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my eyes. . . . I’ve been havin’ a bit of trouble, that’s all.”
    “What sort of trouble?” asked Esther.
    “Just some blurriness every so often. . . . It comes and goes.”
    “Well, have you told the doctor about this?” Mam wanted to know.
    Rachel sighed, feeling awful about the broken juice glass. And terribly uneasy having to answer so many questions. What she really wanted was to be left alone to grieve for her husband and son. “I hate to bother anyone about it, really. Prob’ly nothing much at all.”
    But when the nurse came in to pick up the tray, Esther inquired anyway. “What could be causing Rachel’s eyes to blur up?”
    “Can you describe your symptoms, Rachel?” asked the nurse.
    “I don’t see so clearly anymore. Everything’s all murky.”
    “Do you see light and shapes?”
    “Jah, but it’s a lot like lookin’ through a cloud.”
    Esther spoke up just then. “Doesn’t seem normal, her having foggy vision—not after a miscarriage, does it?”
    “Well, I’ll certainly mention this to the doctor,” the nurse said. “He’ll probably want to do a preliminary check on Rachel’s eyes, then, if necessary, refer her to an eye specialist.”
    “Thank you ever so much,” Esther replied.
    When the nurse left the room, Rachel reached out for her cousin’s hand and squeezed hard. “Thank you ,” she whispered. The doctor wasted no time in coming. He marched into the hospital room carrying Rachel’s chart, a stethoscope dangling around his neck. “I hear you’re experiencing some eye discomfort.”
    “No pain, really. Things are just all blurry.”
    “Well, we can’t have you going home like that, can we?” he said casually, lifting her left eyelid and flashing a pen light into it. “Just exactly how much can you see now?”
    Rachel struggled to describe her vision loss as the doctor led her through a series of probing questions.
    “I don’t need to tell you that you’ve been through a lot, Rachel. You’re still reeling from having witnessed something no one should ever have to see. You’ll need time to recover.”
    Recover?
    She couldn’t see how she would ever recover from such a loss as this. And she didn’t want to be reminded of the grim accident scene. No, she desperately wanted to forget.
    “But what would cause her eyes to blur?” asked Dat, sitting on the other side of the room, pressing for more explanation. “I couldn’t say for sure, Mr. Zook, but from what Rachel has just told me, the disruption in her vision may be related to what we call post-traumatic stress.”
    “How long will it go on?” Dat asked, his voice sounding thinner now.
    “My guess is no longer than a week” came the cautious reply. “Only in rare cases does it persist. But if it does continue, I’d recommend you see an eye specialist and . . . perhaps a psychiatrist who specializes in grief counseling.”
    Rachel’s vision was blurry, but she could see well enough to notice the nervous glances exchanged between Mam and Dat. Esther listened quietly, her gaze intent on the doctor.
    He continued. “I’m confident that with love and support of those close to her, Rachel should recover very soon if this is, indeed, the reason.”
    Rachel mentally replayed the doctor’s strange description of her condition. It sounded as if he thought she needed a head doctor. I’m not crazy , she thought.
    Dat and Mam quizzed the doctor for several more minutes before he left to make his rounds, and Rachel took some comfort in his comment that her eyes would likely return to normal soon.
    No longer than a week. . . .
    In all truth, she was so discouraged by grief and the suppression of dreadful memories, her eye problem seemed almost trivial by comparison.

Four
    T he joint funeral for Jacob and young Aaron was delayed a full twenty-four hours, making it possible for Rachel, though sickly and sorrowful, to attend. Her parents and siblings—and Jacob’s family—lovingly surrounded her. And there