Chapter 6

Emma jumped when Joe nudged her elbow. The music was starting again, and she flushed when she realized that she was probably the last person to rise. She was surprised to see a full band playing, even the drums. She’d expected traditional hymns, but instead the music was modern and lively. She didn’t recognize the song, but she could have sung along if she’d been willing because the lyrics were projected on the screens. In the church she’d attended sporadically growing up, they’d always sung from hymnals, and this giant PowerPoint®  display struck her as rather unseemly.

But Aunt Karen, who stood to Andrew’s left, seemed very comfortable. In fact, even though tears coursed down her cheeks, she looked almost ecstatic. Her hands raised toward heaven, she sang about blessing God’s name on a road of suffering.

She wondered if Karen honestly felt like blessing God’s name at this moment. She couldn’t understand that kind of faith, but she figured it must be nice to hide behind it in times like this.

The next verse brought a shock of recognition; it was the same scripture Pastor Daniels had quoted from Job, about God giving and taking away.

Again, Emma tensed, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Desperate to be alone, she thought of excusing herself to visit the restroom, but she couldn’t possibly push her way down the crowded row. So she endured two more songs and waited to be dismissed.

When Pastor Daniels returned to the podium, instead of offering the closing prayer, he asked whether anyone had any thoughts to share about Evan and Rachel. In the awkward silence, Emma’s heart thumped wildly, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. Was she expected to say something? Why hadn’t she prepared something to say about her sister?

She let out her breath when Uncle Robert stood and made his way up to the platform, reluctantly accepting the microphone. She didn’t catch everything he said because she was still worrying about what was expected of her, but she did hear him talking about Rachel’s affectionate nature and Evan’s willingness to help anyone in need.

A few other members from both families spoke, but she noted with relief that her mother wasn’t going forward either. As she listened to all the glowing descriptions of Rachel’s character, Emma wondered what had made her sister so special, worthy to be honored by so many people.

The last two speakers came forward together. One was an older gentleman with an expensive gray suit and a comb-over, and the other was the pretty young woman from the funeral home. Emma elbowed Joe and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

He shrugged and smiled at her.

The man introduced himself as John Patterson, principal of the Elkhart middle school where Rachel had taught eighth-grade English. He smoothed his meager hair over the crown of his head and said, “Mrs. Marsh… Rachel… was a dedicated teacher from the time she started at our school 13 years ago. A few years back, she started staying late and working with troubled children, and some remarkable changes took place—both in their behavior and their academic performance. As more children started gathering in her room, she encouraged them to tutor each other. 

“When the task became too big for Rachel to handle alone, she helped organize a school-wide peer tutoring program. Within two years we had 6 teachers and over 50 students participating in the program. We’ve seen a marked increase in both grade averages and standardized test scores.

“But test scores aren’t the most important part of this story. Many of these children’s lives were forever changed because Rachel chose to believe in them.” He laid a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “And now I’d like you to meet one of those students, Ana Hernandez.”

Although Ana’s hand trembled when she took the microphone, her voice was strong and clear. “Thank you, Mr. Patterson. Like you said, Mrs. Marsh really changed my life. I was probably one of her most difficult students when she met me. I was hurt and angry because of some difficult experiences in my life, and I acted out in her class. As a result, I got to know her very well during all the time I spent with her in detention!”

Ana chuckled, and the crowd laughed with her. “During detention, she took time to learn more about me. I could tell she cared about me—even loved me—and it made me nervous. I guess I was afraid she’d let me down, so I became even more rebellious and disrespectful in class, and I spent even more time in detention. I could see that she was angry sometimes, but still she kept loving me.

“After a few weeks, she convinced me to get my missing work turned in, not just for her class but for all my classes. Before long, I was making straight A's! I was so excited that I told all my friends about it, and some of them asked if they could come in with me after school.

“Mrs. Marsh continued to mentor me for several more years, throughout high school. I graduated in the top ten and received a scholarship to IUSB.” She grinned triumphantly, and then continued, “I’m a junior now, majoring in education with a minor in science. I’m going to be the first person in my family to earn a college degree.”

There were murmurs of approval, and it seemed for a moment that the listeners were about to break into applause. Instead, they shifted in their seats and waited expectantly.

“As thrilled as I am about my future career as a teacher, that’s not the most important thing that happened to me because of Mrs. Marsh. No, the most important thing she gave me was love. Love, even when I didn’t deserve it. I asked her once how she could love like that, and she told me it was the love of Jesus inside her. At first I wasn’t ready to hear that, but the way she loved me and her other students… I knew that was real, and I wanted that kind of love for myself. I gave my heart to Jesus when I was a junior in high school, and I’ve been growing in my faith ever since then.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she looked down at her hands. When she tried to speak, a sob shook her small frame. She inhaled deeply and concluded, “Losing Mrs. Marsh is… almost unbearable. I wish I could repay her for the difference she’s made in my life. I only pray I can have the same impact on other young people one day. Thank you.”

She slipped her arm through Mr. Patterson’s bent elbow, and they walked off the platform together. The auditorium was utterly silent as everyone contemplated Ana’s words.

 Emma was stunned. She thought about her own life and wondered if there was anyone at all whose life she’d touched.  What does it feel like to have a life that really matters?

***

Emma was disappointed when Ana wasn’t at the burial. She wanted to hear more of her story, and to know why Ana had said that Rachel loved her. She half hoped Ana would come for supper at her mother’s house, but there was no reason to expect that.

Ana wasn’t there, but her entire family was. They had filled every room and spilled into the driveway, where some of them sat with TV trays, hoping to catch an evening breeze.

Emma stepped around the cousins milling about the kitchen, avoiding their eyes as she filled her paper plate. Robert’s daughter Kristin stopped in mid-sentence when she noticed her, and her eyes filled with tears. She opened her arms.  “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

Emma held out her paper plate and cup, shrugging apologetically. She wasn’t sure how to respond, so she didn’t say anything, only gave a sad smile.

Kristin sniffed and touched Emma’s elbow.

“Oh, there’s Andrew.” Emma cocked her head to call him over. “Andrew, did you get your plate yet?”

After he’d loaded his plate with chips and cheese sauce, she led him past the full dining room table and into the packed living room. Uncle Robert sprang up when he saw her, motioning her to into the armchair he’d just left. Andrew squeezed in beside her, and they both balanced their plates precariously on opposite arms of the chair.

Robert started to speak, but apparently thought better of it. He squeezed her shoulder lightly and then excused himself.

Andrew took off the moment he spied Adam. Emma sighed as she picked up the full plate he’d left on the floor. She picked at her broccoli and cauliflower florets while she half listened to all the conversations swirling around her. The blend of voices brought back memories of holidays during her childhood, when she had sat at her mother’s feet in this same room, the adults’ conversation almost as soothing as her mother’s gentle hands playing with her hair.

She wondered where her mother was now, and whether she should look for her, but she didn’t have the energy to get up.

At first the talk centered around the funeral, procession, and burial, but then the focus shifted to reminiscing about Rachel’s and Evan’s lives. Emma found herself laughing along with the others at the memories of Rachel’s clumsy attempts at soccer, and volleyball, and ballet.

Speaking for the first time, she shared the story of their first ballet recital when she was eight, and how proud she and seven-year-old Rachel had been of their pink leotards and ill-fitting, second-hand ballet slippers. She recalled how their mother had stayed up late after work in the evenings, gluing the sequins on two pairs of butterfly wings that she’d fashioned out of coat hangers and a purple gossamer fabric. She remembered the thunderous applause in the small auditorium, and how she’d been surprised to see tears in her mother’s eyes.

“I cried because I missed your father.”

Emma turned at the sound of her mother’s voice. There were tears in her eyes now, too.

“I was so proud of you two that it hurt, and I wished he was there to clap with me. There were a lot of moments like that.”

“Like Rachel’s wedding,” Aunt Karen agreed.

As the conversation turned to details of the wedding and then to Rachel’s life with Evan, the warmth of Emma’s laughter receded. She’d missed so many years of her sister’s life, and there was no way to get them back. A physical weight constricted her chest, and she couldn’t fill her lungs. She had to get away, out into the fresh air.

Gathering her empty plate and Andrew’s full one, she hurried through the now deserted kitchen to the back door, but turned on her heel when she saw Joe outside. She couldn’t bear any more sympathy just now.

She dropped the plates into the garbage can by the door and surveyed the mess in the kitchen. Half-full cups and messy paper plates lined the counters, and dried cheese sauce coated the sides of the empty slow cooker. She stuffed the plates and cups into the bulging trash bag and rummaged in the bottom cabinets for storage bowls. As she restored the kitchen to order, her breathing gradually returned to normal. 

***

Emma was just filling the dishpan with soapy water when her mother joined her. “I thought I’d find you here.” Emma nodded, and Ellen smiled. “I know, I had to get away too. Move over, and I’ll dry for you.” 

For several minutes, the only sound was the sloshing water and the clank of pots in the dishpan. Finally Emma spoke. “You know all the things people said at the funeral? It was like… like they were talking about a different Rachel. Was she really that religious, Mom?”

Ellen rearranged the bottom shelf of the cabinet to make room for the clean slow cooker. Holding onto the edge of the counter, she pulled herself back up to face Emma. “Yes, I guess she was. I’m not sure when it happened exactly, but your sister really changed over the last few years.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I wish I would have asked her. I never wanted to pry. And to be honest, whenever she brought up anything about God, I tried to change the subject. I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of faith, especially since I lost your father.”

Emma threw herself into scouring the chipped yellow porcelain stove top with a steel wool pad. It was no one’s fault but her own that she didn’t know her own sister.

“I just remembered something,” Ellen said, touching Emma’s arm and stilling her scrubbing. “I know how you can find out what happened to Rachel.”

“How?” Emma turned away from the stove.

“I can’t believe I didn’t mention it sooner.”

“How?” Emma repeated, barely able to restrain her impatience.

“Her journals. After your visit at Christmas, Rachel took me aside one Sunday and told me she had a stack of journals, and she wanted me to make sure you got them if something ever happened to her. It seemed odd that she’d talk about something happening to her, but–”

“Where are they?”

“Well, I don’t know. I can’t remember if she told me or not. I guess you’ll have to look for them at her house.”

Emma’s heartbeat quickened. “Maybe we can go tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow yet. I promised your Aunt Karen we’d go into Shipshewana and do some shopping. And then the next day I have to get back to work. I wish I could have off longer, but I was lucky to get three days off with it being June. One of the other girls is on vacation, and they had to bring in someone from the Elkhart store to run the dry cleaning machine.”

Emma’s disappointment was sharp. She turned back to the burned-on spaghetti sauce she’d been scraping off of a drip pan.  “Maybe you can mail me the journals when you find them. Joe needs to get back to work for a meeting Friday afternoon, and I figured we’d fly back with him that morning.”

“But Emma, can’t you stay any longer?”

She avoided her mother’s eyes. There was no way she was going to hang around here moping with her mother back at work. The sooner she could get back to her usual routine, the better. “It’s just that… I need to get back to work. I’ve got several big payrolls to do on Friday, and I don’t want to put all that on Melissa.”

“Don’t you think she’d understand under the circumstances? The truth is, I need you here. I was hoping you could go out to Rachel’s house and see what needs done.”

Emma’s resolve weakened. It wasn’t often that her mother asked for help—about as often as Emma did. “I suppose I could stay a few days. What do you need me to do?”

“The house needs to go on the market. I talked to a realtor today after the funeral, the son of my friend Judy—you know him, actually. It’s Darren Funkhauser. He went to school with you, didn’t he?”

“I guess so. So what did he say about the house?”

“Of course, he hasn't seen it yet, but with such an old house, there's bound to be a lot of work to get it ready. There’s no rush, though; it’ll be a few months before we can sell it anyway.”

“What kind of work?”

“Oh, cleaning, painting, repairs, and so forth. Now, don’t think I expect you to do the work yourself. I’m sure Robert and his kids can help me with whatever needs done. I just need you to make a list and give me an idea of what it might cost. You’ve always been good at organizing.”

Emma agreed to go out to the house on Friday and make an inventory. She supposed she could use her laptop to keep up with most of her work, and this would give her a chance to look for Rachel’s journals.

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