A Simple Faith: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (27 page)

In the weeks since the accident, something had changed between Ruben and the other young people in the van. Like a group of lone trees that had grown together into a forest, a bond had formed among the young passengers.

Not so much the elders, who took their concerns to the ministers and to their own wives. But the younger folk—Rachel and Zed, even Market Joe and Lizzy—they were becoming like family to him, too. Good family.

And then there was Elsie.

Ruben knew he could count on her as a friend. His initial instinct to protect her had grown into something more, something he had never encountered before.

Working side by side with her, he had come to rely on Elsie’s smile, the light in her eyes, the kind words she had for everyone. Every day with Elsie felt like Christmas Day. She was a little person, but she had a very big heart—a heart full of love.

Elsie had all the qualities that had been missing from Ruben’s life, and for every moment spent basking in her light, he wanted more. He wanted to wake up with her by his side in the morning,
to sit with her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And right now, the only way he knew to stay close to her was to keep helping her out at the Country Store.

As he walked down Halfway’s Main Street, he whistled a song.

It used to be that Ruben sprang pranks on people who tried to get too close. People who looked too long at him, or those who gossiped about him behind his back, as if he didn’t hear the words that could cut him to ribbons.

But he hadn’t pulled any lousy pranks since the accident. Oh, his sense of humor was still intact, but he hadn’t felt the need to push anyone away. These sessions were turning him inside out, in a good way.

“I shouldn’t have been in that van,” Rachel said. “I know it’s done, and I can’t change what happened, but the bad thoughts keep going through my head. I shouldn’t have gone to the city at all. I was only there to make a deal with a gallery to sell my paintings. So selfish of me.”

“I wouldn’t call that selfish,” Dylan said. “And you weren’t violating any rules. George had room in the van, and you paid for your seat, like everyone else.”

“But I didn’t have to go,” Rachel said. “Don’t you see? If I had stayed home, maybe James would have been just fine.” She pointed toward the door. “He’d be walking around out there in his family’s orchard, hauling things around and singing to himself and …” Her voice failed her, and she pressed a fist to her mouth.

It hurt Ruben to see her in such a dark place, blaming herself.

“Dear Rachel.” Elsie reached over and took her hand. “It’s not your fault. What happened to James was terrible, but it’s Gott’s will.”

Rachel shook her head, tears glittering in her eyes. “It was my
fault, and I don’t know how to stop thinking about it. I don’t think I’ll ever get over this. It will never end.”

For the second time that day, Ruben pictured himself on the daybed in the kitchen. His six-year-old self, moaning in anguish. Alone and desperate for relief.

“I thought it would never end,” he said aloud.

“What was that?” Dylan asked.

When Ruben looked up, everyone was watching him. Everyone except Rachel, who whimpered into a handkerchief.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” Ruben rubbed his chin.

“That’s okay.” Dylan held his hand out, palm up. “Tell us more. If you’ve had a similar experience, it might help Rachel to hear about it.”

Ruben let his eyes sweep round the table, afraid of the disapproval that he encountered so often.

Instead, he saw understanding. Compassion. Sorrow. These folks had been through a lot with him. They didn’t care that his father had given up farming for a more profitable trade.

“I was thinking of something that happened to me when I was a boy. A terrible thing. I was in pain for a long time, and I wanted to give up. I thought it would never end.”

“So you were experiencing feelings similar to what Rachel is going through now.” Dylan’s eyes tracked Ruben, as if he were a deer in the forest. “But it did end, didn’t it. The pain ended.”

“It did.”

“How did you cope? Was it your faith that got you through those difficult times?”

“It was my faith … in a funny sort of way.”

Dylan nodded encouragingly, and the others watched expectantly. Even Zed had uncrossed his arms and leaned in toward the table.

Ruben took a deep breath and sighed. He didn’t want to give
voice to the miracle, but right now Rachel needed a miracle of her own. “Don’t laugh,” he said. “It’s angels who help me get through.”

Silence filled the room, soft and respectful.

Elsie’s eyes were round as quarters, full of awe and wonder.

“It’s not that I’m saying I’m blessed more than anyone else. It’s just that, when I was a boy, I was in a terrible accident. That was when the angels started coming.”

Dylan pushed back the sleeves of his sweater. “Please … tell us more.”

Ruben shifted in his chair. He didn’t like talking about himself, but he wasn’t afraid of the people here at the table. “Some of you know about what happened to me when I was a young boy. It was a terrible thing that left scars, inside and out. I was in physical pain, and after it happened many people thought it was my fault. Ya, I was just a kid, but around here a good Amish boy knows his way around a plow. I wasn’t experienced, and sometimes when things go wrong folks are quick to pin the blame.”

Zed swallowed hard, his eyes softening. Rachel and Elsie watched him quietly. He knew they had heard the story.

“It was back in the days when my father was still farming the land. Everyone in the family worked at it one way or another. Dat didn’t have a love for farming in his heart, but he was born into it like his brother, and so that was what they did. One day, I was out helping my uncle. He was going to let me steer the plow, and I was pretty happy about that. I was six years old, and I wanted to show that I could do a man’s work.”

Ruben paused as he slid into that sunny spring day. He remembered the sheer joy of being able to ride the plow with Paul. It was a bumpy ride, but his uncle made a joke of it, just as he did of every small problem. Always joking. Paul was telling a funny story and Ruben was looking down, watching the ground pass below them: rich, dark dirt unearthed by the blade of the plow.

“I looked up, and Paul was swatting at the air and … I thought someone had sprinkled pepper on us. The air was thick with black specks. Paul got frantic, slapping at his neck and arms. And then there was a burning on my neck, and I realized it was bees in the air. We had plowed through a nest of bees.” The fear of that moment was a fist in his gut.

“Ach!” Rachel balled the handkerchief up in her hands. “What a terrible thing!”

Ruben closed his eyes a moment, imagining Paul here beside him, Paul smiling and clapping him on the back. Paul telling him to let the bad memory go.

“Are you allergic to bees?” Haley asked.

“I’m not allergic, but it turned out Paul was. He lost control of the plow and it went off-track. I think the horses panicked, and we both fell off and got run over by the equipment.”

“Was Paul okay?” Elsie asked, the pure love in her eyes causing his throat to grow thick. She was too young to know the details.

Ruben shook his head. “He died. Between his allergic reaction and a bump on the head, it killed him.”

Had he ever spoken these words aloud? Ruben didn’t think so. He didn’t know that he had the courage to tell his story, but now that he had started the words flowed like an endless river.

“I woke up in a hospital, all stitched up across my belly and my back and my leg. The doctors thought it was a miracle that I didn’t get killed, too. But there were problems, serious infections. The wounds were painful and they kept me in bed for a whole year. At one point, I thought I’d never get out and see the blue sky again.” Ruben pressed his eyes closed, as Paul’s voice whispered in his ear.

You’re fine now. That bad spell is over
.

That was Paul; vigilant, always by his side.

“I’m fine now, but back then … then I was in pain all the time. I couldn’t sleep, and when I did, my dreams took me to a dark, terrible
place. The doctors said I would be fine again, but the recovery was so slow. It didn’t seem to be getting any better, and I couldn’t take it. I wanted to get away from myself. I felt like I had lost myself. I started praying that Gott would take me to be with Paul, and then, sort of blurry-eyed and tired, I imagined that Paul was coming to me. He seemed to be there, right by my side, kind and good. He protected me and helped me look away from the pain. I was six. I thought he was an angel.”

“An angel.” Elsie smiled. “Praise be to Gott!”

“That’s beautiful,” Haley said. “It gives me goose bumps.”

“Do you still see Paul?” Rachel asked. “Does he still visit you?”

“He does. Along with other angels. Some of them, I can’t see their faces, but I know they visit. I feel them beside me, patting my back. Some of them are people I knew. My doddy. A dog we used to have named Booboo. A boy I met at the hospital who had cancer.”

“And after these angels visit you, do you feel better?” Dylan asked.

“I do. They bring me comfort, but it’s not always easy. I used to cry with them. All the sadness wells up inside me and …” Ruben felt that familiar sorrow burn the back of his throat. “The angels surround me with comfort and I cry. Then, I feel better.”

“Light is most precious when it comes after darkness.” The old proverb was probably the first thing Zed had said all day, but he hit the nail on the head.

“That’s right.” Ruben looked around at the folks he had come to care about. “We’ve all learned that, haven’t we?” He looked directly at Rachel. Was she ready to let herself step out of the pool of misery?

Silently, Rachel nodded.

“This would be a good time for our guided imagery exercise,” Dylan said in his authoritative but calm “therapist” voice. “Today,
we’ll focus on healing, both in body and soul. Healing from physical wounds, and healing a broken heart.” As Dylan helped them relax, one muscle at a time, Ruben felt a flash of insecurity. Had he just admitted that he cried with angels? He had told the girls that he cried. That alone was something no self-respecting man would admit. But, well, it was out now, and his friends seemed to understand.

Rachel seemed to have calmed down, at least for now.

Ruben hoped that his angel story had helped.

It was a good thing
, said a familiar voice. Paul? Or his doddy? Or simply his conscience? Ruben wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. He settled into the chair and fell into Dr. Monroe’s tale of being guided through a tunnel of golden light by friends, angels, teachers, favorite animals, loved ones who had passed.

31

“
T
his will look so perfect in my house.” The customer wearing the necklace of brightly colored stones chatted as Elsie began to wrap the wooden baby cradle. “It’s an old Victorian, and there’s a nook beside the stairs that’s just crying out for something like this.”

Elsie wondered what a crying nook would sound like. She thought to make a joke, but simply smiled as she kept wrapping the item.

“I think I might put one of those fake fat candles beside it.” The customer—Gwen Slavin, from the check she had written—didn’t seem to care at all about the cradle’s high price. “You know those fake candles that run on batteries? That’ll be quaint, don’t you think?”