An Unbroken Heart (20 page)

“Andrew?” she rasped, crawling forward, her hands sinking into grass that had suddenly
turned into thick, sucking mud.

Then she saw him. The man she had loved for almost half of her life was lying in
a crumpled heap. She started to cry as she reached him, turning his lifeless body
into her arms, his blood covering the front of her mother's wedding dress . . .

Joanna shot up to a sitting position, the heel of her hand pressed against the scream
trying to escape her lips. After she'd swallowed her terrified cries, she put her
hand on her pounding
heart, sweat drenching her nightgown. With trembling fingers
she flipped on the battery-powered lamp beside her bed. Her gaze darted around the
room, making sure she wasn't in the empty field cradling Andrew's dead body.

This nightmare had been the worst one yet. She was so paralyzed with fear she could
barely move. Even when Homer nudged his cold nose under her elbow, she couldn't respond.
She pulled her knees to her chest, ignoring the pain the movement caused, and rocked
back and forth on the bed. The nightmare wasn't real. It didn't mean anything. Still,
she gasped for air, streams of tears wetting her face.

A different and more frightening fear took hold. Would she still have nightmares
after she married Andrew? What would he think of her waking up in the middle of the
night, dripping with sweat and unable to stop crying? How could she tell him she
dreamed about him dying?

She put her damp face in her hands. When she was finally able to stop shaking, she
glanced at the small clock on her nightstand. Five in the morning. The wedding would
be starting in a few hours. Soon they would be husband and wife. She had to get her
emotions under control.

When the last trace of fear refused to leave her, she went to her knees. Only God
could quash her fear. She couldn't do it on her own. Her hips ached in this position,
but she needed to pray.
Why, Lord? Why am I dreaming about losing everything? Haven't
I lost enough? Don't I deserve some happiness?

She opened her eyes. Did she deserve happiness? Did she really deserve to get married
when her parents had been dead for only two months? When Abigail's heart was broken?
When I can't be a whole wife to Andrew?
She waited for God to answer,
for the fear
to subside. Finally she couldn't handle being on her knees any longer, especially
since God remained silent.

She grabbed her crutches and went to the bathroom. She couldn't give in to the fear.
Somehow she had to deal with it. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her
life. And it would be, if she could get herself together. She washed her face, splashed
some extra cold water on her swollen eyelids, pinned up her hair, and put on a kerchief.
The guests wouldn't be arriving until around one. In the meantime she wasn't going
to sit around stewing in her fear. She headed for the kitchen to make breakfast,
Homer on her heels.

When she walked into the kitchen she could already smell coffee percolating and pancakes
and bacon cooking. Abigail manned the stove while Sadie set the table.

“What are you doing?” Joanna asked, surprised. She'd expected—and wanted—the kitchen
to herself. She needed all the time she could get to gather her wits.

“Making breakfast,” Abigail said, her tone breezy, even though Joanna saw the sadness
in her eyes that had been present since her breakup with Joel. “And don't say you
can do this.” She held up her spatula. “I know
mei
pancakes aren't as
gut
as
yers
—”

“That's not true—”

“It is and you know it. It's about time we made breakfast for you.”

“You don't have to.”

“We know,” Sadie said. “But this will be our last breakfast together. We want it
to be special.”

Joanna noticed the bright pink carnation in a small vase on the table. It was a simple,
lovely centerpiece. She leaned against
her crutches, overcome with emotion.
“Danki,”
she said, trying not to choke on the word.

“Now,
geh
sit down. When Aden gets back from the barn, we'll start eating.” Sadie
went to a cabinet and took down several mugs, then began pouring coffee into them.
“Naomi and Irene will be here shortly. They said they would come early to help with
setup.”

“What do I need to do?” Joanna propped her crutches against the table.

“
Nix
. Except to relax and let us take care of you.” Sadie put the coffee in front
of Joanna as she sat down. “Today is
yer daag
.”

A small part of her enjoyed this special attention. It distracted her from her anxiety.
They were celebrating her wedding as they would have if the accident had never happened.
She would have done the same if she had been here for Sadie's wedding.

The thought short-circuited her moment of happiness. Everything in her life was
tinged with gray, even the small pleasures like her favorite buckwheat pancakes and
extra-crispy bacon. She made sure she smiled, made sure they knew how much she appreciated
them. How much she loved them. All the while feeling as if her world was closing
in and slowly suffocating her.

At loose ends, Joanna returned to her room. She read her Bible for a little while,
hoping the words would give her mind and heart peace. But the letters blurred on
the page and she shut the book. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she fidgeted, twisting
her fingers together and rubbing her palms. How was she supposed to relax when she
was so on edge? She needed something to do, yet no one would let her do anything.
Even Homer was busy outside, greeting with an excited bark everyone who arrived to
assist with wedding preparations.

Desperate to keep her hands busy, she took off her
kapp
and brushed her hair. A thick
lock fell against the scar on her cheek. She froze. Touched the scar with her fingers.
Set her hairbrush next to her on the side of the bed and let out a heavy sigh. Last
night she'd tried to convince herself that today would be perfect. How could it be
when she was so imperfect? Not just her scar, but her limp. Most of all, the painful
emptiness in her heart that she feared Andrew wouldn't be able to fill. Not that
she doubted him. She doubted herself.

She wasn't strong. She wasn't courageous. She was afraid, and none of her thoughts
and prayers changed that.

Frustrated, she grabbed the brush and yanked it through her hair, welcoming the pain.
At least she was feeling something other than fear. She didn't know how long she
sat there, brushing her hair, tugging at her scalp, trying to collect herself. Finally
she had to stop brushing or she would pull out too much hair. She plaited the tresses
into a single braid and coiled it in a bun at the crown of her sore head. Then she
pinned her
kapp
in place, took her crutches, and left the room. She couldn't stay
here anymore.

When Naomi and Irene arrived, Joanna offered to help again, only to get shooed out
into
the
backyard. She sat on one of the plastic chairs on the back patio and watched
as
Aden,
Sol, and Asa set up long tables and chairs. She wasn't any more settled
inside,
but
at least she was distracted by the flurry of activity around her. Asa
looked
her
way and waved. She waved back. Forced another smile. And desperately wished
she
was
somewhere else.

She glanced at the thick copse of trees that bordered the backyard. Homer had already
run into the woods, something he did almost every day. She wanted to follow him,
to disappear into the trees and escape everything. She used to love to take
walks—in
the woods, at the nearby park, even down the road to get ice from the ice machine.
It was something she and Andrew used to do when they were friends. The walks had
stopped when they started dating. Why? Why had so much changed between them? She
closed her eyes. She'd give anything to turn back the clock. To have her parents
here, to feel confident and excited about her wedding and marriage.

She heard the back door open and looked over her shoulder. Sadie handed her a glass
of lemonade.

“They're almost finished setting up, I see.” Sadie gestured to Aden and Sol. They
were putting chairs around the last table. Armed with the white tablecloths they'd
brought, Naomi and Irene started covering the tables, securing the cloths at the
corners so they wouldn't flap in the intermittent fall breeze. Although Aden had
mowed and raked the lawn yesterday, more than a few brown leaves now dotted the green
grass, and the scent of burning wood from nearby stoves and fireplaces filled the
crisp air. The sun shone brightly in the clear sky.

“It's a lovely
daag
for a wedding,” Sadie added. “Not a cloud to be seen.”

Joanna looked up at Sadie. “Am I . . .” She couldn't bring herself to ask her sister
if she was doing the right thing.

“Are you what?”

She took a deep breath. She should tell Sadie about the dreams. Maybe she would have
some insight. If anything, she would tell Joanna she was being foolish, that dreams
were dreams and nothing more. They didn't mean anything. “Never mind,” was all she
could say.

Sadie frowned and Joanna turned away just as Abigail came outside. “What are you
two doing out here? Joanna, why aren't
you dressed? Sadie, I thought you came out
here to get her.” Abigail put her hands on her plump hips. “You're going to be late
for
yer
own wedding.”

“She'll be fine,” Sadie said. “We have plenty of time.”

Abigail threw up her hands. “How can you two be so calm? The wedding is in little
more than an hour. People are already starting to show up. If I was getting married
. . .” She huffed out a breath and went back in the house.

A short while later Sadie and Abigail were helping Joanna get dressed. Joanna didn't
protest when Sadie brushed out Joanna's waist-long hair, not telling her that she
didn't need to. There wasn't a single tangle thanks to Joanna's brushing abuse earlier
that morning. Sadie then carefully pinned her hair into a bun before fastening on
her
kapp
. Abigail stood back and looked at Joanna's dress, armed with a pincushion
just in case, even though Joanna had tried on the dress the night before. Her sisters
were doing everything they could to make her feel special and loved. But in the back
of her mind, all she could think about was how she was being dishonest—with them,
with Andrew, and with herself.

“
Mamm
would have loved to see this,” Sadie said.

“
Daed
too,” Abigail added. “I don't care if it's prideful to say, Joanna. You're
beautiful.” She pulled away. “I can't wait to see the look on Andrew's face when
he sees you.”

Sadie touched Joanna's shoulder. “Don't be nervous. Even though I know it's hard
not to be.”

Right before they left, Abigail said, “The living room is already packed with people.
Everyone's excited to see you get married, Joanna.”

Swallowing, Joanna nodded. She didn't trust herself to say anything.

“See you downstairs.” Abigail smiled, and she and Sadie left the room.

Once again she was alone in her room. She was starting to hate the small space. Without
the buoyant energy of her sisters, Joanna's fears returned, this time more powerful
than ever. She didn't bother praying. It hadn't done her any good this morning. She
looked at her crutches. Her unsteady legs told her she should pick them up and use
them. But she would be a pitiful sight limping to her soon-to-be husband, unable
to walk under her own steam. She straightened, then slowly put one foot in front
of the other. After a few hesitant steps, she opened her bedroom door and headed
for the living room.

When she reached the doorway, she saw that Sadie, Abigail, and Aden were all standing
there waiting for her. Aden offered her his arm, but Joanna refused to lean on him.
She saw the flash of hurt in her brother-in-law's eyes, but she wanted to do this
on her own. Everyone was standing, obscuring her view of Andrew. She did see Bishop
Yoder, red-faced and looking like he was ready to bolt at any second. This was his
first wedding as the bishop. He tugged on the front of his shirt, but when he met
her eyes, he gave her an encouraging smile.

The kind gesture didn't help. With each step she made toward Andrew, she felt like
she was slogging through a thick swamp. She searched for him but still couldn't see
him. Every terrifying thought and nightmare she'd had the past two weeks slammed
into her. She'd thought he would be her anchor once she saw him. But he seemed as
adrift as she felt.

Her legs buckled and she crumpled to the ground, hitting the side of her head on
the wood floor.

“Joanna!”

Andrew sounded far away. She felt a hand on her shoulder, felt the crush of people
crowding around her. She was conscious, but she couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't
face her family and friends. She couldn't face Andrew. Her wedding wasn't supposed
to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be cowering in a lump on the floor.

“Joanna.” Andrew's worried voice reached her ears, and she opened her eyes. He was
kneeling in front of her, shielding her from the crowd with his strong, compact body.

“I can't do this,” she whispered.

“What? Joanna, I can't hear you.” He bent down until his head was near hers.

All she could see was him. All she could hear was her own breathing, mixed with his.
She looked him directly in the eyes. “I can't marry you.”

He froze, holding her there with a desperate gaze. “Joanna, you must have hit
yer
head—”

Somehow she managed to get to her feet. She stumbled away, ignoring him as he called
out her name.