Apple Orchard Bride

Jenna tried to focus on the abstract watercolor in the doctor’s office at her father’s follow-up appointment the next day. Staring at the strange shapes was easier than looking at her dad or the doctor. Thankfully, Toby had stayed back at the orchard to tend to the work they’d missed yesterday and wouldn’t have accomplished today if he hadn’t been around. Busy fussing over her father the rest of yesterday, Jenna had missed her opportunity to meet Kasey but hoped to rectify that once she was home from school today.

But after this blow, who knew? A motorized wheelchair. Her father, who used to think nothing of working ten hours a day in the busy season—the man who had taught her to ride horseback, to swim and to race on her bike—was being told it was best for him not to walk on his own going forward.

“You’re telling me my father can’t walk anymore?” Jenna tried to modulate her voice. It wasn’t Dr. Karol’s fault—he was a messenger, tasked with delivering bad information. Still, worry simmered through her veins.

“Jenna.” Her father’s voice held a warning.

But she pressed on. “He fell. Doesn’t everyone fall sometimes?” She heard the desperation in her own voice. Tell me it’s all a cruel joke. Tell me Dad will just get better on his own.

“The type of MS your father has—”

“It’s PPMS, I know. I know it’s different from normal multiple sclerosis.” She didn’t mean to be rude, but she’d attended every one of Dad’s appointments for the past six months. She had already listened to Dr. Karol talk about Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis—PPMS—in detail on many occasions.

Dr. Karol nodded and leaned against the counter. “With primary progressive the legs lose power, and simple tasks, like going out to check the mail, can deplete all of a person’s energy.”

“And some days it sure does,” Dad agreed.

How could he be taking the news so easily?

Jenna clutched the brochure that broke down how much their insurance would cover toward each of their chair options. “But saying he’s not allowed to walk...that...that takes away his ability to live.” Once people weren’t mobile, didn’t they get pneumonia? And people could die of pneumonia. That’s what had happened to Mom.

The doctor set down his clipboard and opened the small laptop on the counter. “On the contrary. Using a motorized chair, especially with the technology that exists these days, gives back movement and strength. Right now, Richard expends all his energy by noon, just from being mobile in your house. But a chair allows you to store that energy—it gives back his life because there are reserves left to spend time with family or go outside. Think, during harvest your father can come out to the orchard and oversee your work.”

Jenna still wasn’t convinced as she helped her father into the car and started driving home. Not walking meant accepting defeat. It meant accepting that her father was ill. She wasn’t ready for that. Might never be. She tried to repeat what Toby had told her yesterday at the ER. That every situation was a chance to show love—to show God. But her heart had a hard time digesting that. Mom had died so quickly after becoming bedridden. While a motorized chair wasn’t the same thing, wasn’t it a step in that direction? Not my dad. I won’t let that happen to him, too.

Her knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel. She eased her grip.

Dad rolled down the window and braced his arm along the frame. Warm September air laced with dampness from Lake Michigan tumbled into the car. “I don’t like admitting I need a chair any more than you do, but it seems like the right choice.”

Jenna blinked, trying to get a clear view of the road. She needed to be strong for her father. No crying. No falling apart. “We can safety-proof the house. Take away all the rugs and anything that could cause you to trip.”

“Jenna.”

“And if you want to be part of the harvest, you can ride shotgun in the truck. We take the pickup down the rows anyway. Toby won’t mind.”

“Jenna.”

“And we could—”

“Honeybee, stop. I’m sick.” He fisted his hands, but not quickly enough to hide the shaking. From stress. She was causing that. Guilt punched at her heart.

He rested his head against the back of the seat. “My body’s failing me. Admitting that is part of being able to move forward and live with my disease.”

“Why?” Jenna whispered, so quietly she wasn’t sure if her father heard her. A part of her didn’t want him to. “Why is God doing this?”

He scrubbed his hand down his face. “He’s not doing this to me. It’s not a punishment. Our bodies fail us because we’re mortal. That’s all there is to it.”

God was perfectly fine with letting people who loved Him suffer? Was it like watching ants on a small anthill? Easy to feel no attachment?

The muscles in her shoulders bunched. She couldn’t deal with Dad’s train of logic right now. “But they’re not letting you walk. Your hands shake all the time. You—”

“It’s not a big deal, Jenna.”

“Not a big deal? How can you say that? I can’t believe—”

“Stop.” He drew his hands so they were in his lap, and his gentle blue eyes met hers when she braked at the intersection. “Jenna, sweetheart, the Lord gives and the Lord takes. In all of it let the name of the Lord be praised.” He referenced a verse that was written on a plaque that used to hang near the front entrance of their home. Years ago, after Mom’s death, Jenna had ripped the plaque down and stuffed it between books on her old childhood bookshelf.

Her father continued. “My hope will remain with my faith, no matter what happens to my body.”

No matter what happens to my body. Her throat tightened as if someone had shoved a bundle of itchy wool into her mouth and forced her to swallow. Dad didn’t know what those words meant to her, but they still felt like a slap.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like admitting that you’re not a superhero.” Her voice shook.

“Every superhero has their foil. I guess PPMS is mine.”

“I love you, Dad. You know that, right?”

“I love you, too, sweetheart. I love you very much.”

She had to lighten the mood, or else she’d dwell on her thoughts too much and start crying. Besides, she was stressing him out and she didn’t want to be the cause of any more issues for him. “So...what you’re saying is we should paint the Batman symbol on your motorized chair when they deliver it?”

“Ha! I don’t know if I’d go that far. Besides, we heroes like to be more covert.” He winked. “If you don’t mind.”

Her Camry kicked up a cloud of dust as they drove down the driveway. For her father’s sake, she parked as close to the house as she could. Just like yesterday, her eyes were drawn to the sagging and worn-down parts of their home. It had once been a beautiful place. Dad used to paint it a brilliant white every summer, even though the orchard demanded so much of his time during that season.

Now the house matched its owner.

“He’s changed.” Dad’s voice dragged her attention away from assessing the house.

Jenna followed the path of his vision to where Toby carried a basket of apples into their barn. He’d been out mending the fence when Jenna conducted her morning perimeter walk. Actually, after they’d arrived home from the ER yesterday afternoon, he must have headed back to her ruined Braeburns, because this morning the baby trees were encircled by plastic orange construction fencing. And two of the ones she’d thought were dead, he’d pruned and retied and was trying to save.

Dad kept talking. “Don’t get me wrong. I always liked him. But he’s different. I mean that in a good way.”

Jenna yanked the keys from the ignition. “I guess.”

She didn’t want to think of Toby in a good light. That was dangerous. Feeling anything about her old friend would only lead to hurt. They would never be buddies again. The carefree days of lying in the orchard counting stars were gone forever. He wouldn’t stay here, not indefinitely. Toby’s dreams were bigger than hers. So there was no reason to appreciate him or get attached. Not that she wanted to. Toby was a pest at best and a traitor at worst. She still leaned toward considering him the latter for now.

She rounded the car and helped her father out.

He squeezed her arm. “Whatever happened between the two of you? You used to be inseparable. I figured you’d be over the moon about him coming home, but perhaps I was wrong.”

He pretended not to know me. He made fun of your livelihood. Embarrassed me in front of the whole school. And broke my heart in the process. That didn’t feel like an appropriate answer, so instead she said, “We both grew up.”

“Now, I’m showing my age here, but bear with your old man. Was there ever anything romantic between the two of you?”

Not on Toby’s side. Nor would there ever be.

“We’re two kids who used to play together. That’s all. Nothing more.”