as she was in her frozen state.
But Betsy was the immediate problem, not her mother.
“That’s enough, Betsy.” Abel sounded weary. “We need more help. You shouldn’t spend all your time with Matthew. Your mother needs your help with the house and garden.”
“Matt’s recovery is more important!” she flared.
“Yah, it is.” His voice had hardened. “Miriam has had experience in taking care of injured people, and she knows how to work with the therapist.”
“Matt doesn’t want—”
“Enough,” he repeated. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was no doubt that he’d meant it. After a moment’s hesitation, Betsy turned away, silenced.
Abel’s reaction might not have helped Miriam in Betsy’s eyes, but maybe nothing would have. Betsy clearly considered Matt’s well-being her responsibility.
As for Elizabeth, she didn’t even seem to have noticed that anything had happened. She just moved from the stove to the table like some sort of machine, and Miriam watched her with shocked pity.
She’d told herself that her only job here was to help Matt, but it seemed clear now that she wouldn’t be able to do that without becoming involved with the rest of the family. Her heart sank at the enormity of the task.
Betsy, seeming to sense victory about lunch, at least, picked up the tray defiantly and started down the hall. Miriam moved just as quickly, right behind her. When the girl turned to glare, she just smiled.
“I’ll hold the door for you.” Before Betsy could react, she moved past the pantry and opened the door leading to what had been Elizabeth’s quilting room. It was the only space downstairs that could have been turned into a room for Matthew.
Betsy gritted her teeth, but she gave a short nod and passed into the room. She reached for the door, obviously intending to shut Miriam out, but Miriam slipped inside and closed the door, never letting go of her smile.
Matthew sat on the bed, propped against pillows. He’d clearly been expecting only his sister, because after one shocked look at Miriam, he turned his head away quickly.
Not quite fast enough, though. The right side of his face, with his even features, strong jaw and well-shaped mouth, looked much as usual, except for the pallor and strain that was evident. But the left side—
Her breath caught. A jagged scar ran down his face from the outer corner of his eye to his mouth, twisting it out of resemblance to the right. Her heart winced at the pain he’d been through.
Betsy hesitated a moment, as if waiting for an outburst, and then scurried over to him, setting the tray on a bedside table. “Your favorite thing today—chicken potpie. I’ve cut it up to make it easier for you to eat.”
He grunted, and she seemed to take that for agreement. Betsy began spreading a napkin over his chest, as if he were a messy toddler.
Not wanting to precipitate another outburst from Betsy, Miriam looked around the room while observing them in brief glances. Matt was ignoring her, although he certainly knew why she was here.
That was all right. She intended to watch this time, see what the situation was, and talk to the therapist. That would give Miriam enough to think about for her first visit.
When the room had been Elizabeth’s quilting room, it was constantly in use. Elizabeth’s beautifully designed, colorful quilts had been very popular at craft fairs and auctions, and her family had beamed with pride when one fetched the highest price at last year’s spring auction.
But now the quilting frame was shoved against the wall, actually gathering dust, something that was ordinarily unheard-of in Elizabeth’s spotless house. A basket and several blankets were piled atop the treadle sewing machine in the corner, making it clear that it was unused, as well.
It wasn’t a bad room for someone recovering—bigger than most bedrooms, with two windows on the side and one looking out the back, so that Matt would have views both of the meadow between their two farms and the normally busy farmyard and barn behind the house.
He didn’t act as if he enjoyed the views, though. He stared at the walls even while his sister fussed over him, holding the bowl at what seemed to Miriam an awkward height.
Did Matt really need someone to help him eat? He didn’t seem to, but he submitted tamely to Betsy’s fussing, darting a glance toward Miriam once or twice, as if to be sure she saw that he didn’t need her help.
Finally he pushed Betsy’s hands away with an annoyed movement. “That’s enough,” he muttered.
“Come on,” she coaxed. “Just a few more bites, please? You can do it.” She spoke as if he were a two-year-old.
Had he been putting up with that? He must have been, she supposed. But something, maybe Miriam’s presence, made him object today.
“I said it was enough. Take it away and stop fussing.”
Looking hurt, Betsy collected the tray. Once again, Miriam held the door. Then she closed it behind Betsy and turned to him, steeling herself for trouble.
“Well? Tell me you’re not shocked at the change in me.” His tone was edged, taunting her to say no.
“Just a bit,” she said mildly. “I guess you have changed. You didn’t used to expect people to wait on you.”
It took him a couple of seconds to get what she was saying, and then his face darkened with anger.
But before he could speak, the door opened again, revealing Abel, gesturing to her. The argument Matt clearly wanted to have would have to wait. Well, thinking out what he wanted to say would at least keep him from staring at the walls.
She couldn’t count on help from Matt’s mother or sister, it seemed, but she wouldn’t give up. Matt had her to deal with now, and she’d push him for his own good. She stepped into the hall. An Englischer stood waiting behind Abel, watching her with a twinkle in his brown eyes—undoubtedly the physical therapist.
Matt glared at the door, feeling as if his thoughts ought to burn right through it. Nothing happened to the door, and he resisted the impulse to throw something at it, just to make clear how he felt.
When his ire lessened enough so that he could concentrate on something else, he realized he could hear the murmur of voices from the hallway. Miriam’s was one, that was certain sure, and after a moment, he recognized the other as that of Tim, the therapist.
He gritted his teeth. He should have known Miriam would be expecting to talk to the therapist. Probably Daad had set it up that way. He hated the idea of anyone discussing him, especially those two.
And he also didn’t like what Miriam had implied with her smart comment. Apparently she wasn’t as quiet and shy as he’d always thought, to talk back to him that way.
What had she meant, anyway? Did she think he was making too much of his physical problems? Or that he was pitying himself?
No, he didn’t need Betsy’s fussing over him, but it wasn’t Miriam’s business. Besides, it seemed to make Betsy happy to do something for him.
He’d gotten that far in his figuring when someone tapped on the door and opened it.
“Hey, Matt, are you ready for me?” Tim Considine didn’t wait for an answer, just came in with his usual good cheer.
“Ready as I’ll be...” Matt stopped, frowning, as Miriam slipped in behind him. “What’s Miriam doing here? I don’t need an audience when you’re working on my legs.”
Tim quirked an eyebrow as he shook his head. “Come on, now. Miriam has signed on to help with your daily workout. She has to see how I want it done.” Tim grinned. “No need to worry about her. She’s done this before, right, Miriam?”
“That’s right.” Miriam’s pleasant face might have shown a little wariness now. Maybe she knew he had an outburst waiting for when they were alone. And maybe that wariness meant a little pushing would convince her this wasn’t going to work.
“I’m not worried. And I don’t need anyone to help me.”
“Can’t fool me.” Tim shoved back the sheet, his hands moving deftly along Matt’s legs. “You haven’t done a single exercise since last week, have you?”
Matt set his jaw. Just about anything he said would be a lie. He had endured the exercises Tim pushed him through, but he certain sure wasn’t willing to do any extra ones.
“Right.” Tim read the answer in his face. “This time you’ll have someone to help you through them.”
An objection came to his lips, but Tim shook his head. “Your father says you agreed to this. Isn’t that right?”
He didn’t have an answer to this one, either. Maybe he’d have to put up with Miriam for a few days. But with a little effort, he ought to be able to make the experience unpleasant enough that she’d quit herself.
Contenting himself with that, Matt nodded.
“Okay, let’s get busy.” Tim rubbed his hands together. “Come over here where you can see what’s going on, Miriam.”
As she moved closer, Tim started in on his routine. This time he explained what was happening while he went, showing Miriam exactly what was wrong and how to work the muscles. Matt discovered he was listening just as Miriam was, understanding a little better what was happening with his useless legs.
“You want to push to the point of resistance, ease up and then repeat. Let’s try four or five repetitions of each exercise this week.” His easy grin came again as Miriam scribbled notes on a pad. “Not so little that he doesn’t have to work, but not so much that he tries to throw something at you.”
Miriam’s answering smile suggested that she knew Matt wanted to do just that. “I’ll duck if I have to.”
“Right. Now just put your hands where I had mine, and you can try it.”
Before Matt could protest, Miriam’s hands had replaced Tim’s, grasping his leg firmly but gently. Hers were smaller than Tim’s, but he was more aware of them. He could feel their warmth through the loose pants he wore.
He had to admit she seemed capable enough, and she moved his leg exactly as Tim had done.
“How’s that? A little farther?” She studied his face as if she’d read the answer there.
Gritting his teeth, he nodded. His muscles screamed in protest, but he sure wasn’t going to let Miriam know it.
Tim moved on through the exercises, showing, teaching and then watching as Miriam did the same. Only once or twice did he have to stop her and correct something. Matt found himself annoyed by Miriam’s ability. He didn’t want her working on him. He didn’t want anybody doing it. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He was useless no matter what they did.
As for Miriam...well, he suspected she had to know when she pushed his leg to the point of pain, but she wouldn’t let it show in her face, any more than he would. They had that in common, at least.
“You can feel how strong his leg muscles are, even now,” Tim was telling her. “But it’s important that we work on the arm strength, as well. We don’t want him to lose muscle mass because of lack of use.”
Miriam nodded. “It’s encouraging that he’s so strong to begin with, ain’t so?” She didn’t glance at him, but Matt thought a faint flush of color moved through her cheeks.
“Yes,” Tim said. He patted Matt’s arm in a friendly way. “Gives you a much better chance of getting off this bed and busy again.”
A spark of anger flickered in Matt. “Will it get me back in the fields again, where I need to be? Because if not, it doesn’t matter to me.”
Tim drew back, startled by the bitterness in his voice, and Matt regretted losing control. It wasn’t Tim’s fault, but...
“It matters to other folk.” Miriam’s voice didn’t lose its gentleness, but there was a thread of disapproval he could certain sure hear. “Like your parents, and your sister, and a bunch of other people who care about you.”
“All right,” he growled, knowing the rebuke was justified, but he was annoyed all the same. “Are you about finished?”
“Just the massage left.” Tim glanced at Matt’s legs and hesitated.
Matt figured he knew what was in his mind. Last week Tim had helped him remove the pants for the massage. Well, he certain sure wasn’t going to have Miriam doing that. And it looked as if Tim had figured that out for himself.
“Maybe your father could help with this,” Tim began, sounding doubtful. He must know how busy Daad was with no one to help him on the farm.
“That won’t work.” He’d sooner do without the massage than add something else to Daad’s workload.
“Suppose we spread the sheet over his legs and do it that way,” Miriam suggested. “It will work better than nothing.”
“Not a bad idea. Let’s give it a try.” Between them, they spread out the sheet. “You’ve done massage this way before?”
“Yah. The last...” Her voice faded, and she took a breath. “The last young man I helped had badly swollen, painful joints, and the massage eased his pain.”
Tim nodded, and they went off onto a technical discussion of what had been wrong with that person, probably someone she’d helped while she was out in Ohio. Matt didn’t bother listening, because he was too busy wondering what had caused that sad expression on Miriam’s face.
Who was he? And why did the mention of him bring that mingling of pain and embarrassment to Miriam’s face? If he wanted a way to get rid of her, it might be worthwhile for him to find out.
