The Caregiver - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,41
good Lord was up to. For twenty years, he’d had little to no interest in any woman. Now, all the sudden, he seemed to be attracted to two. One English, one Amish.
It seemed the Lord definitely had a sense of humor.
Another week had passed—and with it, another chemotherapy treatment. In between had been a blur of doctors’ visits, blood tests, and nausea.
And, for Lucy, worry. She’d so wanted to help Mattie feel better, to help keep her spirits strong. But no matter what she did, her efforts paled in comparison to the sickness that had taken hold of her cousin’s body. Mattie’s skin was pallid and there were dark circles under her eyes.
But still she tried her best. “Things will get better, Mattie. I promise, they will.”
“I doubt it.”
“We can’t give up hope, dear. Come, let’s pray.”
“Not now,” she mumbled, just as her body was racked by fierce tremors. “Lucy, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”
Lucy bit her bottom lip to keep her voice smooth and strong. And to hide her worry and anxiety. “You must.”
“But the doctor didn’t say it would be this bad.”
“Ach. We both know it isn’t the doctor who knows everything. It is the nurses, jah?”
Mattie shivered again. “What did the nurses say, then? I don’t remember.”
“They said this time the chemo might make you sick. They said, for a lot of patients, the second treatment is worse than the first.”
“Then they were right about that.”
Mattie wrapped her arms around herself as she curled up on the couch. “Lucy, I am sorry. I thought I would be a better patient for you.”
“That is not why I came here, and you know it. I came to tend to you, not to sit and twiddle my thumbs.”
A lone tear slipped down her sweet cousin’s cheek as she looked her way. “I know you don’t mind, but I hate the idea of you seeing me like this. All I seem to be able to do is shake and throw up. It’s all awful.”
It was awful, but not in the way Mattie thought. It was awful to see her dear cousin suffer so. “It’s no worse than what you’ve done for me,” she said quietly. “Remember when you came to help me cook?”
“Because your arm was in a cast?” Mattie nodded. “Of course.”
“During that visit, you helped me more than I can say.”
Mattie turned her way. “Ah, now I know you are feelin’ flustered. Otherwise you wouldn’t have spoken of that time.”
Mattie was right. Rarely did Lucy ever choose to speak of her married life. And especially not the days when she’d been at her lowest. When Paul had made her life so miserable she’d wondered what had ever made her hope for a life next to Paul’s side. “Though I may not talk of it, I haven’t forgotten how good you were to me.”
“How good was I?” Mattie mused weakly. “I never said a word to the rest of the family about just how bad he hurt you.” After a moment, she added, “If I had, maybe he would’ve stopped.”
Lucy knew full and well that Paul never would have stopped. “You didn’t tell anyone because I asked you not to. Besides, what could you have done?” There had been no hope for any way out of her rocky marriage.
“My daed would’ve tried to help . . .”
Her uncle would have been no match for Paul’s will—or for her marriage vows. Besides, no lecture from her relatives would’ve stopped what happened when she and Paul were alone. “Shhh, Mattie. Do not speak of it.”
“But—”
“Nee. It’s all over now. There’s no need to worry yourself.” She didn’t want to talk about the past. Didn’t want to have to say that she had been very aware that most people in their family and her friends had had an extremely good idea of what went on in her marriage.
After all, while Paul had done his worst in private, he’d been open about his lack of respect for her. It didn’t matter who was around to witness his jabs—it was a rare day when she had ever been good enough for him.
Beside her Mattie shifted again. “I feel like my body’s on fire.”
“What can I do? Do you want some ice? Some cold compresses?”
“Nee. I’m sick and tired of ice.”
“Water? Juice?” She thought hard. “I brought some sodas home from the store. Do you remember how last time the soda helped your stomach?”
“I don’t want anything to drink.”
“Okay, then.”
Minutes passed. Almost