“And you told me,” Mary Aaron countered. “You must have known that I might do something about it. We talked about what a shame it was.”
“Mary Aaron,” Rachel said gently. “We don’t have the right to interfere in her life. It’s not how . . . Englishers don’t take well to interference from strangers.”
Mary Aaron looked as though she was about to cry. “I don’t understand. If one of our neighbors was fighting with her sister and not speaking to her and she became critically ill, my mother would call or write to the sister. Even the bishop would let the neighbor’s relatives know she needed them. Everyone has disagreements, but family is always there for family.”
“Maybe in the Amish world, but not in the English.” Rachel dropped into the second chair and leaned forward, trying to figure out how to make her cousin understand the cultural differences. “Lots of English families are alienated from each other. People die and no one goes to their funerals.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mary Aaron protested. “How could they? We are all human. None of us is perfect, but who is so bad that they don’t deserve loving arms around them when they pass out of this world? Doesn’t the Bible teach us to forgive? Aren’t we supposed to return harsh words with gentle ones?”
“Ya.” Unconsciously, Rachel slipped into Deitsch. “But not everyone lives by our faith.”
Mary Aaron rose. “Well, what’s done is done. I found Mrs. Morris’s son and I called his office, and he called me back. He didn’t even know where his mother was. Apparently, he has someone at her apartment building who watches over her for him even though she doesn’t know it. She told him that his mother went away again, but he didn’t know she was coming here. I told the son that she was ill and that she said she doesn’t have very long to live. The son and his wife and their children got on a plane and came at once. They’re here.”
“Have you told her that they are here?” Rachel asked. She wondered what Mrs. Morris would think. She might be angry. And she, herself, was certainly to blame for sharing a confidence with Mary Aaron. But at the same time, she couldn’t help admiring her cousin for doing what she believed was right, no matter the cost.
Mary Aaron hesitated. “Ya, I told her they were here.”
“Then why hasn’t Mrs. Morris come down to meet them?”
Mary Aaron rubbed her hands together and then bit at the ragged sliver of fingernail again. “That’s why I need you. She won’t come down.”
Rachel looked at Mary Aaron. This was getting better by the moment. “She won’t come down?”
“She’s locked her door, and she told me to tell them to go away.” Tears filled Mary Aaron’s eyes. “It’s so sad. That nice man and lady and those two little boys. They’ve come all this way to see her, and now she won’t budge from her room.”
“Do you know why she doesn’t want to talk to them?”
Mary Aaron shook her head. “I suppose she’s still angry with them.”
Rachel sighed and glanced away, thinking. “How long have they been waiting?”
“An hour,” Mary Aaron said, wiping her teary eyes. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to help, and I think I’ve made everything worse.”
Rachel nodded. “It’s all right. I’ll see what I can do. Go to Ada and ask her to make up a tray for Bruce and his wife and children. Go to them and see what you can do to make them comfortable: toys for the little boys, crayons, and coloring books. If the children are tired after their journey, show the family to the yellow room. It’s empty and the Matthewses aren’t expected for another day. Just try and keep them all happy until I can convince Mrs. Morris to see them.”
“I can do that,” Mary Aaron promised and she quickly made her escape.
Rachel looked at her cat, which had wandered into the room. “Any brilliant ideas of how I’m going to clean up this mess?”
The big Siamese closed his eyes and turned his head away, his trick whenever he wanted to ignore her. Apparently, Bishop thought that if he couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see him, either. And there were times when he preferred to be invisible.
Which, right about now, didn’t seem like a bad idea. Invisible, or anywhere but here, would have been nice. She wished she were in State College picking up her wedding dress. Or even at the Studer farm having the hard conversation she needed to have with Mary Rose. Then Mary Aaron would have had to deal with the Morris family and their dysfunction.
As soon as those thoughts went through Rachel’s head, she was overwhelmed by her own selfishness. How could she be thinking of her own inconvenience or embarrassment when her guest was upstairs dying alone? What was wrong with her that she had forgotten compassion? She might not be able to help Alma save her son from spending the rest of his life in prison, but she could take the time to try and help Mrs. Morris bridge the gap between her and her son. She’d opened this home to guests knowing full well that part of her job would be to welcome them and make their lives easier while they were with her. And if she didn’t continue to do her best, regardless of her own inconvenience, then she’d chosen the wrong career.
Taking a deep breath, Rachel forced herself to go up to Mrs. Morris’s room and knock on the door. “Mrs. Morris, it’s Rachel. Could I come in?” she called. She knocked again when there was no response. “Mrs. Morris?”
“Go away. I told the hippie Amish girl. I don’t want to talk to anyone,” came a small voice.
Rachel hesitated, then checked the doorknob. It was locked. Common courtesy said that Mrs. Morris deserved her privacy. But Rachel’s Amish upbringing wouldn’t stand for that. Instead of walking away, Rachel slid aside a
