Shelley Shepard Gray - The Caregiver: Families of Honor, Book One

Amish proverb

Psalm 23:4

Contents

L ucy shielded her face when the antique platter crashed to the floor. Though whether she was shielding it from shards of pottery or bracing herself for another sting from Pauls hand, she didnt really know.

Most likely both.

But all her husband did was pull open the screen door. You are such a disappointment, Lucy, he bit out, each word seething with venom. Such a disappointment. In every possible way.

Her lip bled as she fought to remain still under his glaring eyes. Prepared herself for another diatribe. Then Paul simply shook his head in disgust and stormed out the kitchen door. It slammed behind him as he bolted down the stairs and strode along the worn path to their barn.

When his footsteps faded, Lucy leaned against the gleaming counters of her kitchen and willed herself to stop shaking.

Trembling and crying wont help, she sternly urged herself. When Paul came back, he would expect every trace of the bright blue dish cleaned up and the rest of the kitchen to be spotless. With a scant glance at the clock over the screen door, she saw it was a quarter after six.

She had fifteen minutes. Maybe eighteen.

After wiping the blood from her mouth with a dishcloth, she carefully picked up the pieces of pottery. Tried not to remember her grandmothers expression when shed presented the serving piece to her and Paul. Her lip quivered. Oh, but her grandmother had been so proud to give her something that had been in their family for four generations.

And Lucy had been proud to receive it. After all, she was the eldest of six children and was marrying well. Paul Troyer was a pillar of their community and had promised that he would be able to help out her brothers and sisters financially.

And now the dish was shattered. Irreparable. Much like her marriage.

She glanced at the clock again. 6:22. Oh, but time is wasting! Quickly, Lucy picked up her pace. Putting both knees on the ground, she scanned the floor and snatched up every shard that she could find, only wincing slightly when one of the pieces tore at her thumb.

After hurriedly bandaging her finger so blood wouldnt stain anything, Lucy wiped the floor with a damp cloth. Then she attacked the dishesthe source of Pauls latest discontent. Dinner had been late. Shed been helping her mother with her littlest sister. Lizzie had the flu and was feverish, so Lucy had offered to watch her while her mother went to school to attend Jeremy and Karls spelling bee program.

But then her mother had run late. Making Lucy return late. And the chicken had gone into the oven at 5:30 instead of 5:15. Paul had been very angry.

She darted a look out the window. Surmising that he was still in the barn, Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. All she had to do was wash the dishes, scrub two pans, and put them all neatly away before he returned. If she did that, everything might still be all right.

She stole another glance at the clock. 6:26.

With the experience of almost two years of marriage, Lucy hurriedly wrapped up the remains of the dinner, then washed and dried each piece of pottery. Sweat ran down the middle of her back as she raced to put each dish away, then ran a cloth over the counters.

Finally, she straightened out the red-and-white tin canisters to the right of the oven. Made sure they were in perfect alignment, not a one out of place.

Only then did she allow herself to breathe a sigh of relief. The kitchen was clean. She darted yet another glance at the clock. 6:34. She had made it.

As she always did, Lucy braced herself to hear Pauls footsteps. Prepared to meet him with a smile... as if he hadnt thrown the dinner platter to the floor. As if he hadnt raised his hand to her.

But still the clock ticked... and he didnt arrive. Warily, Lucy peeked out the window. Glanced at the clock. 6:50.

A new set of worries settled in her stomach. To spend so long in the barn wasnt like him. Paul was nothing if not prompt; and she had learned the hard way about the folly of not adhering to his schedule.

Not knowing what else to do, she pulled out a chair. And waited. Another hour passed.

When the sun started to set, Lucy stood and paced. Common sense told her to walk to the barn to check on her husband. But self-preservation warned her. Paul didnt like her to disturb him. He didnt like her to spy on him.

And surely he would not be happy if she went to the barn without him telling her she could. Almost without thought, she rubbed the knot that now was a permanent fixture on her arm. Shed learned that lesson the hard way.

Thirty minutes later, Lucy felt sick to her stomach. It was now almost 8:30, the time Paul liked to read the Bible and discuss his plans for the next day. Surely something was wrong.

Worrying her bottom lip, she slowly opened the screen door and stepped outside. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Star, their shepherd mix, whining outside the barn door.

Star?

The dog barked, then whined some more. Pulled on the rope that hitched him to a post by the barns entrance.

Lucy started forward. For Star to be still tied up, that was strange indeed. Usually Paul let him loose once he went into the barn to inspect the horses. Star? Are you okay? she asked as she freed the dog.

The dog answered by barking again and pawing at the barns entrance.

Lucy gathered her courage. Prepared herself to meet Pauls barrage of abuse for disturbing him. Or for him to yank at her shoulder for spying.

But the daylight was waning. Lucy didnt know what Paul wanted her to do, but when Star pawed the door again, she opened it and stepped in. Her heart beat wildly. With a cautious, dry swallow, she whispered, Paul?

Only the nervous neigh of their horses replied.

She walked in farther, then stopped in shock.

Paul lay at the base of the ladder that led to the barns loft. She rushed to his side and knelt, Star at her heels. Paul! she cried out. Paul! Paul?

Thats when she noticed his neck was at an odd angle and his eyes were open. Lifeless.

Gingerly, she pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. But there wasnt one. Her husband was dead.

~One year later~

L ucy? Lucy, you come here this instant.

Pauls voice echoed through their home, practically shaking the rafters. Definitely shaking her nerves. In a panic, she slipped her pencil into the middle of her diary, shut it, then hastily stuffed it in between the wooden slats and into the box springs of their bed.

She got to her feet and went to find her husband.

He stood at the bottom of the steps, his hands on his hips, rage in his eyes.

Yes, Paul? she asked, taking care to keep her tone even and calm.

Where is the bread you made today?

She rushed past him, careful not to make contact. In the kitchen, she opened the bread box. Here, she said, slipping out the fresh loaf. Would you like a slice?

Slowly, he shook his head. Nee.

He turned from her and stomped off, just as she caught her breath. Oh, that had been a close call. She knew what would have happened if she hadnt found the bread...

Abruptly, he turned around. Lucy? Did you make bread for your family, too?