Brush of Angel's Wings

by Ruth Reid

  Rachel scooped out a mound of lard and slathered it on her hand and forearm. She knelt beside the cow, and with one hand repositioning the tail, she slipped her other hand into the warm canal.

  Jordan knelt beside her and took hold of the tail. “Sorry.”

  Touching something hard, she blew out a breath. “It’s a front hoof.”

  His face contorted. “How do you know?”

  “Three joints.” She gripped the leg and tugged. The calf moved. Rachel smiled. “He’s alive.”

  Wendy contracted, wedging Rachel’s hand between the abdominal wall and the calf. But the cow’s forceful strain didn’t stimulate any additional calf movement. Rachel groaned. She waited until the contraction ended before removing her hand. “We better get the chains ready.”

  Jordan swallowed.

  She pushed off the floor. “Something’s stopping the calf.” Her greasy hands slipped as she tried to unlatch the gate.

  “Let me get it.” Jordan wiped his hands on his thighs, then clicked the bolt and swung the gate open.

  Rachel stepped out, but Wendy’s laborious snorting summoned her back into the pen. The gate slammed shut behind her at the same time. The cow’s abdomen moved violently while her legs locked in a stretched-out position. Alarmed by the cow’s sudden colicky action, Rachel hurried to reapply another coat of lard over her hands.

  One hoof was out.

  Jordan opened the gate, with the chains draped over his shoulder. Staring at the protruding leg, his face drained of color.

  When the contraction ended, the foot disappeared back into the birth canal.

  He gestured at the cow. “Is that normal?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it happen before.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh God, please let this calf live. In Jesus’ name, let it live.” She opened her eyes as Jordan was closing his.

  “God, I agree with the request. Amen.” He opened his eyes and a faint smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.

  Wendy kicked her hind leg up against her abdomen. Under the pressure of the cow’s forceful strain, the calf’s hoof reappeared, but it quickly retracted again when the cow stopped pushing.

  Rachel’s throat tightened and her vision blurred with tears.

  Jordan moved closer. “Don’t break down now. What do we need to do with these chains?”

  She shrugged, too choked up to give a reply.

  “Rachel, that little guy wants to come out of there.” Jordan handed her the chains, then lathered his hands with a thick layer of grease. He slipped his hand inside before Wendy contracted, then looked up at Rachel. “The other leg is turned. How do I get it unstuck?”

  She quickly found the end of the chain. “Loop this above the ankle joint.”

  “Then what?”

  “Daed always told James to pull with each contraction. Then hold with an even traction between each one.”

  After attaching the chain, Jordan withdrew his hand and steadily held the chain.

  “Pull,” she said when Wendy contracted.

  The contraction eased.

  “Hold.”

  After another round of pulling, the other hoof appeared, and after that, the calf’s muzzle. Rachel wiped the thin membrane away from the calf’s airway. “Nau she needs to push the shoulders out.”

  Jordan aided Wendy, and after several minutes of forceful contractions, the rest of the calf slid out, landing on the bed of straw.

  Rachel took a piece of straw and wiggled it inside the calf’s nostrils. “Rub his sides to get his lungs moving.”

  Jordan massaged the rib cage, then thumped hard a few times until the calf breathed. He gazed at Rachel. “You’re amazing.” His smile widened. “I mean it. You’re amazing.”

  “Nett me. God is amazing. Don’t you forget, Jordan Engles. We prayed about this, and God extended his grace.”

  Wendy and the calf both stood and the calf bonded with its mother.

  “I’ll thank him for making you amazing.” He patted his chest with a slimy hand. “If I wasn’t covered in gunk, I would kiss you.” He moved toward her and paused as if waiting for her permission.

  The rattle of the gate hinges startled them both. Rachel rose as her father limped inside the pen.

  Daed gestured to Jordan’s clothes. “Difficult delivery, jah?”

  Jordan spread his arms so Micah could see it all. “Jah.”

  Daed put his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Go on in the haus. I need to talk with Jordan alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Micah cleared his throat. “What are your intentions with mei daughter?”

  Jordan swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected such a direct question. Micah must’ve overheard him say he wanted to kiss Rachel.

  “I’m nett so old that I don’t see how she looks at you,” Micah said.

  “I’m fond of Rachel.” Fond? He felt a lot more than fondness toward her.

  “I know your father contacted you, sohn.” Micah stroked his beard.

  “He wants to take me on his truck route.”

  “And driving a truck is something you want to do, jah?”

  Jordan drew a deep breath. Only a few weeks ago he could’ve answered with an immediate yes. Now, choked with uncertainty, he couldn’t form a reply.

  “If you go . . . don’t take mei daughter.” Micah’s firm tone contradicted his watery eyes.

  Jordan’s stomach knotted. “I understand. I’ll keep my distance from her. You have my word.”

  The lines on Micah’s forehead disappeared. “You’re a gut man.”

  The words were hollow in Jordan’s heart. With his feelings for Rachel growing stronger every day, it would be difficult to keep his word.

  “I know you’ve struggled since your mother died, and living here hasn’t been easy,” Micah said.

  Jordan remained silent. He rubbed his watering eyes, leaving a greasy film from the calf delivery on his lids. His stomach rolled.

  Micah pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Jordan.

  Jordan wiped his face with the cloth. “She told me before she died . . . she’d made peace with God. She wanted me to find the same peace. But I don’t know how.”

  A stretch of silence passed between them before Micah spoke. “Have you considered that God might be trying to show you the way?” As though he hadn’t expected Jordan to reply, he continued, “Don’t be so stubborn that you refuse to listen. The sheep hear the Shepherd’s voice. Your heart hasn’t turned to stone . . . or you wouldn’t be drawn to seek him.” Micah picked up the chains. “I’ll get these boiling.”

  “I can do that.” Jordan reached for the chains, but Micah didn’t release them.

  “Nay.” He patted the pen slats. “It’s gut to spend a few minutes with a newborn calf.” Micah limped out of the barn.

  Jordan leaned against the pen and stared at the newborn. “Thank you for saving the calf, God. It means a lot to Rachel.”

  He squeezed his eyes closed. “And Rachel means a lot to me.”

  Tangus slithered along the barn rafter above Jordan. “Micah thinks you’re trouble. He knows you’ll never be righteous like them. You’re not Amish.”

  “That is not the truth.” Nathaniel hovered over Jordan to block the enemy’s view. “Remember what your mother said, ‘My kinfolk will welcome you. Your father will find you there.’ Jordan, the Father is here. Call to Him, for He waits for you.”

  Tangus dropped down to the straw floor and shielded his eyes from Nathaniel. “Your father did find you. He wrote you a letter.”

  Jordan smiled. “My mother was right. I have found my father here.”

  Tangus lifted his tattered wings away from his eyes to steal a glimpse at his ethereal adversary. “You underestimate my power, Nathaniel. I’ve manipulated the human heart since those worldly creatures were created. They all stumble. Some fall. And some I bury in their guilty pleasures.”

  Jordan watched the calf, suckling on its mother, and grinned at the st
ubborn little gal. Rachel sure proved to be a good midwife to the cow. He stayed for a while observing the miracle before him.

  As Jordan closed the barn door, Rachel was hitching Ginger to the buggy. His heartbeat skipped erratically. He needed to keep his promise to Micah and keep his distance, but the moment she looked up from fastening the strap and smiled, he veered toward her.

  “How’s the calf?” Her smile lingered.

  “She’s nursing. You want to go see her?”

  “Jah, but I can’t. Sadie’s sick and I’m driving her home.” She squatted to reach the strap dangling under Ginger’s belly, then looped it through the ring. “I plan to stay and help her.”

  “When you get back will you take a walk with me?” She needed to hear the news about his father from him.

  She paused and eyed him as though she could see into his soul. “I suppose, if you promise to tell me your secret for getting those old floors to shine in the grossdaadi haus.”

  Jordan smiled. “One part vinegar and one part vegetable oil.”

  She shifted her attention to her sister waddling toward them. Rachel leaned close to Jordan and whispered, “Sadie’s rasping like her lungs are filled with fluid.”

  Sadie handed Rachel a jar of canned chicken broth and pulled herself into the buggy. Once she sat on the bench, Rachel handed her the jar.

  Jordan followed Rachel to the driver’s side. “How long will you be gone?”

  “A few days.” Rachel glanced at the barn. “You’ll look after the calf, jah?”

  “Jah. If you promise not to race that horse.”

  “I only like racing those I can beat.” Rachel smiled as she released the brake. “I’ll wait for you.”

  Rachel wished she could have stayed home and gone for a walk with Jordan. The intensity of his stare had warmed her core.

  Beside her, Sadie squirmed on the bench like a child at the close of a three-hour church service. Rachel glanced at her sister. “Are you feeling worse?”

  “The same. I’m light-headed and hot—like mei insides are cooking.” Sadie arched her back and placed her hand on her side. “This pressure feels different.” Sadie’s forced smile slipped into a frown. “I wish I knew if this is normal.”

  Rachel reached for her sister’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You need rest.” She flinched along with Sadie as the buggy wheel dipped into a pothole.

  Sadie closed her eyes until Rachel stopped Ginger in front of the house. Rachel jumped out and came around to her sister’s side. As Sadie eased off the bench, Timothy came out of his shop and ran over to them.

  “What’s wrong?” He looked with concern at his fraa.

  “I need to rest, is all.” Sadie’s lips pursed. “It will pass.”

  “How long have you felt like this?” He wrapped his arm around her and carefully helped her down.

  “It kumm on me sudden.”

  Rachel followed them inside the house. “She said she feels hot on the inside.”

  Timothy helped her into the bedroom. After lowering her on the bed, he placed his hand on her forehead. “You feel warm.”

  “She needs to be checked,” Rachel said.

  “Jah, maybe so.”

  “You two stop talking about me like I’m nett here,” Sadie protested. “The midwife is still out of town.”

  “I’ll bring you some water.” Rachel left the room, filled a glass, then took it to her sister.

  “She’s going to take a nap,” Timothy said.

  Rachel set the water glass on the bedside table.

  “Denki,” Sadie mumbled.

  Timothy helped her to sit long enough to sip the water, then he gently lowered her to the pillow. “Do you need another pillow?”

  “Nay, I’m fine nau.” Sadie closed her eyes as Timothy kissed her forehead.

  Rachel had always admired his attentiveness to Sadie. His love for her was obvious both in the way he looked at her as well as in his actions. Rachel stifled a sigh. “Are you hungry?”

  Sadie rolled her head against the pillow. “But you can make something for Timothy, please.”

  Rachel touched her sister’s arm. “You must eat something after your nap. I’ll warm some broth.”

  Her sister closed her eyes without replying.

  Rachel slipped out the door behind Timothy. “She needs to eat something for the boppli’s sake.”

  “Jah.”

  “Mamm sent a quart of her chicken broth. I’ll add some vegetables and make soup.”

  “Denki.” Timothy paused at the end of the hallway, his face full of concern. “I have some work to finish in mei shop.” He eyed the bedroom. “I hope it’s nett the gut Lord’s plan for Sadie to miscarry the boppli.”

  Rachel clasped her hands. “We will pray for God’s grace.”

  “And mercy.” Timothy then began mumbling something about buggy wheels as he headed outside.

  Rachel drew a deep breath as she stepped inside the kitchen to inventory Sadie’s pantry. Pushing back the pantry curtain, she found a container full of dried homemade egg noodles. She filled a pan with water, added the stiff noodles, and placed the pan on the stove. She poured the broth into a separate pot.

  After the broth had simmered, Rachel ladled a bowl and let it cool on the counter. Timothy entered and wiped his feet on the braided rug. “How’s Sadie?”

  “I was getting ready to take her some broth.”

  Timothy took a spoon from the drawer, grabbed the bowl of broth from the counter, and headed for the bedroom. A few minutes later, he reappeared in the kitchen and set the bowl on the counter. “She’s still sleeping.”

  “Here, I made us some vegetable and noodle soup.” Rachel placed two steaming bowls on the table and some sliced bread on a plate. “I’m worried about her.”

  “Me too.” Timothy pulled the chair away from the table and sat.

  Rachel sat across from him, bowed her head, and said a short prayer asking God to watch over the boppli and to bless the food.

  Timothy blinked a few times, then peered in the bowl while stirring the soup with his spoon. “Do you think she’s been sick all day?”

  “She said no, but I was helping Jordan deliver a calf. So I don’t really know.”

  He forced a smile. “How did Jordan do?”

  “For nett wanting to be a farmer, he did okay. He did what needed to be done.”

  “I’m nett sure he wants to be Amish either.” Timothy buttered his bread before he took a bite.

  She wasn’t sure if he meant his words as a caution to guard her heart, or merely as a statement of fact. But the words jolted everything within her. She stared at the chunks of carrots in her bowl. She hadn’t realized how deep her desire was for Jordan to accept their faith.

  “Don’t fall in love with him,” Timothy said as he reached for the salt.

  She focused on her soup, acknowledging his warning with a reluctant nod. She spooned some soup into her mouth. Timothy’s words wouldn’t have stung if she didn’t already love Jordan. She swallowed and looked at Timothy. “He’s confused about the faith. I’ve asked him to speak with the bishop, but—”

  “Ach, Rachel. You’re smitten already.” He gave her a knowing look and dipped his spoon into the soup. “He doesn’t plan to stay.”

  “I know,” she said in a whisper. But every part of her wanted to believe he would. Rachel’s heart grew heavy. She sipped the soup, thankful that Timothy had become quiet. When they finished eating, Rachel tidied up the kitchen, then reheated the simple broth for Sadie.

  She paused at the sitting room where Timothy sat with an open Bible on his lap. The sight warmed her, reminding her how important it was to have a husband who loved God with all his heart.

  She continued down the hallway to the bedroom. “Sadie?” she whispered. “I made you some soup.” Rachel set the bowl on the dresser and lit the oil lamp.

  Sadie didn’t respond.

  Rachel sat on the edge of the bed. Heat radiated off her sister’s body. Her face
looked as though she’d spent too much time in the sun. The redness had spread over Sadie’s cheeks, and her forehead was dotted with perspiration. “Ach, God, protect the boppli. Sadie will be devastated if she loses it.” Rachel rushed out to the sitting room.

  “Sadie needs medical attention nau.”

  Without speaking, Timothy closed the Bible, crossed the room, and headed toward the bedroom. He took one look at his fraa and spun around. “Sit with her.” His voice raspy, he cleared his throat. “I will get help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jordan stood on the porch and watched the sun setting over the Hartzlers’ cornfield.

  The door creaked as Micah stepped out. “A fine nacht, jah?” He moved to the stairs and beckoned for Jordan to follow. “Let’s check the crop.”

  Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, Jordan walked beside Micah. The fading sunlight hadn’t affected the temperature. Nearly nightfall and the heat index was probably in the 80s. Before he came to live with the Amish, Jordan never thought about giving thanks for simple things like a breeze. He smiled. He’d finally grown accustomed to wearing long sleeves in the heat and having a tight, collarless shirt hug his sweaty neck.

  Micah stood at the edge of his cornfield, fingering a cornstalk.

  Jordan did the same. “Knee high by fourth of July, right?”

  Micah took off his hat and dabbed his head with his handkerchief. “Probably nett this year. With the late planting and lack of rain . . . well, that will be up to God, won’t it?” He replaced his hat and tucked the cloth into his back pocket.

  Jordan felt the weight of this setback on his shoulders. “I should have—”

  “Nay. God knows the beginning from the end.”

  “But I shouldn’t have left.”

  “God will provide.” Micah clapped Jordan’s shoulder. “This is the farmer’s life. Some years are plentiful, some years we scrape by.” He chuckled. “We have never gone hungry.”

  “That’s what my mother used to say when our garden was drought stricken.”