A Widow's Hope

She was beautiful, though, and more than that, her obvious love for her son was moving. Her vulnerability in that moment reached deep into his soul and affected him in a way he didn’t realize he could be touched.

So he stooped down and said to Matthew, “Best take a break. Your mamm has brought us a snack.”

He walked beside the boy as they made their way toward the picnic table.

“Mamm, I’m helping.” Matthew reached for a cookie, broke it in half and stuffed the larger piece into his mouth.

“It appears you worked up an appetite.”

Matthew nodded, and Jacob said, “We both did.”

Hannah motioned for him to help himself. He popped a whole cookie into his mouth and said, “Wow,” before he’d finished chewing. Which caused Matthew to dissolve in a fit of laughter.

“What-id I-ooh?” Jacob asked, exaggerating each syllable.

“You have to chew first,” Matthew explained. “And swallow!”

Jacob did as instructed, took a big sip of the lemonade and then said, “Danki, Hannah. Hit the spot.”

“Looks as if actual construction on this playhouse is slow getting started.”

“Measure twice, cut once,” Matthew explained.

“We’ve managed to mark off the dimensions and unload my tools.”

“You brought all that lumber in your buggy?”

“Nein. The store in town delivered it. I guess you didn’t hear the truck.”

“I guess I didn’t.”

“It was this big,” Matthew said, holding his arms out wide.

“The playhouse will go up quickly,” Jacob assured her. “I’ll begin the base of the structure today. The walls will go up tomorrow, and the roof and final details the third day.”

“Kind of amazing that a child’s toy takes so long to build.” Hannah held up a hand and shook her head at the same time. “I did not mean that the way it sounded. It’s only that when you consider we can build a barn in one day, it seems funny that a playhouse takes three.”

“Sure, ya. But this isn’t a barn, and, as you can see, young Matthew and I are the only workers.”

“I’m going to help,” Matthew exclaimed, reaching for another cookie.

Hannah’s son was rambling on now, explaining that he could mark the wood before Jacob made the cut and hand him nails as he hammered.

“Wait a minute, Matt. We have therapy tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Nein. Do not argue with me.”

“Ya, but this is kind of therapy.”

“What time is Matthew’s appointment?” Jacob asked, recognizing the escalating disagreement for what it was. Hadn’t he argued in the same way when he was a young lad? Maybe not over physical therapy appointments, but there was always something to pull him away from what he’d wanted to do—fishing, searching for frogs, climbing trees.

“Matthew is scheduled for therapy three afternoons a week—Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.”

“That’s perfect, because I need help tomorrow morning.”

Matthew and Hannah both swiveled to look at him.

“In the afternoon, I’ll be doing other stuff that an apprentice isn’t allowed to do. But the morning?” Jacob rubbed his hand up and down his jawline as if he needed to carefully consider what he was about to say. Finally he grinned and said, “Mornings will be perfect.”

“Yes!” Matthew raised a hand for Jacob to high-five. “I gotta go inside and tell Mammi.”

Without another word, he reversed the direction of his chair and wheeled toward the house.

“That was kind of you,” Hannah said.

“Actually, he is a big help to me.”

Instead of arguing, she again pressed her fingers to her lips. Was it so she could keep her emotions inside? Stop her words? Protect her feelings?

“It’s only a little thing, Hannah. I’m happy to do it. It’s plain to see that Matthew is a special young man.”

She picked up the plate of cookies and stared down at it. “He never eats more than one cookie. In fact, he often passes on snacks and desserts. Today he ate two and drank a full glass of lemonade.”

“Is that a problem?”

He thought she wouldn’t answer. She glanced at him and then her gaze darted out over the area where construction had not yet begun. “The doctors said that the steroids might suppress his appetite, but that it was best to encourage him to eat more.”

“And what purpose do the steroids serve?”

“They’re supposed to decrease swelling around the spinal cord.” She placed the plate on the tray and transferred the empty lemonade glasses to it, as well. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with the details.”

“Do I look bored?”

She sat on the picnic bench then, staring back toward the house, seemingly lost in her worries over Matthew. “The last thing we needed is him losing weight. Then there are the other complications...”

“Such as?”

“Children with spinal cord injuries often struggle with pneumonia and other breathing disorders. Secondary infections are always a worry—it’s why I was afraid for him to help you. If he were to get a cut or take a nasty fall, it could spiral into something worse.”

“It must be a lot for you to monitor.”

“Matthew needs all his strength, even when it comes in the form of oatmeal cookies.”

“I’d like to ask what happened, but I know from personal experience that sometimes you feel like sharing and sometimes you don’t.”

Hannah jerked her head up. She seemed to study his scars for a moment and then she nodded once. “It’s true. Sometimes I want to talk about it, need to talk about it, but then other times...”