favorite, including Rebekah’s. It seemed almost a matter of birthright.
A t the hospital, Leah looked even more ghastly than the day before. Constance Bontrager sat by her daughter’s bedside, an untouched cup of coffee in her hand, looking nearly as haggard as Leah. Rebekah’s father sat beside his wife, not physically touching but seemingly attentive all the same. I wonder if they touch without touching, the way Nick and I can . The room was filled with sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and close friends. They all moved over to make room for a few more and Rebekah went to the side of her sister’s bed and sat on the edge of it, listening to the harsh sounds of Leah’s breathing. She sounds like she is drowning. She took her sister’s hand, so cool and clammy inside her own warm one and silently spoke to her.
Leah, I know that you can hear me now. Remember the times we baked cookies together? Remember the time we forgot the sugar and baking soda and they turned out terrible and we had to eat them anyway? Remember the times we played hooky from school so we could go out in the fields and pick daisies to braid and wear as crowns on our heads? Remember the time I broke Mother’s favorite dish and you told her you broke it so you would get the switching and not me? Well, I remember, Leah . I will always remember and never forget you. You were the one who showed me what love was and if it weren’t for you, I would never know. I’m sorry for all the times I teased you and for the times I didn’t love you as well as you loved me. I am sorry for disappointing you by loving Nick and I hope you can forgive me. I hope to see you in Heaven, Leah, but I don’t know if I will. I won’t be going there because I’m not as good as you are, and I never will be. So, I just hope you are happy where you go to be with Jesus Christ. Goodbye, my sweet Leah, goodbye.
And with that, Rebekah kissed her sister’s forehead and waited with the rest of the family until late that evening when Leah’s breathing came to an halt.
Riding home, Elder Bontrager spoke quietly to other family members regarding the funeral. It was to be in three days. Constance Bontrager sat beside her husband, silently weeping. It was the most emotion Rebekah had ever seen from her mother. The van stopped for supper and Ezekiel asked her if she wanted anything. She shook her head. She could not put food in her mouth; she could not let tears out. Ezekiel looked lost, as if wanting to say something. She dismissed him. He was always lost. He rarely spoke to her. She had nothing to say to him. Why start now?
That night, Rachel was fussily refusing to sleep. R ebekah, thankful for a reason to harbor her emotions inside, walked the downstairs floor with her, humming softly until the infant dropped off. She did not hear Ezekiel’s snores as she came in their bedroom. Putting Rachel into her cradle, Rebekah changed into her nightgown to go to bed, attempting to be silent so as not to wake Ezekiel. She had never been so physically, emotionally, and spiritually depleted, and was grateful that the day had ended so she could get a few hours of quiet before the next day began and funeral arrangements had to be made. In three days, family, friends and distant relations from all over the country would be in the Community to visit them and pay their last respects to Leah. There would be a day of singing and prayer and readings from the Scriptures. Leah’s body would be there in a wooden box, dressed in her Sunday best, and people would file in and out of her parents’ great room to say goodbye. Rebekah didn’t want to go near Leah’s dead body. It wasn’t that she was afraid; she had been around death from her earliest memories. It was that she had already said her goodbye in the hospital and anything else added would simply detract from what she and Leah had already shared.
As she
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