Between You and Me

A long silence stretched out. Cool air blew from a vent in the ceiling, a magic wind that turned the hot day cold.

“Nancy, honey, you run along and play outside,” Mem said. “I need to speak with Caleb for a bit.”

The girl’s chin tilted up slightly. “I want to stay.”

Mem regarded her steadily. “Run along,” she repeated. “I’ll speak with you later.”

Nancy hesitated for a beat. Then she climbed off the stool and left. The snap of a screen door punctuated her exit.

Finally, Mem began to talk, and she seemed to talk for hours. “I couldn’t stay. I was drowning—or choking. That’s how it felt, day and night. I couldn’t breathe, living in fear of what Asa would do to me next. I was so young and naive, I didn’t even know what to call the things he did to me.”

Caleb hadn’t known what to say to that. He hadn’t been quite certain of what she meant, although knowing his father’s temper, he had an idea.

“I ran away in the night with nothing,” Mem continued. “Asa had hurt me bad. I thought I might die, but I didn’t. I survived and went off on my own for the first time in my life, and it was awful. But not as awful as staying. At first, I lost the will to live. Wandered out onto a busy highway without a thought for what might happen to me. I was lost. So very lost.” She turned her face to the window and stared outside. “I made a lot of stupid mistakes, but I made my way, bit by bit. Found work here in Florida and started over.”

“It never occurred to you to take care of your own kids?” Caleb asked. “Did you think it was all right to leave us with the same man you ran away from because you were so scared of him?”

She studied him with pale, tear-filled eyes. “There was no way Asa would have let me take you, and staying was impossible. I didn’t have a penny to my name. I knew nothing but Plain ways, and I’d never set foot outside the community. I could only hope you and John would be all right.” She stared at him, her eyes swimming with pain. “Did he … did your father …?”

“You mean, did he beat me? Yah, sure, until John got big enough to stand up to him.”

Their father didn’t seem to have the first idea about how to raise two boys. He’d always been strict and stern, with a fearsome temper, but Caleb had no memory of the terrible things Mem had suffered. However, he had witnessed his father’s fierce outbursts. John bore the brunt of the beatings. Yes, they were beatings, not spankings—with a belt, a shovel, a hacksaw, or any other weapon their father might grab. Caleb used to cower, shivering, under the cellar stairs when his father laid into John. At night, he’d hear his brother sniffing, trying not to make a sound as he wept, because if their father caught wind of crying, the beatings would start again.

One Sunday, Caleb overheard John asking the bishop for help. The bishop said a man was obligated to discipline his family to achieve the peaceable fruit of righteousness.

Later that same day, Caleb raided the apple bin and ate as many apples as his belly could hold. When his father discovered him, Caleb explained that he was tasting the fruit of righteousness. Asa flew into a rage and dragged Caleb out to the yard for a beating. That was when John stepped in, at fifteen already a full hand taller than their father. He planted himself like a wall between Caleb and Asa.

“You’re not to lay a hand on my brother,” John said. “Not today. Not ever. If you’re going to hit anyone today, it’s going to be me.”

Now Caleb’s mother deflated, curled into herself. “John, he was always the protective one. Knew how to stand up to his father. And look at you. How handsome you are. I knew John would look after you, and you would be all right.”

“If that’s what you want to think.”

“You look wonderful,” she said, her gaze devouring him. “It’s a miracle, seeing you again, Caleb. I never thought it would happen, but I dreamed of this day. Why, see how tall and handsome you are, just like John. So confident and smart. How is John doing now?”

“John tried to take his own life,” he told his mother.

She went completely still. “Oh, dear heaven,” she said. “No. No.”

“He jumped off the bridge over Stony Gorge—”

“No,” she said again, a horrified whisper.

“He was seventeen years old. And he didn’t die. He wasn’t even hurt too bad. According to folks who saw it happen, he got up and brushed himself off and walked all the way back to Middle Grove. Dr. Shrock set his broken arm. The only thing he lost was his hat.” And himself, Caleb added silently. After the incident, John was so different. He looked the same—though after the baptism his face had been fringed by a beard. Yet there always seemed to be less of Caleb’s brother. Yes, John had latched onto his faith with a powerful fervor, but he was altered, somehow. Not himself. Almost like a clockwork John, mechanically reciting proverbs from Rules for a Godly Life.

“My poor darling John.” A tear squeezed from Mem’s eye and slipped down her cheek. “He wasn’t hurt. It’s a miracle.”

“He’s married now. He and Naomi have two kids, Hannah and Jonah.”

“I wish I could see him,” said Mem. “And those children …”

“You’re under the Bann,” Caleb said. “Now that he’s in the church, he won’t speak to you. We needed you years ago, and you weren’t there. Eventually, we learned to get along without you.”

She flinched and started to cry again. Caleb looked around the room, dim and chilly with the musty-smelling air blowing in. There were photographs on a shelf of Nancy at different ages, and another shelf with a collection of books of the self-help variety—Survival After Abuse. Change Your Brain, Change Your Life.

Even now, Caleb still flinched at the memory of his father’s face, twisted by fury, and John’s steadfast refusal to budge. If John hadn’t stuck up for his younger brother, maybe Caleb would have been the one teetering on the cable bridge over the gorge, not John. He owed his brother devotion and loyalty. It was a debt he could never repay.

In the mechanical hospital bed, Jonah stirred and opened his eyes wide as he seemed to shake himself awake. His gaze darted immediately to the bandage, then to Caleb. “I wish I still had my arm,” he said.

“So do I,” Caleb told him. “I was just thinking about your dat, my brother, John. He was the bravest, strongest, kindest man in the world, and you’re his flesh and blood. It’s going to be real hard, but you’ll be just like that one day.”

“What if I can’t be brave and strong?”

“You can be. I’ll help you, the way your dat helped me.” Caleb reached out and gently touched Jonah’s head. “And that’s why I will never leave you.”

There was no door on the SICU suite where Jonah lay, just a wide doorway open to the nurses’ station. A nurse was always present at the computer in the suite monitoring everything on the screen. At each shift change, the nurse asked Caleb if he needed anything, if there was anyone he wanted to call, but he always politely declined. He did help himself to a book about snorkeling in the Caribbean, and he read it cover to cover by the dim, artificial light in the room.

He was just about to share some of the pictures with Jonah when Reese Powell showed up. She wore loose blue trousers, a shirt to match, and a hip-length white jacket over that. She carried a number of steel and rubber objects in her many pockets, and when she came into the room, she brought with her something Caleb had not expected: the smell of flowers. Must be the soap she used, he thought, then felt guilty for noticing the way she smelled at all.

“Good morning,” she said. “I came to see how Jonah is doing.”

“He woke up a few minutes ago. He’s waiting for his breakfast.” Caleb’s nephew had awakened in a state of fear and anger. Everything about the hospital was strange and new to him, and he was still struggling to accept the loss of his arm.

She fixed her gaze on Jonah, her eyes soft and friendly. “Hi there, Jonah.”

The boy regarded her with narrow-eyed suspicion as he mumbled, “Morning.”

“I was hoping I would get to meet you,” she said. “My name is Reese Powell. I was working in the emergency ward when you came in. Everyone worked hard for the best outcome.”

“This is not a good outcome,” said Jonah.

“It’s not,” she agreed. “I’m sorry.” She gave Caleb a paper-wrapped parcel. “Your clothes. I had them cleaned for you.”

He studied the label on the parcel—City Wash & Fold—and wondered what she would make of the ancient washtub and hand-crank wringer back at the farm.

Jonah glared at her with uncharacteristic anger. “Reese,” he said in a caustic voice. “That’s not a name. It’s a candy.”

“At least I never got swallowed by a whale,” she shot back.

Caleb stood there, amazed. He was amazed because Jonah had never in his life spoken rudely to a person until now. And he was amazed because Reese didn’t seem to care one bit. And in spite of everything terrible that was happening, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling a glimmer of amusement.

Jonah settled back against the pillow, and Caleb could see his fear go down a notch. “I always liked that story,” he muttered. “Are you a doctor?”

“Almost. I wanted to stop by, because I thought you might have some questions. You’ve got a super-talented care team. I’m not on that team, because I work in a different department, but I can talk with you about your arm if you want.”

“Why is it gone?” asked the boy.

“It was so badly injured. They wanted to save it, but there was too much damage.”