by Sicily Yoder
Brandy grimaced and lifted her right hand up to try to massage her aching breast. “Interesting, I’m an RN in pink scrubs, ready to save the day, and I can’t even save myself.” Within thirty seconds, the red light unfroze to a bright green, and the pain was only a small, bad memory. And it had always been like that lately: false alarms. The pains would come, shock her body and then leave. For the moment of the involuntary spasms, she was victim to a different world.
The world of a cancer victim.
Again. Alone, to be left with the overwhelming questions: “What if she had cancer like her mother and two sisters? What if she had to plan her funeral like her mother and sisters had done.”
“What if she had to——”
“Die? Like her mother and sister?
She let out a deep breath, the corners of her eyes watering up like a leaky faucet. She had chosen bright purple eye-liner today. “Better than black,” she uttered as she came to the Doctor’s Plaza entrance. As usual, there was an elderly driver in the middle turn-lane, waiting for a clear path to turn. Brandy sighed. The clock on the dash read seven fifty-one in the morning, and her appointment was at eight o’clock. It would take approximately ten minutes for that elderly lady to get a clear turn.
Just then, an elderly duo wedged in behind the elderly woman, the man honking the horn and throwing his hands up mid-air. “That woman’s still got her man, and he’s been here before. They must have an eight o’clock appointment, too,” thought Brandy as she watched his brown Buick Century etch up behind the lady, the deep horn’s blow blasting. Finally, the lady flooded the gas to go across the two right-hand lanes.
But she failed to see the Mac truck that was turning out of The Plaza.
~CHAPTER SEVEN~
Traffic was at a stand-still and the white Mac truck’s driver was out jumping on the asphalt and screaming on his cell phone at the 911 dispatcher. The normally chaotic intersection at Doctor’s Plaza was smoking, but no one was noticing the light smoke from the silver BMW that rested under the Mac truck. There was a brown Buick Century on fire, and two elderly people were trapped inside. Helpless bystanders lined the yellow-lined turn lane, screaming, “Get help!”
The deep sounds of fire engines rang one intersection up, and, soon, a black Coroner’s SUV was barreling through Doctor’s Way. Luckily, his office was in Doctor’s Plaza. The coroner jumped out, just as a husky man ran up to stop the other lane of traffic. A car sped by the husky man, and he almost lost his cool, yelling, “Can you see, we have an emergency here! Have some respect!” The car did not stop, and bystanders just shook their heads and watched it drive up on the hill.
Elijah Yoder sat on the black leather seat of his Harley-Davidson motorcycle and wondered if there was any way that he could assist the coroner. He knew no first aid, had no fire training, and definitely no education past the 8 grade. None of the Amish did.
But he was Englisch now. He should know a thing or two about maneuvering the Englisch roads. He should know the name of the coroner, for he’d seen four of his biker buddies be laid to rest within the past two years. He should go help. His eyes traveled to all the bystanders. They were basically in the way. He would be too.
But he was always in the way at Doctor’s Plaza and the hospital. They were tired of seeing him, tired of his nosiness. They never knew anything about the twins. Actually, they acted like they had never had triplets delivered there, but they had, and he knew it. His best-friend’s mamm had the third boppli. And a nurse and her doctor-husband had his other two kinner. But the hospital staff was being secretive about it.
If only he’d not trusted Jeremiah to cover for him, he wouldn’t have spent the past several years camped out in a hospital and pediatrician’s parking lot, eating stale beef jerky watered down with frozen or blistery-hot root beer.
Today was a cold, but mild day, so the root beer pleased his palate as he took a swig of it. He licked his lips just as his eyes caught the eyes of the coroner as he jumped away from the burning car. The elderly couple was still inside!
“Let’s break the windshield out!” Elijah yelled as he ran toward the coroner. “We’ve got to get ’em out of there.” Elijah’s sandy blond hair blew with the wind, and he worried that the sudden draft would spread the fire. He knew that much, for he’d had crops catch on fire.
“Keep back. I know who you are. My firefighters are right behind you! You’re going to get hurt one day hanging out here,” the coroner warned, and Elijah politely nodded just as three firefighters rushed to his left. Elijah turned and walked back toward Doctor’s Plaza. He jumped on his bike, fired it up, and pulled out of the parking slot. Leaning down to the left, he turned the bike and slid between the tall medical buildings. He knew every hidden entrance and walkway around the plaza and the hospital, for he’s staked out the buildings during all three shifts, looking for the twins. He’d had odd jobs for years, working different shifts, and he’d boarded with a couple of biker buddies just to make ends meet. It was his drive to find his daughters.
One day, Gott would answer.
Elijah glanced up at the cold, white clouds and imagined the heavens. What did Gott’s face look like? Did He have that love and jealously for His kinner like Elijah had adapted for his triplets? The Bible spoke of the parable of the lost sheep, and how excited the father was when the son returned. Would Gott forgive him for deserting the triplets for so many years? Sure, initially, it was out of fear that Rachael would hate him. But most of all, he was so close to her grossdaedi, Ben Zook, and he didn’t want anything to sever the relationship, even if he’d already been shunned when he’d found out about the pregnancy.
Now, on this mild, but windy winter day, Elijah called the man above, “God,” as he parked his bike at the back of one of the buildings, eyeing a pretty blonde-haired nurse devouring a honey bun. He’d known about every little staff picnic table and outside smoke stations. Any chance to possibly find a clue to a nurse that had twins would be helpful.
One day, someone would talk.
About his twins: two out of three; three three-year-olds, created by him and Rachael Zook’s careless behavior during Rumspringa. He had to shake his head as he leaned the bike against a tree and smiled at the pretty nurse.
But he still had that German dialect. It had never left him. He looked down at his navy-blue button down shirt and wondered if Gott had left him? Within three hours, he’d be selling the bike and making amends with Gott. Hopefully, he’d join the church next fall, but that was if Bishop Troyer would have enough pupils to teach instruction class. The pretty nurse’s eyes were mahogany, much like the bishop’s stern eyes. She looked a little hesitant as she eyed him.
“I see the look in your eyes. Did I scare you?’ Elijah asked as he sat the two root beers down on the weathered picnic table. She winked and swallowed her bite of honey bun. “You might enjoy one of these root beers.”
She wiggled her nose and bit her bottom lip before licking it. “Glad you are offering free Amish root beer. That was the stickiest honey bun that I’ve ever eaten.” She flipped off the metal lid and exclaimed, “It is rather cool, too. Makes for a nice drink.”
He nodded and said, “I’ve drank many a hot one out here in the facility,” He looked up and felt the wind cool his face. His blood pressure was up, and he knew it. Searching for the twins had been stressful.
And today was his last search.
She shook her head and said, “I don’t know anything, but thank you for the root beer.” She smiled and gaze a slight gaze before adding, “Silver BMWs are rare in this part of the country. Be glad that your girls got put in the best home ever. She’s the best single mother.” She stood up and nodded, “Have a gut day.” She walked up the tiny sidewalk and reached for the door.
He flexed his arm muscles and bounced backwards off the picnic table, his mouth wide open. How did she know his dialect? His brow arched, “You know us well- Jah?” His brow narrowed as he studied her, crossed his arms and added, “How well do
you know us to know that we love our children?”
She twisted in the open doorway to view him again, before stepping back outside, her pastel-crayon-dotted scrub jacket swaying with the brisk wind. “I used to wear a kapp. I used to be Amish, but not in this area. My parents are doing fine without me. You will do fine too. She’s not giving the twins up. She’d go to prison if they found out what you people did.” She wiggled her brow and gave a sympathetic gaze. “Besides, her husband was killed in a car wreck, so the girls are all she has; please don’t take her whole world away.”
He had to agree with her. “It was wrong. I sinned, and Rachael Zook sinned.” He stood up and sighed, lowering his gaze. “I guess we deserve what we got.” He turned and walked over to the tree. In less than three hours, the hunt would be over. He didn’t win. He didn’t find his girls.
But he didn’t win at keeping Rachael Zook’s heart either. He looked up between the tall buildings and closed his eyes softly. “Gott, I’m coming back home to you, but I will never forget my dochders.”
The End of this Volume.
Table of Contents
~SPECIAL DEDICATION~
~CHAPTER FIVE~
~CHAPTER SIX~
~CHAPTER SEVEN~