Chapter 12
What difference did it make? Bonnie adjusted the lamp to see the pink cotton material that would be a bunny ear she was about to feed under the needle on her sewing machine, a Singer treadle that had been adapted to run on a battery.
It didn’t make the lovely pumping sound of a treadle, but at least it sat in the carved wooden case that had belonged to her grandma Eva.
It was Bonnie’s favorite piece of furniture.
Unfortunately the lamp didn’t cast a better light on her muddled thoughts.
Either Elijah decided to push through with his plan to sell toys in the store or he didn’t.
If he did, she would see more of him.
If he didn’t, she wouldn’t.
It would be a loss for the store, that was all. It bothered Bonnie for no other reason. Really.
A pin holding the two pieces of material together pricked her finger. “Ouch.”
Bonnie sucked on the tip.
She grabbed a tissue and held it against the tiny spot of blood so it wouldn’t get on the material.
“That’s what happens when you lie, maedel, even to yourself.”
After her conversation with Elijah, she’d stayed inside the rest of the afternoon, helping the women make new curtains for the living room.
The frolic had ended before dark, which was fine by her.
No more temptation to march back out to the fence and apologize to Elijah for her cryptic remark.
He had enough pressure on him.
He had to do what was best for his family.
Faith, family, and community.
That was the Plain way of life.
He and Declan had been among the last to leave.
Bonnie knew that only because Opal had kept her informed of all his movements as if she needed to know.
In a day or two he’d leave again, this time for auctions in Pennsylvania.
Fine. So be it.
She should go to bed.
Mom had turned in early, after a quick dinner of leftover vegetable beef stew and buttered sourdough bread.
She said she was tired, but she didn’t sleep a lot.
Not anymore.
She was probably reading.
One more piece and Bonnie would follow suit.
She ran the ear under the needle, careful to keep her fingers clear.
The machine hummed, making its own unique music.
The needle pumped.
Her head cleared. At the end she stopped, turned the material around, and double-stitched so the seam wouldn’t come undone later. Then she flipped the lever, cut the thread, and held up the ear. The line of stitches was crooked. It would be so obvious stuck up over the sweet bunny’s face.
She sighed and picked up the thread picker—her name for the implement used to pull out thread in situations such as this—and began removing the stitches.
Nerve pain flashed through her index finger and thumb.
She laid the piece on the case and rubbed her fingers.
How could a person have nerve pain in fingers that were numb? The doctor couldn’t explain her neuropathy.
She called it “idiopathic,”
which was a big word for “I don’t know.”
Bonnie picked up the piece and went back to work.
“What are you doing still up?”
Bonnie jumped.
The ear fell to the floor. “Ach.”
Bonnie swiveled.
Clad in her long cotton nightgown, hair flowing down her back, Mom stood in the doorway.
“I thought you were asleep.”
Mom held up a Vannetta Chapman cozy mystery.
“Reading.
My eyes are tired, but the rest of me won’t give up and go to sleep.”
“Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?”
Bonnie grabbed one of the grippers she kept in every room and used it to pick up the ear.
She laid it next to the bunny’s body, ready to be attached the next day.
She tugged her rollator closer, snapped on the brakes, and used it to stand.
“Chamomile or Sleepytime?”
“Neither.
Tea will just make me have to go to the bathroom, as if I don’t do that often enough during the night.”
Mom grimaced and fanned herself with the book.
“Besides, it’ll only make me warmer.
Is it me or is it hot in here?”
Bonnie hid a smile at her mother’s disgruntled tone.
“It’s you.
Sit with me while I make myself one.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking tea this late either.”
Mom lived in fear that Bonnie would get up during the night and fall in the dark.
Even though Dad and her uncle Uri had remodeled the house so her bedroom was next to a new bathroom that had doors wide enough to get her rollator through, a shower with zero entry, and bars by the toilet and in the shower, which even had a seat.
It was fancy for a Plain home, but the elders agreed it was necessary for a family member with her disease.
Bonnie had a propane lamp next to her bed within easy reach and a railing to help her get out of the bed.
A person ought to be able to do that much for herself. “Mamm.”
“I know, I know.”
Mom’s expression brightened.
“But you do have to work in the morning.”
“You know me.
I’ve never needed much sleep.”
Or been able to sleep.
Migraine headaches often kept Bonnie awake as she grew older, which made concentrating at school harder.
And when she didn’t have a headache, she simply couldn’t get comfortable.
Many nights she gave up and read her favorite mysteries—she preferred Colleen Coble or Carrie Stuart Parks—with the help of a flashlight after her parents went to bed.
Had life been different, she would’ve had the perfect sleep schedule for courting.
Friends had picked her up for late-night jaunts during her rumspringa, which had been fun but no more fruitful than the singings when it came to courting.
Which brought her right back to Elijah. “Grrrrr.”
“Now who’s growling like a grumpy old woman? You’re chewing on something mighty grisly.”
Mom headed to the kitchen in front of Bonnie.
She swept her hair behind her shoulders, twisted it in a knot, and let go.
Even at fifty she still had thick, shiny dark-brown hair.
“It stings, whatever it is.”
Mom might forgive Elijah for bringing Slowpoke into the store, but she still wouldn’t include him on her favorites list.
Bonnie had plenty of other concerns to plumb.
“I’m determined to finish a dozen stuffies this week, even if Opal can’t help me.”
“She was definitely puny on Sunday.”
“More like worn-out.”
Bonnie settled the teakettle on the stove and turned on the flame.
“Tucker is just getting over the croup.
Now he has an ear infection.”
“And her with morning sickness.”
“I have an order for stuffed animals for Margie’s day care.”
Bonnie took her favorite mug, handcrafted and fired by a friend she met at the clinic, from the cabinet.
She added a Sleepytime tea bag.
“The sheriff’s department wants a stash of my animals to give to kinner when they’re victims or witnesses to crimes.”
“It’s nice that they want your animals for such a worthy cause.”
Mom plopped a few pieces of ice into a glass and carried it to the table.
Her usual hot flash remedy.
“You’re blessed that business is gut.”
“Very blessed.”
Bonnie picked up her mug.
A second later it shattered on the pine floor.
“Ach, nee.”
She stared at the pieces of fired clay, then at her empty hands.
What just happened? How could she have dropped it? “I don’t understand it.
I really don’t.”
“It’s okay, Dochder.”
Mom trotted across the kitchen.
“I’ll get it.”
“Nee, you’re barefoot.”
Bonnie pushed her rollator to the shelves where she’d left her gripper.
“I’ll get the big pieces, if you can grab the broom for me.”
“Teamwork.”
Mom hummed “Bringing in the Sheaves”
under her breath.
“I don’t mind helping.
It makes me feel still needed.”
Such bittersweetness haunted her words.
Such longing.
She would always be needed.
If only it wasn’t to pick up this keepsake mug.
“I’ll always need you, Mamm.”
Maybe not in the ways she’d needed her as a child, but to navigate adulthood as a woman with disabilities who had to prove her abilities twice or three times more than people with no disabilities.
“For your advice, for sure and for certain.”
“You’ll marry one day, don’t think you won’t.”
Mom stooped to position the dustpan.
She made quick work of the remaining shards.
“You just need to get out of your own way.”
“Mamm, did you even see what just happened?”
Bonnie shook the gripper at her.
“I dropped the mug for no good reason.
None at all.
It just . . . slipped.”
Humming once more, Mom emptied the dustpan and returned it and the broom to their rightful places.
She went to the cabinet and retrieved another mug, which she immediately handed to Bonnie.
“You dropped a mug.
It’s like falling.
It happens.”
“Say that all you want, but it’s not the same and you know it.”
Bonnie set the cup on the counter next to the stove.
She turned off the flame.
“It’s getting worse.”
The ache in her throat made it impossible to continue.
Bonnie made her tea and set the cup on her rollator seat, along with honey and a spoon.
She rolled to the table without another word.
“Have you been taking your medication?”
“Of course I have.”
Studies had shown the drug was effective in slowing progression in all three types of SMA, Bonnie’s doctor had assured her.
And it had.
For three years.
“I’m a grown woman who knows how important it is.”
And it was getting harder to get the lid off the pills’ container.
That had to be the definition of irony.
“If it’s progressing, we’ll deal with it.”
“So stop talking about marriage as if it’s part of Gott’s plan.”
The quiver in her voice shamed Bonnie.
Her mother had dealt with enough pain in her life.
Bonnie always endeavored not to add more.
“I’m blessed to have the store, gut friends, and family.”
“You have your four-month appointment coming up next week.
I’ll call tomorrow and confirm it.”
Mom tugged a piece of ice from her glass.
She rubbed it across her cheeks and down her neck.
“They’ll run tests.
It’s better to know than not know.”
“I agree, but you’re missing my point.”
“I’m not missing it.
I’m ignoring it.”
Mom popped another chunk of ice in her mouth.
“It’s not just Gott’s plan but also His timing.
I plan to keep praying.
That’s what we’re supposed to do.”
Yes, it was.
But by the same token, she shouldn’t blame Bonnie for choosing to be realistic rather than setting herself up for disappointment.
Of course, the elders would call it a serious lack of faith.
“You don’t believe Gott can bring you a man who will love you exactly as you are?”
Mom’s frown shot a quiver full of disappointed arrows at Bonnie.
“I can hear Him now, Oh ye of little faith.”
Bonnie lifted her bent right leg up onto her left knee.
Taking her time, she undid the Velcro that held the brace—which her doctor called an ankle-foot orthotic because all medical stuff had to have difficult, mysterious names—to her calf.
She untied the sneaker and pulled it off her foot.
Her toes wiggled their relief.
“I believe. I also believe He has better things to think about.”
“He knows how many hairs you have on your head.
He knew your name before you were born.”
Now Mom was getting fired up on her favorite topic.
If Plain women could preach, she would surely draw the lot.
What would Bart say about such a thought? A wild flight of fancy, no doubt.
“He will bring you through this season.
And if your SMA is progressing, He’ll make sure you’re surrounded by family and friends who’ll take care of you.”
I don’t want anyone taking care of me.
Bonnie bit back the mulish sentiment.
What twenty-five-year-old woman did?
“That includes me.
I’m in gut health.
Gott willing I’ll be around a bit longer.”
Mom rolled the glass with its melting ice across her forehead.
Suddenly she plunked it on the table.
“In fact, I can help you right now.
I can take Opal’s place doing the fine sewing for your stuffies.”
A smile of triumph lined her face, and she popped another piece of ice in her mouth and crunched.
Bonnie worked on the other brace.
The left leg was harder.
The severe spasticity made it more difficult to get her leg propped up on her right knee.
Mom’s idea had merit.
So why did it feel like a step back? No pun intended. “We pay Opal for her work. It’s not much—”
“I work for free.
See, even better than having Opal do it.”
“Are you talking about coming into the store to work?”
“Why not? Not every day, of course.
Only when you have work for me to do.
You have a great workspace in the back.
It’s a perfect way for me to help with the store’s bottom line.
Plus I can drive us into town in the buggy on the days I come in. It’ll save you the cost of the van.”
And she could take care of her only daughter.
What would it be like to have her eyes and ears—however well meaning—overseeing Bonnie’s every move at home and at the store? Plain families worked together all the time.
Why should Bonnie’s be any different?
Because I want to be treated like a grown-up.
“Do you not want me at the store?”
The excitement faded from Mom’s voice.
She pushed her glasses up her nose with her index finger.
“Because if you don’t, I can do the work here just as well.”
“Of course I do.”
Maybe this wasn’t about Bonnie.
It was about her mother being lonely and alone in this house without Dad coming and going from the fields each day.
A small garden.
A bit of laundry.
No need for a lot of baking. Meals for two. No grandkids. Don’t be selfish. “Of course you’ll come into the store. The more hands, the better.”
“Wunderbarr.
Be sure you take your socks off before you walk back to your bedroom.”
Her glass of melting ice in one hand, Mom stood.
She handed Bonnie the gripper.
“You know how slick socks can be on these wooden floors.”
Bonnie didn’t need to be reminded, but that’s what moms did.
She accepted the gripper and used it to work off the sock so she could plop it on the rollator seat with her sneakers.
Mom picked up her book and tucked it under her arm.
“We’re having a canning frolic at your aenti Frannie’s tomorrow.
I’ll plan to come to the store on Wednesday.
For now, we really do have to go to bed.
Chet will be honking his horn at the crack of dawn. I’ll make waffles and bacon. Waffles sound gut, don’t they?”
“Waffles sound great.”
Bonnie squeezed her tea mug on the rollator seat with her shoes.
She pulled herself up on her bare feet.
They felt deliciously cool.
“Danki for offering to help.
It’ll be gut.”
“Jah.
And I’ll be right there to help you up if you fall again.”
Such a well-meaning sentiment.
It came straight from her motherly heart.
All the same, part of life was learning to pick up oneself all on her lonesome.
Mom paused at the door once again.
“Don’t worry; I won’t forget to confirm your appointment for next week.”
If only they could both forget.
Instead they were reminded every time Bonnie dropped something, every time she picked up a needle, every time her hands refused to do the simplest task.
“Of course you will.”