Anna's Healing (36 page)

CHAPTER 54

E
rin was seated at the table when Anna walked back into the room. She was staring down at her hands, which were folded on top of the table. A dishcloth sat discarded beside her.
Mammi
had taken the place to the right of her, and Martha sat on the left. Anna's
mamm
nodded toward the seat across from Erin, and Anna took it quickly. Whatever this was about, she could tell it was serious.

What now? Was someone else sick? Had something happened while she was gone the night before?

But no one had mentioned anything at lunch. Whatever was going on, it didn't seem to include Samuel or Jacob.

“Anna, your
mammi
and I would like you to tell Erin your dreams.”

“My dreams?”

“Yes, especially the one where you walk through the wildflowers. But perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

Erin glanced up, and Anna realized her
aenti
had no more idea as to what was going on than she did.

Her mother and
Mammi
shared another glance, and then
Mammi
removed her glasses and polished them on the hem of her apron. “Do you remember in Joel and again in Acts when God's Word talks about dreams?”

Anna shook her head. She knew dreams were described a few times in the Bible, but she couldn't recall the specific section of Scripture
Mammi
was talking about.

“ ‘Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.'”

“What does that have to do with me?”

Her mother smiled even as she folded her arms, rubbing her left arm with her right hand, as if to warm herself. “We think that your dreams may have a purpose beyond what we can understand.”

“That isn't too hard to imagine. I can't understand them at all!”

The three women—the women who meant the most to her and had stood by her through the trials of the last year—stared at her.
Mammi
's face was a study of curiosity. Her mother looked more solemn, and Erin—well, Erin glanced from one to the other but still said nothing.

Anna cleared her throat and combed back over her memories of the dreams—searching for a place to begin.

“The first dreams were in the hospital. There was the quilting dream, where I couldn't quite get the pattern right. My thread was always too short, my needle sometimes huge.” She shook her head. “I don't know why I would have dreamed about quilting since I didn't do much of it.”

“Until you began quilting for the children.”
Mammi
tapped the table. “You found the work
Gotte
would have you do.”

“Maybe so. While I was in the hospital, I couldn't have imagined that, but maybe so. The dream which bothered me the most was the one where Jacob was holding my hand.” Anna found herself falling back into those days of loss and confusion. “I couldn't remember who he was, but I could see the look of worry in his eyes. It seemed to me—in the dream—as if his heart was breaking for me. It seemed as if we knew each other very well. And then I asked him to hold my hand. I was embarrassed that I had been so bold, but I was also terribly afraid of being left alone.”

“Jacob did hold your hand. By the time we reached you, he was hovering over your body, protecting you.” Erin's voice was a whisper.

Anna nodded. She knew that what her
aenti
remembered was how it had actually happened. She had talked with Jacob about this more than once. “I also had a dream of walking through the wildflowers. I didn't tell you this before?”

Erin shook her head.

“It is afternoon and I am walking through a field of wildflowers—they are red, orange, pink, and blue. It seems that every color I can imagine is there. In my arms, I'm holding a quilt. The fabric has a blue background and contains a pattern of rainbows. I hug the quilt and continue through the flowers, but then suddenly I'm in a field of corn that is ready to harvest. When I first dreamed this, I feared becoming lost in the rows of corn.”

“But not the last time,” her mother said softly.

“
Nein
. I'm not afraid at all. I walk through the corn, wondering where it will lead, when suddenly I see picnic tables in the middle of the crops. You all are there and sitting around the tables. All of my family is present, the people here and those in Indiana. Chloe and Jacob, they are there as well. I'm overwhelmed by the amount of love from the people around those tables. Each person there cares and prays for me.”

“As we do, child.”
Mammi
reached forward and squeezed her hand.

“My heart begins to beat faster and faster, until I can feel it thrumming through my veins. Everyone is excited. I look at Jacob, and he points to the sky. When I look up, I see colors of the sunset splashed across the sky and stars beginning to appear. But that's not what we're all looking at. There are rainbows as far as the eye can see and in every direction.”

Erin clutched the edge of the table, her hand shaking and her eyes widening. “You dreamed this? The rainbows—”

“
Ya,
and more than once. It was as if my mind was in a loop it couldn't shed. The quilting I suppose makes sense—I never was good at it. Perhaps I felt guilty. I don't know. Chloe and I had visited a few of the quilters from our district a few days before. Maybe a part of me was remembering that trip. As far as the dream about Jacob—well, my mind must have been trying to reconcile what had happened. But the flowers… I couldn't figure them out. We have a few here, and there are some in Indiana.” Anna turned to her mother. “Have you ever seen so many, with so many different kinds and colors?”

“Only once.”

“I've seen them too—” Erin raised her fingers to cover her mouth, even as tears slipped from her eyes. “The year that Susan died.”

“Susan?”

No one spoke for a moment. Finally her mother said, “Your
aenti
had a child who lived for three years.”

“She loved the flowers. She would laugh and twirl as we walked through them.” Erin's voice shook as she spoke. “The year she died, we had good rains. The flowers… they were more abundant than I'd ever seen.

Now Erin was weeping openly. “When she died, I walked out into the flowers, my heart aching, my soul longing for my child. I remember sinking to the ground and asking God why such things happen and how I was to bear the pain.”

“I'm so sorry,
Aenti
,” Anna said. “I had no idea.”

But Erin wasn't listening. She was confessing, and as the weight of her sins lifted, Anna saw the woman her
aenti
had once been. “I looked up, Anna, and I saw not one, not even two, but three rainbows. I've never seen such a thing since, and I knew in that moment that
Gotte
's promises were
gut
. I knew I could trust Him.”

“
Gotte
blessed you even as you walked through the valley,”
Mammi
said.

“I swore I'd never forget, but I did. I pushed that memory away. I allowed my grief to consume me. Every time another
boppli
would be born to a woman in our district, the pain in my heart increased. Why were they so blessed when my Susan had been taken? And how did I know, how could I be certain, that I would be reunited with her in heaven?”

Anna's mother placed an arm around her sister-in-law. “No one blames you for your grief, Erin.”

“But I've indulged it too long. My faith—it wasn't strong enough to see me past those dark days. Then you came to stay with us.” She looked at Anna as she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You came, and it was like I had a daughter again. I was afraid to let you close at first. I must have seemed terribly cold. I was afraid you would leave us or reject us or—”

Anna remembered those first few months and her
aenti
's distance.

“After you were hurt, I prayed to
Gotte
, Anna. I prayed that if He would save you, I would set my grief aside.”

“And you did. You took
gut
care of me.”

“Until you were healed, and the old questions returned. Why wasn't Susan healed? If
Gotte
was willing to allow a miracle in one situation, why not the other?”

Anna remembered what Chloe's mom had said, about the people waiting at the end of the lane, about people searching for a miracle.

Erin stood, walked around the table, and pulled Anna into a hug. The woman's arms were shaking, but she held on tightly. “
Gotte
sent you a vision of my time of grief, and His deliverance and love.”

She stepped back and touched Anna's face. “I will see her again. Won't I?”

Anna nodded. She hadn't understood it at the time, but of course the scene at the table, in the center of the harvest, was a promise of another reunion—one that would last for all eternity. A holy gathering of those she loved—both those present and those who had gone ahead.

What was the verse
Mammi
had read to her when she was sick? Something about God wiping away every tear. A promise of no more death or mourning, crying or pain. One day they would be together again, and when they were Erin would be reunited with her only child.

There was a knock at the front door.

“I'll get it,” Martha said.

Mammi
stood and walked over to Anna and Erin. Placing one hand on each of them, she said, “He cares about both of you. He always has, and He'll see you through the troubles that lie ahead.” Then she turned, clutching her cane, and hobbled into the other room.

CHAPTER 55

J
acob sat through the Sunday service, tense and barely able to control his anger. He realized how hypocritical he was being—pretending to worship but in fact seething. However, he was honest enough to admit his emotions to himself, even to lift them up in a silent prayer and pray that God would forgive him.

The problem was that he had been watching Anna all morning, ever since she'd first walked through the bishop's front door for their worship service. On the surface, people were friendly enough. He'd see them smile and a few even enclosed her in a hug. It was plain that many of their congregation were truly happy for her and grateful for the miracle that had occurred.

It was the mumblings when they stepped away that caused Jacob's temper to rise.

“She's the reason we have
Englischers
posted at the lane.”

“Why couldn't she stay home? Surely it's a sin to have our service disrupted like this.”

“It might be better if she'd never been healed. For all we know, the accident was
Gotte
's judgment on her. And this? How do we know it's of
Gotte
?” This was said by Sally Hershberger, who had always struck him as a bitter person. No doubt she had her reasons for her dark attitude toward life, but he couldn't abide her speaking ill of Anna.

He had stepped forward to confront her when Samuel tugged him away. “Let it be, son.”

Samuel had taken to calling him
son
months ago. Jacob didn't see it as a slight on his parents, who he now wrote and called on a regular basis. They weren't the perfect family, but they were communicating, and he saw that as a good thing. At least he wasn't running away anymore. He'd found a place where he belonged, and somehow communicating that to his family had erased the tension that had always hung beneath the surface of their relationship.

Jacob knew that Samuel had come to see him as a son, and in truth he enjoyed working for the older man.

“But she said—”

“I heard her myself, and nothing you can say would change her mind. Leave that to
Gotte
. Perhaps He will speak to her through our sermons today.”

Jacob had allowed himself to be pulled away. He'd joined the men on the far side of the room, but he'd kept his eyes on Sally as well as some of the other women. It was plain enough to tell when they were speaking of Anna, as they would cover their mouths or duck their heads, but always their gaze would return to the girl he loved.

He did love her, and he wouldn't allow this to continue.

Gossiping was a sin, as surely as adultery or swearing or pride—though Jacob thought it was more damaging than most transgressions. What was it he had read in one of the books that he picked up from a swap shelf?
Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.
Apparently, the wife of a president had said that, though a footnote in the book had explained that it originated with a Greek philosopher. Regardless, Jacob felt it applied perfectly to what he was seeing—and hearing.

After the service he would make a point to speak with Bishop Levi. He was still living with the bishop and his family, and Jacob knew the man well enough to have faith that he would stop any gossiping before it spread into something they couldn't curb.