Chapter Twenty-Eight Mattie

TWENTY-EIGHT : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

DECEMBER 1969

Mama's cry woke me.

The sky outside my window was black, shrouding the farm in dark shadows. The glowing hands on the small clock on the bedside table told me it was half past four.

Should I see if Mama needed something?

The murmur of Dad's voice sounded. Their door creaked open, and I heard his soft footfalls as he padded to the bathroom. Running water, the click of the bedroom door, and then all was quiet again.

Despite closing my eyes, sleep wouldn't come. With a sigh, I sat up and turned on the lamp. Blinking until my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, I contemplated what to do. It was too early for breakfast. A cup of hot cocoa would be nice, but I didn't want to go downstairs and make noise.

My gaze drifted to the old shoebox on the desk.

Nash and I hadn't finished reading the letters. An emergency arose with one of the horses, and he and Dad spent hours in the barn working with a gelding that had injured its leg. I stayed with Mama, but she dozed most of the time. In her sporadic wakeful moments, she wanted to hear about Fred's accomplishments or what we'd had for dinner. Delving into her mysterious past would have to wait.

I tiptoed to the desk, avoiding a loose floorboard, and retrieved the box. Although I'd rather read the letters with Nash by my side, now was as good a time as any to go through the remaining notes from Gunther. Then I'd be ready to talk to Mama about them once the sun made its appearance.

Settled with the stack on my lap and my feet tucked beneath the covers, I picked up an envelope. The postmark was from Bismarck, North Dakota, dated January 1944.

Dear Ava,

Thank you for your letter. I'm glad to hear all is well on the farm. Your descriptions make me wish I could have seen it while I was in Tennessee.

Dr. Sonnenberg and I are studying the New Testament in the evenings while the other men play cards or chess in the casino. I am learning much about Jewish traditions, but I fear I am not a very good teacher when it comes to explaining why I believe Jesus Christ is the Messiah. It has made me want to spend more time reading God's Word. I can only pray that he will overcome my inadequacies and bring understanding to my friend.

We experienced our first blizzard last week. We could not leave the hospital for three days. Snowdrifts reached the eaves and covered doorways, and icicles more than six feet long still hang from the roof. I am grateful for brick walls, furnaces, and wool socks.

I hope your new year is full of blessings.

Your friend,

Gunther Schneider

I returned the letter to its envelope and reached for the next one in the stack. The content was much the same, only this time hints of spring gave Gunther hope that frigid weather would come to an end soon. A third letter told of his disappointment that Dr. Sonnenberg was no longer allowed to work in the hospital, but they continued their religious studies at night.

A long breath pushed past my lips.

There was nothing in Gunther Schneider's correspondence that made me believe he was anything more to my mother than a friend. Not one word of admiration or hint of attraction was exchanged, at least on his part. The missives were friendly, newsy, and nothing more.

I glanced at the three remaining envelopes.

I'd wait to read them with Nash, but I felt confident now that Mama hadn't had a romantic fling with the foreign man. Why she felt I needed to know about him was still unknown, but I was satisfied I had nothing to fear.

With that settled, I tossed all the envelopes back into the box. I was ready to carry it to the desk when my eyes fell on the partially hidden cover of the old Bible. I lifted it out.

Die Bibel.

The faded gold lettering and leather binding told me it had once been lovely. With gentle care, I opened it and read the handwritten inscription.

Für meinen Sohn, Ehre Gott immer. Ich liebe dich, Mutter.

I sounded out the strange words as best I could. "Fur meanin' Sohn. For my son."

The next words, however, still stumped me. "Air Got immer. Ick liebe ditch."

I had no clue what any of it meant.

The last word drew me. "Mutter. Mother."

If I were correct about the translation of the first line— For my son —then it would make sense that someone's mother had given him the Bible. The rest of the message was probably something sentimental only a mother would write.

Why was the book in Mama's possession? Had it belonged to the German prisoner Gunther Schneider?

My father's reaction at seeing the old book the day Mama dug through the trunk floated across my mind. Clearly he had not been pleased to see me with it. He'd never cared about anything associated with religion as far as I knew, but his unhappiness at seeing the old book that day was obvious. Was he angry Mama kept it all these years? Did he know about her correspondence with Gunther, and could he be jealous?

So many questions. Not enough answers.

Soft morning light began to fill the sky.

Nurse Bradford would be here soon. Even though I hadn't been thrilled when she started coming to help Mama, I now saw the wisdom in it. Her calm presence allowed us to maintain a normal daily routine despite the gravity of Mama's illness. I still found it impossible to believe Mama was dying. That terrible reality was something I simply couldn't dwell on for any length of time. Normalcy and busyness distracted me enough to make it through each day without completely falling apart.

The door to Nash's room was closed when I came downstairs. I guessed he was sleeping in after a late night in the barn, but he appeared in the kitchen after I started the coffee percolator. His shoulder-length hair was damp, telling me he'd already showered in the tiny downstairs bathroom Dad added on to the house when Mark and I were teenagers. A family of four adults couldn't share one bathroom, he'd declared.

"Morning," he said. "You're up early."

"I was going to say the same about you, considering you were out in the barn past midnight. How is the horse?"

While I poured each of us a cup of coffee, he filled me in on the horse's injury and prognosis. "The vet should be here soon to check on him, but your dad feels confident the leg will mend well."

I took a careful sip of the steaming liquid. "Now that I know Dad isn't Granny's son, I wonder how he learned so much about caring for horses."

"Maybe his family raised horses too."

"It's strange not knowing about my own grandparents. I mean, why would he and Mama let Mark and me think Granny was our biological grandmother? I would have rather known she wasn't, especially since she never really liked us."

He looked thoughtful. "I think it would've been hard for Granny to see your mom married and having a family with someone else. Didn't you say her son was her only child?"

His logic made sense. "Yeah, he was. Richard. And you're probably right. Granny no doubt mourned her son the rest of her life." I sighed. "Now I feel bad for playing pranks on her."

Nash grinned. "You and Mark did come up with some crazy ideas. I'll never forget the look on Granny's face when she came running out of the cottage after she found a baby skunk in her bathtub."

Later, Nurse Bradford arrived, followed by the veterinarian. Dad came downstairs and left the house with Nash, while I went upstairs with the nurse.

Mama was awake and greeted us with a weak smile.

"Hi, Mama." I bent to kiss her forehead. "Are you hungry? I could make you a soft-boiled egg and toast."

She shook her head. "Maybe in a bit." Her words were slow and slurred.

I stepped aside as Nurse Bradford came forward to check Mama's pulse and listen to her heart and lungs. "How did you sleep, Ava?" she asked as she glanced at her watch.

"Not well. I had a terrible headache."

Nurse Bradford kept up a one-sided conversation about the weather while she helped Mama sit up and lean against a mound of pillows. "Let's get you freshened up for the day. Do you need to use the bedpan?"

Mama looked confused. "The what?"

"Do you need to empty your bladder?" Nurse Bradford clarified.

Mama shook her head then looked at me. "Are you a nurse too?"

The question startled me. I shot a look at Nurse Bradford. Concern filled her face.

"Ava, can you tell me your whole name?"

Mama blinked, her brow furrowed. "Ava... Delaney."

Fear surged up in me. "What's wrong? Why is she so confused?" I whispered.

Nurse Bradford kept her attention on Mama. "Ava, do you know where you are?"

A long silence lapsed as Mama slowly gazed around the room. "The farm."

"That's right. And who is this young woman?" she asked, pointing to me.

Mama stared at me, her face blank.

"It's me, Mama. Mattie," I said, desperate for my mother to return to her normal self.

"Mattie," she repeated. Whether or not she knew I was her daughter, I wasn't sure.

"I think you should take a little rest now, Ava," Nurse Bradford said. "We can tend to your bath later."

By the time the nurse had her tucked beneath the covers, Mama was asleep. Nurse Bradford motioned me into the hallway.

I didn't wait for her to speak. "What's wrong with Mama? I've never seen her this confused. She didn't even know me."

Nurse Bradford's usual gentle smile and calming words were gone, replaced with a grave look in her eyes.

"I can't be certain, but I suspect the cancer has reached your mother's brain."

I gasped and covered my mouth.

"I'll call Dr. Monahan and let him know. He'll want to examine Ava, but without an X-ray, there's no way to be sure."

She hurried downstairs to use the telephone. I stood in the doorway to Mama's room, tears clouding my vision.

"Please don't take her," I whispered, not realizing I was praying until the words were out of my mouth. I didn't stop. "Don't take her," I hissed. "Not like you took Mark. I need her."

Mama groaned and tossed her head back and forth on the pillow.

I hurried to her. "Rest easy, Mama." I smoothed her cheek. "I'm right here with you."

She quieted for a time. I thought she'd fallen asleep when she stirred again. This time she mumbled something unintelligible.

"What, Mama? What did you say?"

Her eyes sprang open. Fear filled her face, and she reached for my hand.

"Gunther," she said, panicked. "Where's Gunther? I need him."

My heart felt as though it came to a screeching halt as I stared at her in horror.

Mama wasn't calling out for Dad.

She was calling out for Gunther Schneider.

· · ·

"Brain metastases occur when cancer cells spread from their original site to the brain," Dr. Monahan said as Dad, Nash, and I sat silent in the living room. Nurse Bradford remained upstairs with Mama so the doctor could deliver his devastating prognosis after his examination. "As the metastatic tumors grow, they create pressure on the brain, changing the function of surrounding tissue. This causes symptoms like headaches, personality changes, memory loss, and even seizures. Although we don't have conclusive proof that is what's happening, I've seen it before. There isn't any other reason why Ava would suddenly be forgetful of her environment and the people around her."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't look at anyone.

This shouldn't be happening. Not to my beautiful, gentle mother. She believed in God. Prayed. Went to church. The entire town knew her to be one of the kindest, most giving people.

"I'm sorry I don't have better news." Dr. Monahan sighed. "It will be important to keep her pain medication continuous. As the tumors enlarge, her pain level will increase. Nurse Bradford and I will discuss the use of an intravenous drip should it become difficult for Ava to swallow medication." He paused. "Do you have any questions?"

Neither Dad nor I spoke.

"What will happen next?" Nash asked.

I sent him a look of appreciation. I couldn't voice the query, but I needed to know the answer, no matter how much I hated it.

"Ava will steadily decline. She may have periods of lucidity, but she will grow increasingly confused. You mustn't become upset or try to reason with her. Keep her as calm and comfortable as possible."

Dad nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Monahan. We appreciate you coming so quickly."

His voice sounded normal, yet I had a feeling my father was struggling to keep himself composed. His hands trembled, and his jaw clenched and unclenched.

"You're welcome. You, Ava, and the kids," the doctor said, including me in his gaze, "are practically family. I wish there was more I could do."

Dad walked the doctor out while Nash and I remained in the living room.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I shook my head, fighting tears. When I trusted my voice, I said, "She doesn't deserve this, Nash."

"No, she doesn't."

"Then why is God doing this to her?" I said, my voice hard. "If he's as real as she believes, why would he do this to one of his most faithful followers?"

I didn't expect an answer. That same question had no doubt been asked through the ages.

Dad returned. His face looked ashen as he retook his seat. "Dr. Monahan said he would come by tomorrow. LuAnn will call him if we need him before that."

I knew there were things we should discuss—end-of-life things—but I couldn't handle them right now.

I stood. "I'm going to see if Mama is hungry. She didn't eat any breakfast."

Dad simply nodded.

When I reached the upstairs landing, relief swept through me when I saw Mama sitting up in bed.

"There's my girl." She still sounded groggy, but at least she knew who I was.

"I thought I'd come see if you were hungry."

Nurse Bradford rose from the chair next to Mama's bed. "We were just talking about that. I'll go downstairs and heat some broth."

I settled in the vacant seat. There were so many things we needed to talk about. It seemed surreal that time was running out. Dr. Monahan said she would become more and more forgetful as the tumors grew. Just this morning I concluded her friendship with Gunther Schneider wasn't important, but after hearing her call for him, I didn't know what to believe.

"Mama," I began but faltered.

Should I simply leave the past in the past? Her secrets would be buried with her when the time came. Yet she'd wanted me to know. To understand something about her that she felt was important.

"Mama, can I ask you a question?"

Her gaze was fixed on the window where sunshine spilled into the room. When she turned to me, she seemed like she was a million miles away. "You look so much like your father."

The comment surprised me. I'd always been told I resembled her. We had the same coloring, the same shape to our faces.

"He was so handsome," she continued, her voice soft. "I knew I'd always love him, even when everyone told me I shouldn't."

"What do you mean? Who said you shouldn't love him?"

She rubbed her temple, grimacing. "My head hurts again."

"Mama," I said, urgency in my voice. I reached for her hand, drawing her attention back to me. "Why weren't you supposed to love him?"

The question seemed to draw her back to the present. "I never told anyone. Only Gertrude knew, but she promised to keep our secret."

"What secret, Mama?"

"We kept it from you and Mark to protect you."

My mouth went dry, and icy fingers of fear gripped my thundering heart. "Mama, what secret?"

She closed her eyes for a long moment before she met my gaze.

"Your father was a German prisoner at Camp Forrest," she whispered. "His name is Gunther Schneider."