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Authors: Barbara Cameron
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left. Her shoulders slumped. "Now what am I supposed to do?"
"I'm sorry."
Jenny rubbed at her forehead. "I need to get some soup into Grossmudder. This is all I have."
She pawed through the freezer and came up with a container labeled "Three Bear Soup." It was beef based, not made of chicken broth. But maybe it didn't matter. Maybe all that mattered was that it was warm and healthy.
The trouble was, the container was frozen solid. At that moment, she wished for electricity more than she ever had. She didn't mind that they didn't have television or even air conditioning when it got miserably hot canning the harvest from her kitchen garden.
But right now she wanted a microwave so much. Then she could hit "defrost" and thaw the soup, warm it up, and it didn't matter if a husband didn't pay attention—the soup would never burn away while he sat inches away from it and read his magazine.
She plunked the container in a pan and went to the sink to run water in it. Then she placed it on the stove and turned the flame up beneath it. This time, no matter what happened, she wasn't leaving to do anything else.
"Look, is there anything I can do?"
Sighing, she turned and shook her head. "No. Well, maybe you could go tell Grossmudder it'll be a few more minutes."
She watched him shift his feet and cast a nervous glance at the door.
"Just knock on the door and call in to her. You don't need to go in—you shouldn't go in her room."
"Oh, gut."
Jenny got out a tray, placed a plate with some crackers on it, and filled a glass with orange juice.
7
J enny woke suddenly and wondered what had awakened her.
She was sitting up for the third night with her grandmother since she'd moved into the dawdi haus. Reaching out, she touched Phoebe's forehead to see if she had a fever. To her disappointment, it was back again with a vengeance.
Just as she started to rise from the rocking chair, her grandmother stirred and opened her eyes. Jenny opened her mouth to speak and then realized Phoebe was staring at the end of her bed. Glancing in that direction, Jenny didn't see anything.
"Jacob," Phoebe said and she smiled, then fell asleep again.
Jacob? Jenny went cold.
Stumbling to her feet, she rushed into the kitchen of her home, straight into Matthew standing at the stove pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Matthew! Oh, Matthew!"
He immediately set down the cup. "What is it? Is Phoebe —?"
She shook her head but she was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Matthew gathered her into his arms and held her. "Are you cold? What's the matter? You're not getting sick, too, are you?"
He held her away from him and put the back of his hand against her forehead the way she'd done with her grandmother. "You can't get sick."
She heard the fear in his voice and quickly shook her head. "No, it's not that, I'm fine. I'm not getting sick." But she was, she thought. She was sick at heart. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she clung to him.
He drew her closer and made that shushing sound he used to comfort. "I know it's upsetting to see your grossmudder so sick. But she's going to be all right. She's going to be all right."
"She's not," she wailed. "She's not."
Again, he held her away from her and studied her. "Why do you say that? Do we need to call an ambulance? What's wrong?"
"I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm just so scared."
"Jenny, tell me what's wrong. Now!" he said firmly.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath. "She saw my grandfather tonight. She woke up and said his name."
"That doesn't mean she saw him. You remember you said she was a little disoriented that first night when she woke up here. She probably did the same thing, woke up and thought she was back in the time when he was alive. Older people get that way sometimes even when they're not sick. Is her fever up?"
She hesitated and then she shook her head. "Yes, but it wasn't like that. She was looking at the end of the bed. She acted like she could see
"I'm sorry."
Jenny rubbed at her forehead. "I need to get some soup into Grossmudder. This is all I have."
She pawed through the freezer and came up with a container labeled "Three Bear Soup." It was beef based, not made of chicken broth. But maybe it didn't matter. Maybe all that mattered was that it was warm and healthy.
The trouble was, the container was frozen solid. At that moment, she wished for electricity more than she ever had. She didn't mind that they didn't have television or even air conditioning when it got miserably hot canning the harvest from her kitchen garden.
But right now she wanted a microwave so much. Then she could hit "defrost" and thaw the soup, warm it up, and it didn't matter if a husband didn't pay attention—the soup would never burn away while he sat inches away from it and read his magazine.
She plunked the container in a pan and went to the sink to run water in it. Then she placed it on the stove and turned the flame up beneath it. This time, no matter what happened, she wasn't leaving to do anything else.
"Look, is there anything I can do?"
Sighing, she turned and shook her head. "No. Well, maybe you could go tell Grossmudder it'll be a few more minutes."
She watched him shift his feet and cast a nervous glance at the door.
"Just knock on the door and call in to her. You don't need to go in—you shouldn't go in her room."
"Oh, gut."
Jenny got out a tray, placed a plate with some crackers on it, and filled a glass with orange juice.
7
J enny woke suddenly and wondered what had awakened her.
She was sitting up for the third night with her grandmother since she'd moved into the dawdi haus. Reaching out, she touched Phoebe's forehead to see if she had a fever. To her disappointment, it was back again with a vengeance.
Just as she started to rise from the rocking chair, her grandmother stirred and opened her eyes. Jenny opened her mouth to speak and then realized Phoebe was staring at the end of her bed. Glancing in that direction, Jenny didn't see anything.
"Jacob," Phoebe said and she smiled, then fell asleep again.
Jacob? Jenny went cold.
Stumbling to her feet, she rushed into the kitchen of her home, straight into Matthew standing at the stove pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Matthew! Oh, Matthew!"
He immediately set down the cup. "What is it? Is Phoebe —?"
She shook her head but she was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Matthew gathered her into his arms and held her. "Are you cold? What's the matter? You're not getting sick, too, are you?"
He held her away from him and put the back of his hand against her forehead the way she'd done with her grandmother. "You can't get sick."
She heard the fear in his voice and quickly shook her head. "No, it's not that, I'm fine. I'm not getting sick." But she was, she thought. She was sick at heart. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she clung to him.
He drew her closer and made that shushing sound he used to comfort. "I know it's upsetting to see your grossmudder so sick. But she's going to be all right. She's going to be all right."
"She's not," she wailed. "She's not."
Again, he held her away from her and studied her. "Why do you say that? Do we need to call an ambulance? What's wrong?"
"I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm just so scared."
"Jenny, tell me what's wrong. Now!" he said firmly.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath. "She saw my grandfather tonight. She woke up and said his name."
"That doesn't mean she saw him. You remember you said she was a little disoriented that first night when she woke up here. She probably did the same thing, woke up and thought she was back in the time when he was alive. Older people get that way sometimes even when they're not sick. Is her fever up?"
She hesitated and then she shook her head. "Yes, but it wasn't like that. She was looking at the end of the bed. She acted like she could see
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