at her image in the mirror in the cool air of the exam room a week earlier, her doctor standing right next to her, pointing out where the incisions were healing. It had taken every bit of self-control she had to stand tall and straight and look directly . . . at her body, which looked so unfamiliar now.
To her, the sides of her chest looked broken and mismatched. Her right looked like herself, the left was now mottled with angry red scars. And flat, of course. Forever now, she would not have the figure she used to. There would be no reconstructive surgery for her like so many Englischers received.
“And then you will start chemo-ther-apy next week, ain’t so?” her mother asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.
“Yes. Lucy will get here, and then next Monday we will begin that.”
Her mother wrung her hands again. “I am so grateful for your cousin. Lucy’s visit is going to be a blessing for all of us.”
“Yes.”
“We should be giving thanks for her, Mattie.”
“I have been giving thanks for Lucy. Of course I have.”
But something in her voice must have not rung true, because her mother narrowed her eyes a bit and examined her more fully. Mattie did her best to look wide-eyed and relaxed under the inspection. But in truth, she felt as if her mother had suddenly located every flaw in her personality.
And Mattie knew there were many. And one, in particular, was most difficult to acknowledge. And that was the painful realization that her faith was not near as solid as she had imagined.
All her life Mattie had found comfort in the Lord’s presence. She’d always felt that she’d done her best to be a person she could be proud of, a person who others respected and admired.
As long as she could remember, she’d always done what she was supposed to. She’d been a dutiful daughter. She’d tried hard in school, had tried not to gossip, and lived by the rules of the Ordnung. And every night, without fail, she prayed.
She praised God for her many gifts. She gave thanks for her joys and for her family.
So why—at twenty-two years of age—did she get cancer?
That hardly seemed fair.
And though her mother and father spoke, mostly in platitudes, about how no one can know God’s will, and how He has a plan for each person . . . for the first time in her life, Mattie wasn’t sure she believed that.
Which was, of course, a terrible thing to admit.
“Mattie, we are almost at the medical center,” her mother said brightly, as if they were on their way to a county fair. “Perhaps afterward, we could go to the ice cream store and have a treat? Or maybe even to Bob Evans?”
“Yes. That would be nice,” Mattie said. Usually, her thoughts about that home-churned vanilla ice cream got her through the difficult examinations.
But today, the treat seemed like a too-small consolation for what was sure to be an uncomfortable appointment and a too-long journey to get there and back.
“Then we’ll head back to Jacob’s Crossing.”
“I will be ready to go home,” Mattie answered with far more emotion. She would be very ready to escape to the privacy of her room and relax and sleep. Once again, she wished that the medical center was not so far away. That she didn’t have to wait for the driver, and pay him for his time. That her mother—who meant so well, but was so irritating—hadn’t made Mattie’s cancer the center of her world.
All of it completely exhausted her.
Her mother’s cheeks bloomed. “I was going to wait, but I found I cannot keep my secret any longer.”
“Secret?”
“A group of us will be getting together at Joanne Knepp’s home to make fried pies for you. Mrs. Knepp wants you to come, too.”
Mattie’s head jolted back. “But, Mamm, I thought you agreed I should go home and rest.”
“Daughter, trust me. All the ladies will not expect you to be doing cartwheels,” her mother chided, as if Mattie didn’t know her mind. “No one expects you to stand on your feet and cook, either. But you could sit on the couch and chat with us, don’t you think?”
Mattie sighed. “You know how these appointments wear me out . . .”
“Yes, but seeing some fresh faces and chatting in their company shouldn’t be a problem.”
Before Mattie could comment, her mother patted her hand. “More likely, their companionship and heartfelt prayers will be just the cure you need.”
Mattie felt the bottom