Suddenly, aware of how close they were to one another—not that there was any other way to position themselves in such a tight space—he felt heady and needed air. “I think the fumes are getting to me,” he said. As he backed toward the door, he inadvertently stepped on the rim of the paint tray, upending it.
“Oh neh!” Rachel tried to scoop the spilled paint from the floor with her hands.
“Here, let me help,” Arden offered, snatching the nearby rag. As he bent to swab the floor, she stood up, catching him beneath his chin, and he staggered backward. She reached for his arms to keep him from knocking into the wall, but it was too late; he could feel his shirt dampen with paint along his shoulders as well as on his arms where Rachel had clutched them.
“I am such a kl-l-lutz. I am so sorry. I ruined your wall.”
“I’m sorry. I ruined your shirt. Look—your sleeves have handprints on them.”
“Purple, my favorite color,” Arden quipped as he gave Rachel the rag so she could wipe off her fingers. He twisted his torso to inspect his lower pant leg. A thick glob of paint dribbled down his calf to his ankle. “At least my shirt is color coordinated with my trousers.”
That sent them into peals of laughter. Every time they tried to stop laughing, they’d start again, harder than before, until they were nearly breathless. Suddenly, Rachel went quiet. She held a lavender fingertip in the air in front of her lips. Arden listened. Someone had entered the workshop.
“Arden?” a man called.
Arden scrunched his shoulders forward so he wouldn’t rub against the door frame as he exited the playhouse and Rachel followed. Colin was standing a few yards away, shaking his head. “What is going on here?”
“W-we—we,” Arden stuttered, both embarrassed and angry. He could imagine how ridiculous he and Rachel looked, but who was Colin to demand to know what was going on in his workshop?
“We spilled paint,” Rachel said, an edge in her voice.
“That much is clear,” Colin retorted. “Spilling paint is a waste of money—and time. It hardly seems like a laughing matter.”
“I guess that depends on how good your sense of humor is,” Rachel shot back. Sometimes it was difficult to say whether Colin was goading her or she was the one goading Colin, but Arden wished they’d both knock it off.
“Is—is Ivan okay?” he asked, concerned about the reason for Colin’s visit.
“Jah. I spoke with the dokder this morning, and he said Ivan should be discharged by the end of the week. It would be a shame if he came back to find the workshop like this.” He pointed at the hem of Arden’s pants, which were dripping paint onto the floor.
So that Rachel wouldn’t have a chance to interject a snippy reply, Arden quickly said, “Praise Gott. Denki for coming all this way to share the gut news with us, Colin.”
“Jah, well...” Colin seemed thwarted by Arden’s expression of gratitude. “I also brought you this estimate of Ivan’s hospital bill. It’s based on the premise he’ll be in the hospital another four or five days. They won’t tally the final amount until he’s discharged, but I understand you and Ivan use your business earnings to cover medical bills. This will give you an idea of whether you can pay it or not.”
The Amish oftentimes negotiated a steep discount with health-care providers by paying their bills in full at the time services were rendered. Ivan had always been more than generous in using their business profits to help cover Arden’s mother’s medical expenses, even forgoing his own salary on occasion. Now Ivan was the one who needed financial help. Arden had no doubt the community would cover whatever portion of Ivan’s bill they could. But the collective funds were stretched to the limit, and he didn’t want to strain them further. Arden knew roughly how much money he and Ivan had in their business account, and he could give up his salary for a couple of weeks, but with his mother sick, he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t need to see a doctor again soon, too. Then what would happen? He didn’t want Colin to find out they were financially strapped, lest he argue their situation was more evidence of why they should close their shop.
“Denki.” Arden held out his hand for the estimate; his palm and fingertips were purple.
Colin shook his head. “I’ll leave it on the desk so you can read it once you and Rachel are finished...spilling paint.”
“What a grump,” Rachel muttered as the door shut behind her brother. “So listen, I think the best thing is for you to take off your boots right there. Otherwise, you’re going to leave purple prints everywhere you walk.” She giggled, but Arden was no longer in a joking mood. She must have caught on, because she strode to the rag bin and returned with several more rags.
Blotting paint from his boots and pants, Arden realized Colin was right; he had wasted both money and time this afternoon, and he hoped Colin wouldn’t tell Ivan about the paint incident. It wasn’t so much that Arden cared about Colin’s opinion as it was that Arden wanted Ivan to be confident Arden was doing everything that needed to be done in order to cover the hospital bill and meet their financial goals for the spring. And because the sooner Arden completed a project, the sooner he got paid, he was going to have to increase his productivity and decrease his distractions. Which means keeping my conversations with Rachel to a minimum, Arden decided. Starting now.
“I’m going to work late tonight, but after you’ve cleaned up the paint mess, you should leave for the evening,” he told her when he finished wiping off his clothes.
“Are you sure? I could help—”
But Arden cut her off. “Jah, I’m sure,” he said. I’m absolutely positive.
Chapter Four
Although Rachel visited Ivan on Monday and Tuesday, he’d been so groggy she’d barely begun to converse with him when he drifted off, so Wednesday evening she was thrilled to find him sitting up in bed, eating dinner—both good signs. Also, his oxygen face mask had been replaced with a nasal cannula, which made it easier for him to talk. “So, how are you and Arden getting along?” he asked in between spoonfuls of soup.
“He’s kind of quiet, but we get along fine.” In reality, except to thank Rachel for her help each day, Arden had hardly spoken two words to her since Colin’s visit on Monday afternoon. The sudden switch in his attitude both offended Rachel and hurt her feelings, especially since they’d just broken the ice with each other, but there was no need to tell her brother that.
Ivan chuckled before responding, “Neh, I didn’t mean how are you getting along with each other. I meant how are you getting along with the workload?”
“Oh!” Flustered, Rachel quickly recounted how, in between reconciling the business’s accounts, fielding customer inquiries, stocking inventory and scheduling deliveries, she’d spent the past two days painting both the interior and exterior of the playhouse.
“You’re really going above and beyond what we hoped you’d do for us. I appreciate it and I know Arden does, too, even though he’s not much of a talker. It takes a while for him to open up, but once you get to know him, I think you’ll find he’s a wunderbaar paerson.”
A wunderbaar paerson wouldn’t be influenced by such an unfreindlich paerson as our bruder Colin, Rachel thought. Aloud, she paid Arden as much of an honest compliment as she could, admitting, “He does beautiful work on the sheds.”
“Jah, I’ve learned a lot from watching him. I’m blessed to have him as my business partner and my freind,” Ivan said, and it struck Rachel that as quick as Colin was to find fault with someone, Ivan was equally quick to compliment a person. She loved that quality in her younger brother, whether or not Arden deserved his praise. “Has he said anything about how his mamm has been feeling lately?”
“Neh. Why, what’s wrong with his mamm?”
“She has lupus.”
Rachel was surprised. Knowing Arden’s mother had a chronic illness instantly made her feel less annoyed at him. As a nurse, Rachel frequently
witnessed the toll a chronic illness could take on a patient’s family members, as well as on the patient with the disease. “If she’s having a flare, he didn’t mention it.”
“That figures. Arden tends to keep his struggles to himself. Have you met his schweschder, Grace?”
“Neh, although she left an appenditlich meal and dessert for me at the haus. I haven’t met anyone from the community yet. I haven’t seen anyone I used to know, either—except Colin and Hadassah.” Until she said it aloud, Rachel didn’t fully realize how much it bothered her that no one at all had dropped by Ivan’s house to say hello.
“People from the community probably don’t know you’re here. I haven’t been able to tell anyone because whenever I’ve gotten visitors, I’ve either been too sleepy or the oxygen mask has made it difficult for me to say much.”
They know I’m here—everyone in Serenity Ridge always knows everything that’s happening with everyone else, Rachel thought. No one is stopping by because Colin and Hadassah have poisoned the well against me. “It’s all right, I don’t mind being alone. Besides, pretty soon you’ll be coming home, and you’re the one I came to Serenity Ridge to see.”
But for as independent as she thought she was, Rachel felt especially lonely that evening when she returned to the empty house. She called Meg, who launched into a story about how their upstairs neighbor had flooded the basement by cramming too much clothing into the washing machine. Meg didn’t care about the puddles in the basement as much as she cared that the washer’s agitator broke, so the machine was out of order and she had a mountain of laundry piling up. “What am I supposed to do now, wash everything by hand?”
“You mean like the Amish do?”
“The Amish wash their clothes by hand?”
“Sure. They beat them on rocks down at the river.”
“They do?”
“No! Of course not, silly.” Rachel giggled; some of the illusions Englischers held about the Amish amused her. Even though she’d educated her roommate on many Amish practices, apparently she hadn’t mentioned how the Amish in Serenity Ridge did their laundry. “They use old-fashioned wringer washers, which are powered by diesel generators. But they never use dryers—clothes are always hung on a line. I kind of miss doing that, because it makes everything smell fresh.”
“I know exactly what you mean—my mother always hung out our laundry, too. It’s funny, because these days people act so smug about buying energy-efficient dryers, but those same people wouldn’t be caught dead hanging their clothes outside on a line.”
Rachel laughed again. “Well, the Amish would consider using a dryer—even an energy-efficient one—to be as taboo as...as talking to me.” She meant the comparison to be tongue-in-cheek, but Meg picked up on how alienated she really felt and clucked her tongue sympathetically.
“Do you want me to visit you this weekend? I work Friday and Sunday, but I could come for the day on Saturday.”
“Oh, that’s really sweet, but it’s too far to drive for one day. I’ll be fine. I think I’m feeling sorry for myself because I was just getting over Toby dumping me the way he did and then I came here only to face more rejection. If it wasn’t that Ivan’s going to need extended care when he comes home, I’d be tempted to leave sooner rather than later.”
“Yeah, he’s going to have a long recovery,” Meg acknowledged. “Have you told them at work you won’t be coming back for a while?”
“I’ll let them know at the end of the week. I dread making that call, though.”
“Why? You can legitimately take family medical leave.”
“Yeah, but only the people in human resources will know why I’m taking a leave of absence. Everyone else is going to assume I’m heartbroken because of Toby and Brianna.” Rachel recognized she shouldn’t care what they thought, but it still bugged her to imagine anyone pitying her, especially Toby. Wait until I get accepted into the MSN program and quit my position at the clinic—then they’ll see I’m not as naive or needy as they think I am. “Anyway, if you run out of clothes, feel free to borrow some from my closet. It’s not as if I’ll be using them any time soon.”
After she said goodbye to Meg, Rachel realized she should do a load of laundry herself, especially since she had a thick smudge of lavender paint down the front of her navy blue skirt, and in addition to her green skirt, she’d only brought one other dress. It’s either I wash my clothes in the wringer tomorrow morning or I sew new ones.
Thinking about sewing reminded Rachel of the time Toby and his younger brother, also a doctor, had held a contest to determine whose suturing technique was better. They each cut the skin of a grape and then sutured it closed again to present to their father, an orthopedic surgeon, for him to judge. Watching them, Rachel decided to give it a try, too. When Dr. Grand Sr. saw the results of her attempt, he declared her the winner. She credited all the time she spent quilting, as well as sewing capes, aprons and dresses, for her coordination and steady hand.
Suddenly it occurred to Rachel that she’d be expected to suture patients’ wounds once she became a nurse practitioner, and she decided to stop by the local fabric store at her next opportunity. Not only would sewing a skirt or two give her more wardrobe choices, but it would allow her the chance to improve her manual dexterity for the future. Who needs visitors anyway? she asked herself. In a little while, Ivan will be coming home, and I’ll have his company. Meanwhile, I’ll keep myself busy by focusing on what’s really important—preparing for my career as a nurse practitioner.
* * *
“Mamm’s fingers seem to be getting worse,” Grace said as she set a box of cereal in front of Arden on Thursday morning. Usually, she made a big breakfast, but she’d woken up late; she’d probably been up most of the night, trying to keep their mother hydrated and her fever down. “I really think we should ask Rachel if she’ll take a look at them.”
“Neh, I’ve already told you that’s not a gut idea,” Arden objected. He shook the box above his bowl, and only a half cup of grain poured out. It didn’t matter; his sister always sent him off with a hearty lunch, and he could take his break earlier than usual.
“Why not? You just told me you’re so busy at the shop you have to work until seven thirty again tonight and tomorrow evening. If Rachel takes a peek at Mamm’s hands and says it’s nothing serious, it would spare you from taking time off to bring her to the dokder.”
Arden’s sister had her own horse and buggy to use for running errands nearby, but she was nervous about driving to the hillier, western section of town where the medical clinic their mother went to was located. The Englischers in Serenity Ridge, while respectful, weren’t as cautious as the Englisch drivers in Indiana, who were accustomed to slowing their vehicles as they crested hills, never knowing if a buggy was just out of sight and traveling at a much slower pace on the descending side. More than once since she moved to Maine, Grace had experienced a car approaching her too quickly from behind, which not only spooked the horse but frightened Grace to the point she was unwilling to travel to the clinic unless absolutely necessary. So it was up to Arden to either transport his mother to her medical appointments or arrange for a cab or someone in the district to take her.
He silently dithered over what to do. Grace was right; he could ill afford to take time away from the workshop, especially since yesterday he’d accepted a rush order—something he virtually never did, but it was only for a chicken coop, and the customer was willing to pay handsomely for the inconvenience of the short notice. However, his sister had also told him their mother was experiencing a strange discoloration of the skin on her fingers. Although her lupus flares primarily included a classic butterfly rash on her face, extreme fatigue and a chronic fever, their mother been advised to seek medical attention for any new symptoms. She’d said the discoloration didn’t last long and wasn’t painful, but Arden didn’t want to take any chances.
“I understa
nd you don’t want Rachel coming to the house for a social visit, but this would be for medical purposes only,” Grace said. “We could compensate her for her trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Neh, that’s not it. It’s that... It’s that Rachel is only a nurse, not a dokder. I want Mamm to get the best care. I’ll use the work phone to schedule an appointment for her at the clinic. We’ll figure out the transportation logistics once we know what time she has to be there.”
“I’m not sick enough to go to the clinic. Grace worries too much,” Oneita said as she shuffled into the kitchen with a water glass in her hand. “Next time I go to the rheumatologist, I’ll tell him about my fingers. Who’s Rachel?”
Pleased that Grace had honored Ivan’s request not to tell anyone about Rachel, Arden ignored his mother’s question. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Jah,” she answered and then was overtaken by a coughing fit. Grace hovered over her, wringing her hands. When Oneita stopped wheezing, she took a sip of water and then said, “I’m fine, but I need to lie down again. Would you make some white willow bark tea with a drop of honey, Grace? I think my fever is back.”
Grace placed her hand over her mother’s forehead. “Jah, you’re waarem. I’ll walk you to your room.”
When she returned, Grace scowled at Arden and picked up their conversation right where they’d left off. “I don’t understand you sometimes. If Rachel is anything like Ivan, she’ll be hallich to help. Or is it that you’re afraid Mamm and I won’t be polite to her because she went Englisch? I promise we’ll wilkom her into our home as warmly as we’d wilkom any Amish woman.”
That was exactly what Arden was worried about. Once Grace and his mother got to chatting, there was no telling what they’d say to Rachel. I’ve got enough on my mind without worrying whether they’re going to try to convince an Englischer to take pity on a dumm Amish bachelor and kumme back to Serenity Ridge for gut so I can marry her. “If Mamm’s fingers get worse, call me on the business phone,” he instructed his sister and bolted from the house.
The Amish Nurse's Suitor Page 6