Angels Watching Over Me

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “She’s so young,” Rebekah’s mother said, wringing her hands.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Leah said, feeling a surge of sympathy for little Rebekah. She knew what it felt like to be deserted. “Can we be friends?”

  The girl was quiet. She bit her lower lip, picked up a rag doll and hugged it tightly against her chest. “Will you stay in the room with me?”

  “That’s my bed right there,” Leah said, pointing across the room.

  After a few more hugs and whispers, Rebekah’s parents edged toward the door. At the doorway Tillie turned to Rebekah and said, “Remember what I’ve told you. The Lord’s angel will watch over you until we can be with you.” She smiled at Leah and said, “Thank you.” And then they were gone.

  For a moment Rebekah stared with wide blue eyes at the empty doorway. Slowly tears began to slide down her cheeks. Flustered, Leah reached out and awkwardly patted the tiny girl. “Would you like to watch TV?”

  Rebekah shook her head.

  “That’s a pretty doll. What’s her name?”

  “Rose,” Rebekah said, sniffing.

  The doll was as unadorned as the child who clutched her. Rebekah wore a simple long nightdress with a high neck, and a cap like her mother’s over a head of wispy golden curls. Her cheeks looked rosy, her blue eyes red and swollen from crying. Leah felt at a loss. She didn’t have any siblings.

  Rebekah looked up at her. “Are you an angel?”

  “No way,” Leah said with a smile. She sat on the edge of Rebekah’s bed. “Do you know why you’re in the hospital?”

  Rebekah held out her arm. A bright red splotch stained the inside of her wrist and lower arm. It looked swollen. “A spider bit me. And I got sick.”

  Sitting close to the child, Leah could feel heat emanating from her small body, and she realized that Rebekah’s cheeks were rosy because of a fever. “Did you bite him back?” she asked.

  Rebekah looked startled, then giggled. “No.”

  Making Rebekah laugh made Leah feel better than she had all day.

  Two nurses bustled into the room, and Rebekah shrank back. “We have to put in an IV,” one of the nurses explained.

  Terrified, Rebekah shook her head.

  “I’ll stay with you,” Leah said quickly.

  One of the nurses eyed her. “Are you her sister?”

  “Her roommate.”

  Rebekah clutched at Leah’s hand. “Don’t leave, Leah.”

  The single plea cut like a knife through Leah’s heart, and she knew there was no way she could leave Rebekah.

  Leah moved closer to Rebekah and reached for her small hand. “Look at me, not them,” she instructed.

  Obediently Rebekah fixed her gaze on Leah. “This is nothing,” Leah said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. “A piece of cake.”

  “Cake? Can I have some cake?”

  Leah remembered the snack bar. “If it’s all right with the nurse, I’ll get you a cookie or something as soon as they’re finished.”

  The nurse flipped open Rebekah’s chart. “No food restrictions. The dinner cart’s on its way, but a cookie would be fine.”

  “Lie still, honey,” the technician said. “This will just be a little prick.”

  Leah smiled reassuringly at Rebekah, who lay rigid on the bed. From the corner of her eye, Leah watched the lab technician gently slide the needle of the IV under the skin on the back of Rebekah’s hand. The child trembled, but she didn’t move. Leah felt queasy. She watched as a tear slid from the corner of Rebekah’s eye. “You’re doing great,” Leah said, still clasping Rebekah’s hand.

  Soon the IV was in and running, the tubing taped to Rebekah’s arm and safety-pinned to the bedsheet. “This medicine will make you feel better,” the nurse said, patting her patient.

  When they were gone Leah stood and said, “I’ll get you that cookie now.”

  Rebekah clutched at her. “Don’t go, Leah. Please don’t leave me.”

  Leah started to explain that she’d be right back, but the look of terror in Rebekah’s eyes stopped her. “I won’t leave,” she said softly. “I won’t leave you alone tonight for a single minute.”

  As she tried to fall asleep that night, Leah’s mind flashed to a memory of when she was six years old. She and her mother had been living in a trailer, and Don, her mother’s second husband, had been gone for more than a month. Her mother had tucked bedcovers around Leah. “Don’t leave, Mama,” Leah had pleaded.

  “I have to go to work, Leah. But all the doors will be locked and I’ll be back before you get up in the morning for school.”

  “Don’t go,” Leah wailed.

  “Hush! Stop that. I don’t want to go, but I have to if we want to eat next week. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  Leah had lain stiff and unmoving in the dark, listening to her mother’s car driving away into the night. Dogs howled. Trees rustled in the wind. Terror made her heart pound until she thought it might pop out of her chest. She was alone. Totally alone …

  “Leah?”

  The sound of Rebekah’s voice snapped Leah back to the present. “What?” she asked softly.

  “Will you read me a story?”

  “Um … I don’t have a book.” She remembered the library, but she doubted Rebekah would let her leave the room long enough to go there.

  “I have my book.” Rebekah pointed to the shelf in the bedside table.

  Leah turned on the bedside light and retrieved a Bible storybook. “So, which story do you want to hear?”

  “Read about Mary and the angel.”

  Leah rarely attended church and wasn’t very familiar with the Bible, but she flipped open the well-worn book and scanned the table of contents. She found the story and read about how an angel of the Lord came to a young virgin to announce that she would bear God’s Son. To Leah it had always sounded sort of farfetched. She knew virgins didn’t get pregnant and remain virgins. Still, the story must have soothed Rebekah, because soon the little girl was asleep.

  Leah stole back to her own bed and crawled between the sheets. Her knee again felt sore, and a nagging ache in her lower back made her toss restlessly. But she must have slept because she was startled awake when someone slid a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

  “I’ll be gone in a minute,” the night nurse whispered.

  “I only have a broken finger,” Leah grumbled, irritated that she was being awakened to have her arm squeezed and a thermometer thrust in her mouth. Didn’t these people have anything better to do than pester patients at night?

  The night nurse performed the routine procedures on Rebekah too. Once the nurse had left the room, Leah heard Rebekah whimper. She called out, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m right over here. Can you see me?”

  “I’m scared, Leah.”

  Leah thought about getting up and going over to the child, but her back was sore and a draining fatigue was sapping her strength. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

  “Can you tell me about Abraham and Isaac?”

  “Um … I’m afraid I don’t know that one. How about Snow White?” she offered, reminding herself to leave out the scary parts about the witch.

  “Who?” Rebekah asked.

  Her question surprised Leah. She thought every little girl had seen the Disney version of the fairy tale. “How about Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty?”

  “Who are they?”

  Now Leah was at a loss. How could Rebekah not have heard these famous stories? “Never mind. How about I tell you all about where I used to live in Texas?”

  “Is that far away?”

  “Sure is.” Leah started her story, describing the cowboys and Indians of legends—and wished she’d paid more attention in history class. In no time Rebekah drifted off to sleep.

  Leah slept too, but she woke up when she heard someone come into the room. Not another checkup, she thought, moaning to herself. How did they expect a person to get well when the nurses kept waking her all night long? But t
he nurse didn’t come to her bed. She went to Rebekah’s. Through sleepy eyes Leah watched the woman smooth the sheets and tuck in the blankets around the sleeping child.

  Her movements were whisper-soft, and she seemed so caring, so gentle, that a peaceful feeling washed over Leah. She was suddenly glad she wasn’t alone in the farmhouse. At least in the hospital she could be near other people.

  The nurse stood silently beside Rebekah’s bed, and Leah drifted off to sleep.

  She was awakened the next morning not by nurses but by doctors making rounds. Dr. Howser said, “Good morning, Leah. How are you feeling today?”

  “Tired. Nurses kept coming in and out all night long.”

  He smiled. “Taking vital signs is hospital routine, I’m afraid. I want you to meet a colleague of mine.”

  He stepped aside, and another doctor peered down at her. “I’m Dr. Thomas, an orthopedist,” the man said. “I’m a bone specialist and I’ve been called in to consult on your case.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked the tall, slim doctor.

  He smiled reassuringly. “That’s what we’re going to find out. I’ve got a telephone conference scheduled with your parents this afternoon—”

  “Neil’s not my father,” Leah interrupted.

  “Sorry,” Dr. Thomas said. “Anyway, Dr. Howser got your mother’s approval to run some tests on you.”

  “What kinds of tests?” Leah was starting to feel uneasy.

  “Blood work, of course. But also a CT bone scan.”

  “What’s that? Will it hurt?”

  “It’s a kind of X ray that gives us a three-dimensional look at the inside of your body, and no, it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Why would you want to see my bones?”

  “To see what you’re made of,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Sugar and spice and everything nice,” she shot back, making him laugh. She quickly added, “Dr. Howser took an X ray of my finger yesterday. He said it was broken. What else is there to see?”

  “The X ray showed that there was a small hole in the bone. The hole weakened the finger and caused it to break. I want more X rays to confirm that finding. And I want to evaluate the condition of other bones in your body.”

  Neither doctor looked much concerned, which made Leah feel calmer. “So does this mean I’ll be stuck in the hospital?”

  “At least for a few days,” Dr. Thomas said. “You’ve been staying by yourself at home, haven’t you?”

  She’d been staying by herself off and on since she was six, but she rarely told anyone that. People might get the impression that her mother was neglectful. She wasn’t. But she was busy with her own life. “I can take care of myself,” Leah told the doctors. “Mom’s on her honeymoon, but she’ll be back before Christmas.”

  “And we can reach her by phone,” Dr. Howser assured his colleague.

  Dr. Thomas flipped open Leah’s chart. “You told Dr. Howser you’ve been tired lately.”

  “Sort of. But I’ve been busy too. I mean, this fall we moved up here, Mom got married, and I started a new school.”

  “Any other aches and pains?” He wrote as he talked.

  “My knee’s sore. And my back too.”

  “Where?”

  She placed a hand against the small of her back. “Right here. Down deep. I think maybe I twisted it or something.”

  Dr. Thomas examined her, kneading her spine and manipulating her knee. She squirmed because the areas were sore and felt bruised. Finally he said, “Someone will come up later and take you down to X ray. And we’ll see you again on rounds tomorrow morning.”

  When they were gone Leah looked over at Rebekah, who was staring at her. “Did they wake you up with all their talking?”

  “I want my mama.”

  Leah wanted hers too, in a way. She smiled and said, “I’m sure she’ll be back today for a visit.”

  Rebekah’s lower lip began to tremble. Leah struggled out of bed and padded across the floor to Rebekah’s bedside. The child’s face still looked feverish, and her arm looked redder and more swollen. The IV bag was nearly empty. Leah wondered when Rebekah’s doctor would be in to see her. “How about breakfast?” she asked, hoping to distract her. “I think I hear the cart coming down the hall.”

  Leah stopped talking because Rebekah didn’t look interested. Her small shoulders began to shake, and sobs escaped from her mouth. Instinctively Leah put her arms around the girl. “Oh, Rebekah, don’t cry,” she begged, feeling helpless.

  She saw the nurse call button and reached for it. But suddenly a male hand clamped over hers and a strong, firm voice boomed, “What are you doing to our sister?”

  Leah spun, only to stare up into the face of a tall blond-haired boy with intense sky-blue eyes.

  “Ethan!” Rebekah cried. He scooped her up, and Leah stepped aside and bumped into a girl. She appeared to be Leah’s age and was dressed in a simple long-sleeved brown dress. She wore a gauzy head covering identical to the one Rebekah’s mother had been wearing.

  The girl smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Charity Longacre, Rebekah’s sister. You must be Leah. My parents spoke of you.”

  Thoroughly flustered, Leah eased backward toward her side of the room. She hadn’t expected anyone from Rebekah’s family to show up so early. Nor had she expected to face such a good-looking guy while she wore a shapeless hospital gown. She hadn’t brushed her teeth either, or combed her hair or put on a smidgen of makeup. “It’s so early,” she mumbled.

  “We left Nappanee, where we live, at five this morning. It’s a hundred and fifty miles, and we didn’t know what time breakfast would be served here in the hospital. We didn’t want Rebekah to have to eat alone.” Charity pulled off a cape and smoothed the long, full skirt of her dress. Her brown hair was parted in the middle and twisted into a bun. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, but her green eyes were fringed with incredibly thick lashes, and her cheeks looked rosy from the cold outside.

  Leah slid between the bedcovers and tugged them up to her chin, trying not to look as ill at ease as she felt. “Breakfast is on its way,” she said.

  Ethan turned, then averted his gaze from Leah in the bed. She saw color rush into his face and realized he was embarrassed by her presence. “I—I’m sorry if I spoke harshly to you,” he said.

  Harshly? Leah thought. What a weird word for a teenage guy to use. “No problem. Rebekah was crying, and I was just trying to calm her down.”

  “Where’s Mama?” Rebekah asked.

  “She’ll be here later,” Charity said. “After breakfast and morning chores. And she’ll be bringing the baby so she won’t have to rush home to nurse him.”

  “Who’s feeding my chickens?” Rebekah asked.

  “Simeon,” Ethan said with an impish smile. “And not very gracefully either.”

  Rebekah giggled. Charity smiled at Leah and explained. “Simeon’s seven and Rebekah took over hen duty from him last fall. He doesn’t like taking up work in the henhouse again one bit.”

  “You have chickens?” Leah asked. Neil’s farm had no animals, but what if he wanted them someday? Would she have to feed chickens and pigs? She didn’t like the idea.

  “We have many animals,” Charity said. “Ours is a working farm, where our whole family lives.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Mama and Papa, seven of us, and Opa and Oma, our grandparents, too.”

  “You all live in the same house? And you’re telling me Rebekah has six brothers and sisters?”

  “There are three boys and four girls in our family,” Charity said with pride. “Sarah’s the oldest at nineteen. Ethan, sixteen”—she nodded toward her brother, who was sorting through a duffel bag with Rebekah—“me, I’m fifteen; our sister Elizabeth, she’s twelve; Simeon; Rebekah; and Nathan, the baby, who’s two months.”

  Leah had many friends in Dallas, but none had such a large family. While she sometimes wished she had a sister, she’d never wanted
a whole bunch of sisters and brothers. In fact, when the kids she knew discussed large families, it was always with an air of disdain, as if too many siblings were an embarrassment. But Charity acted as if her large family were something to be proud of. “Sounds … large,” Leah finally commented.

  Charity laughed. “If the Lord wills it, most of the Amish have large families. Our house has been in our family for over seventy years, and one day it will go to Ethan because he’s the oldest son. Right now we’re getting ready for Christmas Day. Mama and Oma have been baking for weeks. And Papa and Opa are in the workshop late at night. I can’t wait—”

  “Charity!” Ethan barked. “We came to be with Rebekah, not bend the ears of her roommate.”

  Charity’s face flushed beet red, and she dropped her gaze. “He’s right. I’m sorry.”

  “She can talk the ears off of field corn,” he said apologetically.

  “I don’t mind,” Leah said. She thought the three of them were different and interesting. And she was lonely and wanted someone to talk to.

  Just then an orderly entered, balancing breakfast trays. “Good morning.” She set the trays down on utility tables in front of Leah and Rebekah.

  Leah raised the cover on her plate and grimaced.

  “What’s wrong?” Charity asked.

  “Eggs. Ugh. I hate eggs.”

  Charity studied her quizzically. “But you must eat breakfast?”

  “I usually skip breakfast. Or I eat a muffin or fruit on my way to school.”

  “On the farm, I help Mama cook meals every day,” Charity said. “We always have platters of bacon and eggs, hot biscuits, butter and honey before the men begin work in the fields.”

  “Well, sure,” Leah said quickly. “I guess if you were going to plow the north forty you could eat that way. But most of us do other things all day. You know, like sit in school and listen to boring teachers.”

  “You don’t like school?” Charity asked.

  “It’s so-so. Do you like it?”

  “I no longer go to school. I completed my learning and now I help with the farm.”