Minding Molly Page 2

  I guess Dat dying was the second.

  Now Phillip was courting a seventeen-year-old girl from across the county. I’d heard she was a beauty.

  When I reached the house, the screen door slipped from my hands and banged. No one was in the kitchen.

  “Molly? Is that you?” It was Mamm again.

  “Jah,” I answered.

  “Could you come here?”

  I sped through the kitchen, stopping at the living room doorway. She sat at the desk alone.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  “Beatrice convinced Ivan and Edna to go see the new kittens in the barn.”

  That sounded like Beatrice. And like my older siblings to give in to her kindish ways.

  “What do you need?” I asked Mamm, pointing to her cup. “More coffee?”

  “No.” She pulled her glasses from her face. “I’ve been thinking about ways to try to get our profits up.” She put her glasses down on the desk again.

  I smiled, pleased she was thinking about our profits too.

  “And that got me thinking. I’ve noticed Mervin looking at you, following you around. I think he’s sweet on you.”

  I couldn’t imagine what Mervin’s feelings toward me had to do with our profits.

  “I didn’t tell Ivan this,” she said, placing her hand on the side of her head. “There’s no point yet, but a wholesaler left a message, asking if there was any way we could increase our production. He said if we could, he’d be willing to buy from us.”

  I hadn’t noticed it before, but as I stared at her—in disbelief—I noted that her hair had grown whiter in the last couple of months.

  “It would make me so happy to have you marry and settle down,” she said. “What could be better than to join our two families? We’ve been good friends all these years.”

  My mouth fell open, but I couldn’t manage to form a sound.

  “Our farms are side by side,” she continued. “You and Mervin would be able to provide for yourselves and for me in my old age. And for your sister.”

  “Mamm . . .” I finally managed to say. She and Dat had never meddled in my life before.

  “Think about it,” Mamm said, putting her glasses back on her face. “And in the meantime, I forgot to tell Mervin to water the dogwood trees. Could you tell him?”

  “Mamm, you—”

  “And to repot the geraniums.”

  “No, you already did.” My voice wavered. “It’s all done.”

  She looked up at me. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, a sick feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.

  She lowered her voice. “Molly . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m worried.”

  Jah, I thought. Me too.

  “It’s your father.” She stopped again and stared at the closed folder.

  “Ach, Mamm. I know it’s hard . . .”

  “He’s been gone so long,” she said, turning her head to me, tears filling her eyes.

  I nodded. It had only been a couple of months, but it seemed much longer.

  “When is he coming back?” she asked.

  “Mamm?”

  “I thought it would only be for a short time.” Her eyes held a longing in them I hadn’t seen before. Was it grief that had her confused? Or was something horribly wrong?

  “He’s gone,” I said. “Remember he . . .” I didn’t want to think of Dat lying on the front lawn, let alone speak of it. “He passed, Mamm. We had the funeral. In April. Now it’s June.”

  She shook her head.

  Maybe it was just grief. But what if Mamm was having a stroke? I had no way of knowing. What I did know was I couldn’t lose another parent.

  “Stay right here,” I said to her.

  Before Dat died, I’d always left my cell phone in the greenhouse office, but since he’d passed, I kept it in my apron pocket—just in case. I pulled it out as I sped through the back door, heading toward the barn. I keyed in our doctor’s number as I ran and yelled, “Beatrice! Ivan! Edna! Come quick!” I shouted again as a voice on the other end of my cell said hello.

  Beatrice appeared at the barn door first, leaving it wide open. I motioned toward the house. “It’s Mamm,” I called out. “Something’s wrong.”

  She took off running, her hands holding her dress above her knees, the ties of her Kapp trailing over her shoulder. Ivan and Edna followed.

  Somehow, all the way in the field, Love sensed something was wrong and came bounding to my side. I put my hand on top of her head to calm her as I explained the situation to the nurse.

  “Can you bring your mother in?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking I should call an ambulance,” I said. That’s what we should have done with Dat.

  Edna kept going toward the house, but Ivan stopped beside me, saying, “That would cost quite a sum of money.”

  The nurse asked, “Is her speech slurred?”

  Ignoring Ivan, I answered, “No.”

  “Face droopy?”

  I would have noticed that. “No,” I answered.

  “Arm weak?”

  “I don’t think so.” I started for the back door, with Love still beside me and Ivan right behind.

  “Are her words making sense?” the nurse asked.

  “Jah,” I said, “except she was asking about my father as if he is alive, but he passed two months ago. It seemed she didn’t remember that.”

  “How about her vision?”

  “I think it’s fine. . . .”

  “Any headaches?”

  “Some, just lately, but she said they’re from stress . . .”

  “How old is she?”

  “Sixty-three.”

  “Any other signs of dementia?”

  “Dementia?”

  “You know—forgetfulness, confusion.”

  “She has been forgetful. . . .” I told Love to stay and stepped into the kitchen with Ivan right behind me. “Should I call for an ambulance?” I asked the nurse.

  “Can you bring her in?”

  “I’ll call our driver and see.” If she wasn’t available I’d call 9-1-1.

  “Oh, you’re Amish,” the nurse said. “I remember now, about your father . . .”

  “Jah,” I answered.

  Her voice overflowed with compassion. “I’ll tell the doctor to expect you.”

  “Thank you.” After I said good-bye, I ended the call.

  Edna stood to the side of Mamm. Beatrice had planted herself behind them, a confused look on her face. She mouthed, “She says she’s fine.”

  “Mamm, do either of your arms feel weak?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Can you see all right? Does your head ache?”

  “Molly, I’m fine.”

  Ivan was right, calling an ambulance would cost a fortune, and it would worry Mamm. I stepped back into the kitchen and called our driver, Doris. She said she’d be at our place in half an hour.

  Edna served up dinner in a hurry, and I waited until the driver arrived to tell Mamm I was taking her to the doctor.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said. “I’ll just go take a nap.”

  Before I could say anything, Ivan jumped in and said, “Anna, we’re concerned about you is all. Humor us.”

  She glanced from Ivan to me and then touched the side of her head. At last she said, “Oh, all right.”

  Edna said she would stay with Beatrice. I shouldn’t have been surprised when Ivan followed me and Mamm out to the car, but I was.

  Mamm sat on the examination table while I stood beside her and Ivan sat in the chair. We’d been at the clinic for a couple of hours. The doctor had done an exam, the lab tech had drawn blood, and the preliminary tests had already been completed. The doctor had ruled out both a vitamin deficiency and a stroke, but he was concerned about Mamm’s headaches, which were worse than she’d been letting on. She managed to be honest with the doctor, although she claimed they were grief related. The doctor conceded that grief—and stress—could
cause physical symptoms, but he didn’t think that was the case with her.

  The doctor sat on the spinning stool. “I want you to get a CT scan. At the hospital.” He took out a pad of paper from his coat pocket and wrote down a number. He started to hand it to Ivan, but I intercepted it.

  Ivan didn’t seem to mind. “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  “Any abnormalities,” the doctor answered.

  When I asked about dementia, the doctor answered that it could be a concern too.

  Ivan asked if there was any reason not to have the CT scan.

  “If Mrs. Zook wants to know what she’s up against, she should have it. Hopefully it’s nothing, and that would be good to know too.”

  “What will be will be,” Mamm said.

  “Granted,” the doctor said kindly. “There are some people who, once their children are all raised and perhaps after a spouse has passed, decide not to go ahead with tests and such.” It seemed he was choosing his words carefully. “But, Mrs. Zook, you have two daughters in your care.” He’d been our doctor for years, since Beatrice and I were babies. “And you’re still relatively young.”

  Relatively? She could live for another thirty years, easily.

  “Jah, Mamm,” I said. “You’re very young.” All my life, I had thought my parents old—until today.

  The doctor said to call him if we had any questions but to make the appointment for the CT scan as soon as possible. I said I’d make it immediately, unfolding the piece of paper with the number on it and taking my cell from my pocket as he told us good-bye and left the room.

  As I keyed in the numbers, Ivan said, “Goodness, Molly. Couldn’t you wait until we got outside?”

  I shook my head as I patted Mamm’s arm.

  My call went through, and I took the first available appointment—on a Tuesday, a week and a half away.

  When I told Mamm when the appointment was, she said, “See, I’m fine. If they really thought there was a problem, they would have gotten me in sooner.” She scooted off the table. “In fact, call back and cancel.”

  I slipped my phone into my apron pocket. I wasn’t raised to disobey. So I pretended I hadn’t heard.

  As we left the doctor’s office, Mamm sighed and said, “Now I have another bill to figure out how to pay.” She padded down the carpet of the hallway in her soft-soled shoes, me on one side of her and Ivan on the other. “And then another for that test you didn’t cancel.”

  “You’ve paid into the church fund all these years,” I responded. “There will be plenty to cover your costs.” Members from every district put aside money each month in a health-care fund that we pooled to pay medical expenses. We’d used some when Dat died, but not that much.

  “When it’s my time, it’s my time,” Mamm said. I decided to ignore that too.

  “The Lord knows the number of my days,” she added as we reached the door.

  “Mamm . . .” I pushed it open, stepping out into the afternoon heat. “You’re life isn’t all that’s at stake here. Beatrice and I need you. We’re not ready to be orphans.”

  The driver had parked her car on the edge of the lot, in the shade, and Mamm stepped off the curb, leading the way, as I grabbed her elbow.

  Ivan stepped quickly to Mamm’s side. “Anna, I was serious about buying the—”

  She put her hand up, swinging her purse around. He stopped.

  I stopped cold, even as the heat swirled up from the pavement. “What?” I blurted out as I glared at my half brother.

  “It’s not right for three women to be living alone.”

  I shook my head. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “We’re doing fine.”

  Mamm continued on toward the car.

  Ivan’s face reddened. “After paying off the mortgage, there’d still be enough money from the sale for you to buy a house in town, maybe on a double lot.”

  “But you don’t even like to farm,” I said.

  Ivan’s face grew redder.

  The farm was my home. For as long as I could remember, I’d hoped the man I’d someday marry would want to farm it with me. I took off marching, biting my tongue from saying more, gaining on Mamm. But then she stopped abruptly, and I bumped into her.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Ivan stopped behind me.

  Mamm turned toward us. “I just want both of you to know,” she said, her voice firm and clear, “I know your Dat passed. Maybe I had a moment of wishful thinking, but I don’t have dementia. I’m sure of it.”

  “Of course you don’t.” I took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s far more likely there’s a physical explanation for all of this. That’s why you should have the scan done.”

  She started walking again, and when we reached the car, Mamm and I climbed in the back seat, leaving the front for Ivan. Doris asked how things were.

  “I’m fine,” Mamm said. “I’d know if there was something wrong.”

  “She needs more tests,” I clarified.

  “Oh, well, I’m sure everything is fine,” Doris said. “But, Mrs. Zook, for the sake of your girls, you’re doing the right thing.”

  Mamm crossed her arms, an uncharacteristic gesture for her, and I gave Doris an apologetic nod. She smiled at me and mouthed, “No worries.”

  Ivan stared straight ahead.

  I’d been my Dat’s girl. The one who worked alongside him outside. The one he told his plans to. The one to whom he’d rattle off the Latin names—that I could never remember—of plants and flowers.

  But he and Mamm had been best friends, holding hands in the privacy of our home. Stealing kisses in the hallway. Sharing their love of nature. I could only hope I’d have a marriage as dear as theirs someday.

  As much as I missed and mourned Dat, I couldn’t imagine how much Mamm missed him—I couldn’t fathom how her inner world had shifted. Perhaps today’s incident had been caused by stress.

  Doris pointed out the wild flowers alongside the road and then a colt romping in a field. Then she commented on the beautiful weather, saying she and her husband planned to barbecue for dinner. Usually, I would have kept the conversation going, but I couldn’t seem to hold up my end, and the car fell silent.

  When we reached our farm, Mamm started to pay the driver, but Ivan said he would, which was generous for him. He paid quickly and then climbed from the car and headed toward the house. After telling Doris good-bye, Mamm took off for the house too, followed by Love, who had been patiently waiting.

  “She needs to have a CT scan done week after next—that Tuesday morning,” I said to Doris. “But she doesn’t want to do it.”

  “Give her a day or two,” she said. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”

  “Denki.” I gave her the time and said a quick good-bye.

  As I neared the house, I heard men’s voices on the porch. One was Mervin’s. I couldn’t place the second one, but it wasn’t Ivan’s.

  Instead of going through the back door, I headed around front with Love following me. Too late, just as my head popped above the railing, I realized the second voice was Phillip’s.

  I quickly retreated while Love headed for Mervin. If either Phillip or Mervin saw me, they didn’t call out my name. Ivan stepped onto the porch from the front door, saying hello to both, and Mamm followed, asking everyone if they’d like lemonade. It should have been me being hospitable, instead of my poor mother, but I simply didn’t feel up to it.

  I headed to the back door and into the house, finding Beatrice in the sewing room, kneeling on the floor next to the box I’d left. My little sister looked up, her face streaked with tears. “How’s Mamm?” She clung to Dat’s green shirt.

  “She’s okay. It’s probably nothing.” I knelt beside my sister. “It wasn’t a stroke, but she needs to have another test—to rule other things out.”

  Beatrice put her head in her hands and said, “What will happen to us if she dies?”

  I could barely hear her and leaned closer. “What do you mean?”


  “Where will we go to live?”

  I took a deep breath. “We’ll stay here.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “Ivan will want to sell the place. He won’t want us to keep it.”

  “No, that’s not true,” I said, even though I wasn’t at all sure what Ivan would do. He didn’t think it was right for the three of us to be living alone. He’d think it even worse for just the two of us. “Our home has been in the family for over a hundred years. We wouldn’t sell it to strangers.”

  “That’s not what Mervin was just telling Phillip.” She swiped at a tear. I was certain the farm meant far more to me than my sister, but still this was home to her too. “He said we’re bound to lose the farm no matter what.”

  “Bea,” I said, “you shouldn’t be eavesdropping.” The last thing I wanted was for Bea to know how dire our situation was.

  “That’s not all they said.” She held Dat’s shirt to her face. I could barely hear her words. “Mervin said if you marry soon, maybe your husband could save the farm.”

  “He said that in front of Phillip?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh goodness,” I said. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Mervin didn’t seem to think so.” Beatrice dropped the shirt to her lap.

  I lowered my voice. “Did he say anything else?” I feared there was more.

  “No, that’s all I heard. I came in here after that . . . and then found this.” She placed her hand on the box of shirts.

  I’d intended the quilt as a surprise, but sometimes there was comfort in anticipating a gift. “I’m going to make a quilt for you out of Dat’s shirts.”

  Tears filled her eyes again. “Denki,” she said.

  I heard someone in the kitchen. “Where’s Edna?” I asked, hoping maybe she was going to serve the front porch gang her famous sticky buns.

  “Resting, but she’s going to stay here tonight and tomorrow night too. She said we need some extra love.”

  I was relieved to hear that. It would be a blessing to have her cook while I worked the market the next day, and for her to help keep an eye on Mamm too. Our district had cared for us well during the weeks after Dat’s death—helping with the chores, bringing meals, chopping wood, and cleaning. But that had come to an end, as it should have.