“Do you always do what the elders say?” Both Ethan and Charity quoted rules and words of others. Did they ever think for themselves?
“Gelassenheit,” he said. “That’s German for patience and resignation. It means obedience to the Amish community. It is not something we do. It is something we are.”
Leah had been raised to be on her own. Her mother’s many marriages, their frequent moves and different schools had taught her to be independent. But she saw quite clearly that for the Amish, individuality was not a virtue. It was a curse. She stood. “Well, it looks like we’ve come full circle, Ethan. You were right after all—the English and the Amish can’t mingle.”
He stood too. “But we can care about one another,” he said carefully. “We can always care.”
She knew he meant care in a brotherly way. But after spending time with him, she didn’t want to be just another sister to him. She wanted to be a girl who mattered to him the way Martha Dewberry mattered. Except that Leah wasn’t Amish. And she never would be.
Published by
Dell Laurel-Leaf
an imprint of
Random House Children’s Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Copyright © 1996 by Lurlene McDaniel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address Dell Laurel-Leaf.
Dell and Laurel are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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www.randomhouse.com/teachers
eISBN: 978-0-307-81412-8
RL: 4.7, ages 012 & up
A Bantam Book/November 1996
First Laurel-Leaf Edition December 2003
v3.1
This book is dedicated to the memory of
Emily Anne Thomas, a loyal reader
and a precious child of God.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Other Books by This Author
“Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?” (Hebrews 13:2, New International Version)
“Well, I can’t believe a broken finger can land you in the hospital, Leah. Are you telling me everything? Are you sure those doctors know what they’re doing? I expected Indiana to be a little more progressive. Even if we are living in the boondocks.”
Leah Lewis-Hall gripped the phone receiver. Her mother sounded as if she were next door instead of halfway around the world in Japan on her honeymoon. Leah took a deep breath, not wanting to scream at her mother. But she didn’t want to let her know how scared she was either. I’m sixteen and perfectly capable of handling the unexpected on my own, she told herself. After all, nothing about her and her mother’s lives together had ever approached what was expected all these years.
Patiently Leah explained, “I saw the doctor Neil said to call in case of an emergency. He did some X rays and blood work and told me my finger was broken. Then he told me I should come to the hospital and be checked out more thoroughly. So I did.”
“How did you break your finger?”
“I don’t know. After I took you and Neil to the airport, it just started hurting. I didn’t bang it or anything. But it hurt so bad I couldn’t even sleep last night.” She didn’t add that sleeping alone in the old farmhouse Neil was renovating for the three of them to live in wasn’t exactly restful. “Maybe the doctor thought I should be in the hospital because the two of you are so far away.”
“I want to talk to a doctor. Is one around?”
“Not right now. Neil’s doctor said to call him at his office and he’d discuss it with you.” Leah hated acting as go-between. What other girl her age had to check herself into the hospital alone?
Neil Dutton got on the phone. “What’s going on, sugar?”
Leah wanted to shout, “I’m not your sugar and you aren’t my father!” Instead she explained the situation all over again.
Neil said, “Dr. Howser’s a good man, and if he thinks you’re better off in the hospital, then you are. Don’t you worry, I’ll call him and get the whole story and call you back later tonight. It’s six A.M. here,” he mused, “so that makes it—what? About four in the afternoon over there?”
“That’s right.” In Japan it was also a day later.
“I know we’re a long way off, but if you want us to come home, we can be there in less than twenty-four hours.”
Although being in the hospital frightened her, Leah certainly didn’t want to interrupt her mother’s new life. And she was positive that wasn’t what her mother wanted either. Also, she vaguely remembered that Neil, a retired auto executive, had an important meeting scheduled with some Japanese businessmen on behalf of his former company. She said, “Please put my mother back on.”
“Is that what you want us to do?” Roberta Dutton sounded cautious. “I mean, if you want us to come home—”
“No way,” Leah interrupted quickly. “It’s your honeymoon and I’m not a baby.”
“Well, maybe we shouldn’t act too hastily.” Leah could almost hear the relief in her mother’s voice. “I mean, wait until Neil talks to the doctor. Then we can decide what to do.” She paused. “Japan’s wonderful. I’ve already bought you some gorgeous things for Christmas, Leah. Why, I’ll bet no girl in that new high school of yours will have anything as nice. I’m talking designer labels, no imitations.” Her mother giggled. “Neil is positively pampering me.”
Leah hated her mother’s helpless-little-girl routine. Leah knew firsthand just how strong and unhelpless her mother could be when it suited her.
“I’m sure I’ll like whatever you’ve picked out,” Leah said dutifully. It was Thursday, and Christmas was only nine days away. Since she was in the hospital, Leah was missing a few days of school, but so what? She really didn’t have any friends at the high school yet. Maybe she was better off in the hospital.
Rural Indiana was a far cry from Dallas. Leah hated the cold weather, the dreary gray skies, the farm-country high school, the whole bucolic scene. She missed her friends and the sophistication of Dallas. So far, everybody she’d met seemed hopelessly hick and uncool. At least the hospital was in Indianapolis, a decent-sized city. Maybe she could persuade her mother to send her to a city high school starting in January. She could commute to the farm on weekends.
“So,” her mother said, “it’s settled. We’ll talk to the doctor and call you later.”
“Sure,” Leah said listlessly. “No use rushing back until we know something more.”
“That’s my girl,” Roberta said with a soothing lilt. “You were always so mature for your age, Leah. I know you can handle a few days in the hospital without me. While you’re there, you get anything you want. Neil said he
’d pay for it. Besides, I’m convinced that the doctor is overreacting. You’re going to be perfectly fine, dear. Perfectly fine.”
Leah hung up and scrunched down under the covers, hot tears brimming in her eyes.
A woman knocked on the door, and Leah quickly swiped her hand across her eyes. “Come in.”
“Hi, I’m Molly Thasher, your day nurse. Just call me Molly. I’m here to take temp and blood pressure. It’s routine.”
Molly’s smile was so genuinely pleasant that Leah felt her spirits lift. “You don’t look like a nurse,” she told the thirty-something woman, whose long light-brown hair was clipped back by a gold barrette. She wore taupe slacks and a cranberry-colored long-sleeved shirt. A colorful Christmas pin on her shoulder twinkled with tiny lights.
“We try to dress real casual on the pedi floor. It’s less scary for the younger kids.”
“The pedi floor?”
“Pediatrics. You’re in the adolescent area, but we’re so crowded right now we may have to stack new patients in the hallway. I can’t remember the pedi floor ever being this full.” She slipped the blood pressure cuff around Leah’s arm.
“Will I get a roommate?”
“You might. Each room can accommodate two patients, but it is possible to get a private room. Would you mind sharing?”
Leah thought about it and decided it didn’t matter. Maybe she’d feel less isolated if she had a roommate. “Only if he’s really cute,” she told Molly.
The nurse laughed. “ ’Fraid not. Your roomie would definitely be female.” Molly picked up Leah’s left hand. Leah’s forefinger had been strapped to a curved metal splint with gauze and tape.
Leah was embarrassed because her injury looked so insignificant. “My doctor isn’t sure what’s wrong with me.”
Molly grinned. “Well, at least you’re mobile. You should explore the place. We’ve got a nice game and rec room. Plenty of free snacks too, so long as you’re not on a restricted diet. In fact, we’re putting up a Christmas tree Saturday night; why don’t you come help decorate it?”
Leah couldn’t think of anything she’d like to do less. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“So where are you from?” Molly pumped up the blood pressure cuff, and Leah felt it tighten around her arm.
Leah started to say “Dallas,” but realized that Texas wasn’t home anymore. “From Knightstown. My mother just remarried and the guy, Neil, bought this big farm and is fixing it up for us.”
“Sounds exciting. That’s pretty farm country.”
It isn’t to me, Leah thought, but she didn’t say it. “Neil’s always wanted to be a farmer. His first wife died a couple of years ago. He met Mom in Dallas three months ago and they just got married and went to Japan for their honeymoon.” She wasn’t sure why she was babbling on and on to Molly about things the woman probably couldn’t care less about.
“My father was a career navy man, and he was once stationed in Japan,” Molly said. “The country sounded so exotic to me, so romantic. Boy, did I ever want to go over and visit him.”
“Didn’t you get to?”
“No, he was back home in a year and then he got out of the service. He and my mother are retired now, and they have a condo here in Indy.”
Leah had never known her father and never would. He’d left her and her mother when Leah was barely three, and he’d died when Leah was ten. In fact, aside from her mother, Leah didn’t have any family. The only grandparent she’d ever known had been her father’s mother, Grandma Hall, who had died from liver cancer when Leah was ten. And since Grandma Hall and Leah’s mother didn’t get along, it had been difficult for Leah to be a part of her grandmother’s life.
Molly folded the blood pressure cuff. “I’ve lived all my life in Indiana, but I’ve always wanted to travel the world.”
“Why don’t you?” Leah couldn’t imagine being stuck in one place all her life. Maybe because she and her mother had always moved around so much.
“Oh, I’m married, I have two kids, and we’re settled. Maybe my husband and I will travel when we both retire.”
It all sounded deathly boring to Leah. Molly started to leave. “Will you be back?” Leah asked, not wanting to be left alone.
“My shift ends soon, but the night shift is a great bunch of nurses. You’ll like them.” Molly paused at the doorway. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Leah offered a smile, but when she was alone she lay in the bed feeling sorry for herself. Sick of moping around, she decided to do some exploring. She climbed out of bed and felt her leg buckle as pain shot through her kneecap.
Leah grimaced and leaned against the bed, waiting for the throbbing to subside. Now what’s wrong? The pain had an eerily familiar quality. Was her knee broken too? She took a deep breath and counted to ten. Gingerly she put weight on her leg, and thankfully her knee didn’t give. She rubbed it. The knee was sore, but the sharp pain had gone away.
“Probably twisted it getting out of bed,” she mumbled. She found her robe and went out into the hall.
The ward was a cheerful-looking place, with a spotless expanse of patterned linoleum that looked as if it belonged in a kitchen, not a hospital. The doors of the rooms were different bright colors, with animals painted across them and along the walls. A small sign on the wall marked one of the doorways as Toddler Ward 1. Farther down the hall, another door was painted to look like the open mouth of a rabbit. Its sign read Baby Ward.
Leah soon discovered that the entire floor was constructed like a giant wheel, with spoke-like halls leading to patient wards and rooms. At the hub of the wheel stood the nurses’ station, a large circular desk where the nurses congregated, keeping track of charts and monitoring individual patients with computer screens and banks of machines. The younger and sicker patients were closest to the hub.
The long corridor walls were painted with scenes from fairy tales. There were two waiting rooms on the floor for parents and relatives. And in a spacious rec room Leah discovered a gathering of younger kids watching a Snow White video on a giant-screen TV. The rec room also had neon-colored plastic climbing toys, and the carpet was patterned with games such as hopscotch and tic-tac-toe.
Leah tried the three doors at the end of the room and discovered video games, a snack bar and kitchen, and a library. The snack bar’s counter held bowls of fresh fruit, graham crackers and granola bars, and containers of fruit juices in bowls of ice. Vending machines lined one wall, and several tables stood in the center of the room. A young mother, patiently feeding a gaunt little boy, nodded at Leah. The boy had no hair and was attached to an IV line that led to a pole beside the table.
Leah shuddered. The little boy reminded her of Grandma Hall. Leah could remember visiting her sick grandmother in the hospital as though it were yesterday. Just like the little boy, her grandmother had been attached to an IV line and had been bald from chemotherapy treatments. At the time, her grandmother’s wasted body had terrified Leah, who loved her grandmother dearly in spite of her mother’s hostility.
Leah grabbed an apple from a bowl and retreated to the library, where she sorted through teen magazines in an attempt to forget the painful memories. She flopped onto a comfortable love seat and began to read. The magazines were filled with ideas for Christmas gifts and holiday fashions and only gave her pangs of homesickness.
All her friends, she was sure, would be going to holiday parties and on shopping expeditions and skating at the ice rink at Dallas’s Galleria Mall. She was stuck in a hospital while her mother was thousands of miles away. No use feeling sorry for yourself, Leah insisted silently. A glance at the clock showed that it was six.
Hoping she hadn’t missed the dinner cart, Leah returned to her room but stopped just outside the doorway. Another bed had been placed in the room, and on it sat a girl who looked about five years old. The girl was sobbing and clinging to a woman dressed in a peculiarly old-fashioned style of clothing. Her dark blue skirt brushed the floor. The sleeves of her blouse were
long, the neck high. A filmy white cap covered the woman’s long hair, which was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore no makeup and no jewelry, and she had no wedding band.
“There, there,” the woman cooed soothingly. “Do not cry so, Rebekah. You’re hurting my heart with such a flood of tears. You know I must go home to nurse the baby. But Charity and Ethan will come tomorrow.”
“Don’t go, Mama,” the girl sobbed.
Feeling like an intruder, Leah wasn’t sure what to do. Just then a man stepped from behind the open closet door. He too was dressed in a strangely old-fashioned way. His suit was dark, without lapels or buttons, and he held a broad-brimmed black hat in his big, rough hands. He had a beard but no mustache, and his long hair brushed the top of his collar. “Come, Tillie, the van’s waiting downstairs. We’ve a long way to go tonight and it’s beginning to snow.”
“Papa,” the child wailed, reaching for him. “Don’t leave me, Papa.” He hugged her tightly.
For the first time, the woman noticed Leah. “We did not mean to disturb you. Rebekah’s scared, but she’ll quiet down after we’ve gone.”
Leah stammered, “I-It’s okay. I don’t mind. You’re not bothering me one bit.” Fascinated, she stared at the threesome. She stepped forward and held out her hand to the girl. “I’m Leah. We’re going to be roommates.”
The small girl’s body quivered as she struggled to stop crying. “Leah?” she repeated, staring at Leah’s flowered robe and dark, shoulder-length hair. “Are you a plain person?”
The question thoroughly confused Leah. “Plain enough.”
“We’re Jacob and Tillie Longacre,” the girl’s mother explained. “We’re Amish.”
Visions of photos Leah had seen of horse-drawn buggies and farms in Pennsylvania flashed in her head. She knew absolutely nothing about the Amish. She managed a cautious smile. “I—um—I’m just a regular person.”
“We hate to leave our Rebekah, but we can’t stay this night with her. Her sister Charity and her brother Ethan will come tomorrow, but until then she must be alone,” Jacob explained.
Angels Watching Over Me Page 1