by Mary Ellis
James Davis did what he hadn’t done in years—alone in a soybean field on what had been a perfect spring day—he began to cry.
The highway patrolman tentatively placed a hand James’ shoulder. James quickly swiped at his face with his shirtsleeve.
“It’s okay, son,” the officer said. “Your relative is alive. She’s in that ambulance over there.” He gestured with his gloved finger. “You can go see her, but remember what I told you before—don’t get in anybody’s way. They’re getting ready to head for the hospital right about now.”
James’ head turned until he focused on the rescue vehicle. People were swarming around the back door. “Thank you,” he called to the patrolman. And he whispered a second thank-you to God, who held the life of even the humblest creature in His hand. On wobbly legs, James started moving toward the flashing lights.
Simon watched the young man approach and felt nothing but pity. James’ face was pale and his eyes were red and puffy. Thank goodness his dear, sweet daughter was already inside the ambulance. Her clothing, stained with her life’s blood, had been covered by a sterile white blanket. The EMTs had strapped her to a board to prevent further injury to her spine and immobilized both her broken legs and arm.
But she was alive. And Simon Miller was a grateful man.
“Mr. Miller, can I have a word with you, sir?” James Davis asked. “Please.”
Simon walked from the open ambulance door to meet Emma’s English friend. He did not want their conversation to be overheard.
“I know you don’t much care for me, but I want to know how Emma is. I must know.” He stood resolute less than a foot away, out of breath and sweaty.
Simon crossed his arms over his jacket and answered as accurately as he could. “She has multiple injuries to both legs, arms, back, and…” His voice faltered as his fortitude waned. He gasped for air and then continued, “…some head injuries. No way of telling how severe until they get her to the hospital.”
Simon would have made it through the description—one he knew he would have to repeat many times—if he hadn’t looked up and seen tears streaming down the young man’s face. Men his age never cry. Simon felt his own eyes sting with moisture. “But she’s conscious, James. She talked to me and knew that I was her daed. The medics say she has a good chance for recovery.”
James swiped at his face with a handkerchief as his expression turned joyous. “Oh, thank God,” he said huskily.
“Jah, indeed, we have much to be thankful for. I was riding back from the chiropractor with my neighbor and came upon…this, or else I wouldn’t have known or been able to see her.”
James shoved the hanky into a back pocket and straightened to his full height. “Thank you, Mr. Miller, for letting me know.” He took a step backward.
Simon observed the change in the young Englischer’s demeanor. His relief that Emma was alive was almost palpable. On impulse he asked, “Would you like to see her, James, before they take her to the hospital?” He felt a tear fall but brushed it away quickly.
James couldn’t have looked more surprised if the skies had opened and a team of chariots arrived to transport Emma to the emergency room. “Yes, sir, I sure would.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I know she doesn’t care about me anymore, but I just want to see for myself that she’s okay. Then I’ll be on my way.
Simon walked back to where EMTs were hooking Emma to monitors and IVs, stabilizing her for transport. He gestured for James to enter and then spoke as the boy stepped past him, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Inside the ambulance, James asked softly, “Emma, are you awake?”
To his astonishment, her eyes fluttered open. “Jah, I’m awake. Oh, Jamie, I thought I’d never see you again.” Two tears ran down her bloodied cheeks.
“Don’t talk like that, Em. Even if you don’t love me, I’ll always care about you…and pray that you are safe and well.” He touched the blanket gingerly.
Emma lifted up her unfettered arm in protest. “But I do care about you. I never stopped caring.” She sounded weak but very sure of herself.
“Time to go, Miss Miller,” a female medical tech said, eyeing James impatiently. “There’ll be plenty of time for romantic reunions after we get you patched up.” She pointed toward the door for James.
“I’ll see you soon, Em.” He patted her hand and stepped out quickly.
“Hop in, Mr. Miller. We’re ready to go,” she hollered. “We’re heading to Mercy Hospital in Canton.”
“Wait,” called Emma in a raspy voice. “I want…both of them to ride with me.”
“No, Miss Miller, there’s no room. I’m riding with you. Pick one or the other,” said the EMT.
Simon, standing in the doorway, looked at his daughter’s swollen face and felt nothing but gratefulness that she was not only alive, but speaking up for what she wanted.
So very like my Emma.
“Go ahead, son. Ride with Emma. I’ll follow behind with Mr. Lee in his van.”
James lifted his chin and suddenly looked older than eighteen. “No, sir. You ride with your daughter. I’ll send Mr. Lee back to pick up your wife and children to take them to the hospital. Then I’ll drive to Emma’s aunt’s farm and tell them. They can ride to Canton with me if they like.”
Simon shook his hand and climbed into the ambulance before it left without either of them.
With sirens blaring and lights flashing, the ambulance sped off, carrying the love of his life. James watched it disappear before running back to his vehicle. He didn’t look at the destroyed pony cart or the pitiful Appaloosa he had so optimistically bought Emma as a gift. He ran as though competing in the one-mile sprint in the state finals. When he found Mr. Lee beyond the police barrier, the man was beside himself with anxiety. Upon hearing that Emma would recover, he galvanized into James’ plan of action.
A worried-looking elderly woman was standing next to his truck when he reached her yard. “Sorry, ma’am, that I left my truck there. I had to reach the crash site in a hurry.”
She smiled indulgently. “No harm done. Is there anything I can do to help?”
James jumped into the driver’s side and turned the ignition key before an idea struck him. “Yes, ma’am. Could you please call my parents so they don’t worry? Tell them Emma’s been in an accident and that I’m going to Canton. Tell them she’ll be all right.” He jotted his phone number down on a fast-food receipt, thanked her, and left before she could ask him any more questions.
He didn’t have any answers.
He only knew one thing. Emma still cared for him, and that was the only thing he needed to know.
From the window in the doctor’s office, Hannah could see two Amish buggies, three cars, and the forest-covered hills to the east. She also spotted her husband with his metal-toothed brush, working the tangles from the standardbred’s coat. That man did not know how to be still, so sitting patiently in a doctor’s waiting room was out of the question.
Hannah watched him grooming the mare while she tried to calm her overexcitement. It was what she’d suspected for weeks. It was the midwife’s logical explanation for her weight gain, heightened appetite, and frequent morning sickness. The woman had laughed at Hannah’s naïveté. Usually women raised on farms could recognize the signs of pregnancy. It might be a bladder infection, a slow-growing stomach tumor, or perhaps a mysterious allergic reaction.
But today’s visit to a Mount Eaton English doctor confirmed her fondest hope—she was expecting a child. Hannah couldn’t stop grinning the entire time she redressed, and then she thanked every staff member she encountered on her way out.
Seth stopped brushing the horse when he saw her crossing the parking lot. “Well, Mrs. Miller?” he asked, holding back a smile.
“Well, what, ehemann? Must a wife discuss every little thing with her husband?” She tried to sound impatient. “Let’s go. I want to pick up a pizza on the way home.”
Without warning, he lifted
her off her feet and swung her away from the buggy. “Not every little thing…only this particular one.”
“Put me down this instant! Let’s not jar the boppli with all your foolishness!”
He immediately complied, but he lifted her chin to meet her gaze. “Jah, Hannah? You’re really having a child?”
“Jah,” she said. “I’m expecting. Let’s hope it’s a child and not a lamb or calf.” Despite her attempt at humor, she began to cry. “Oh, Seth, I am so happy.”
“Me too, fraa, me too. But there is one thing I gotta say.” He offered a hand as she stepped into the buggy.
“What’s that?” she asked, expecting to hear “I love you” or perhaps “I wonder if it’s a girl or boy.”
“I told you so!” He winked and shook the reins.
Business as usual in the Miller family.
Hannah and Seth teased each other all the way home. Seth suggested baby girl names that were unusual, to put it mildly, while Hannah promised to name the baby Zephaniah—Seth’s middle and his least favorite name—if the child was male. They didn’t reach agreement until almost home, the pizza already half eaten.
Hannah was filled with contentment as they turned down their township road. At long last, a boppli…a sister or brother for Phoebe. Now maybe that child would stop asking so many questions about where babies came from. Hannah mused on whom she would tell first—Julia or Emma, or perhaps crusty Simon, who had softened toward her considerably since the marriage to his bruder. She pondered what color to paint the baby’s room—traditional white, or if Seth permitted, maybe a soft yellow.
The sight of a shiny, green pickup parked at odd angle in their driveway curtailed her thoughts of paint colors. Hannah knew immediately who had come to call, but she couldn’t fathom why. The young English sheep farmer from Charm knew where Emma lived these days. Hannah felt an ominous sense of dread.
“I wonder who this might be?” Seth asked, parking the buggy close to the barn.
Hannah remained silent as they walked toward the house. They could see a tall, blond head at the back door. He’d been knocking to no avail—Phoebe was at Julia’s for the day.
Suddenly, the man spotted their approach and hurried down the steps.
The look on his face chilled Hannah’s blood.
“Mr. and Mrs. Miller?” he asked. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Late August
Abead of sweat ran down Emma’s temple as she painstakingly moved one leg and then the other through the long grass. She lifted her hand from the aluminum walker long enough to swipe the perspiration away and then braced her weight evenly on both palms. With difficulty, she took another step and shifted her weight forward. It hurt worse than sticking your head in a beehive. Thirty more paces, she told herself. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight. Slowly the bench daed had placed under the willow tree drew closer. Sitting in the shade would be her reward after the mandatory afternoon walk.
Three times a day, she endured agony as her muscles, tendons, and joints regained their usefulness. She had thought that once the casts came off her two broken legs, life would improve. It had felt wunderbaar to get rid of those itchy monstrosities. But with the casts gone, the daily physical therapy started. And with it came more suffering than a seventeen-year-old could ever imagine. I guess I’ll be more understanding of mamm, she thought, remembering Julia’s arthritis.
After twenty minutes Emma reached her cool oasis and lowered herself to the bench. When her breathing returned to normal, she turned her face skyward and offered up a heartfelt prayer. She knew she had much to be thankful for. Many people did not survive truck-buggy collisions. Given time, her legs would mend, and she would walk normally again one day. Her arm had sustained a simple break and was healing nicely. Already it was able to bear a certain amount of weight. The cuts, scratches, and purple bruises had faded. A competent plastic surgeon had stitched the deep gash by her eyebrow. It too would diminish into little more than a white line, according to her mother, and in the meantime it was usually hidden by her kapp. The broken cheekbone, nose, and eye socket bone had also mended without any permanent impairment to her vision. After prompt medical attention to her fractured skull, no residual effects remained other than occasional headaches in bright sunshine.
All in all, Emma was one lucky girl. More accurately, God had shown great mercy that day last April when an impatient young driver decided he couldn’t wait behind a slow-moving vehicle and swerved over the double yellow line…on a hill and going around a curve. He hadn’t thought anybody would be in that lane on the seldom-used back road.
He would think twice before driving recklessly again. The twenty-five-year-old mechanic from Millersburg had visited her several times in the hospital until she had asked him not to come anymore. She harbored no ill will toward him, but after a while his downtrodden expression, hand-wringing, and endless apologies only made her feel worse. He kept looking at her as though she were horribly crippled or disfigured. She wasn’t. She would be fine, and she didn’t wish to think about the accident any more. She also didn’t like to consider the enormous medical bills from her surgeries and subsequent rehabilitation. Several attorneys had approached her father regarding a lawsuit against the young man’s insurance policy for pain and suffering.
That was not the Amish way.
The mechanic’s insurance had covered the medical bills. For the emotional trauma, Emma would trust in God and the comfort of her family to see her completely healed.
But poor, poor Maybelle. The sweet pony that she had recently finished paying for was gone. That was the most heartbreaking part of the whole mess. It would be a long time before Emma would drive a buggy again or have further need for a pony.
Oddly enough, there was a bright spot. Her father had allowed James Davis to come calling again. Because he was home from college for the summer break, daed permitted James to visit each Wednesday evening and Saturday afternoon. Wednesdays they would sit on the porch swing under mamm’s watchful eye and read aloud to each other. Sometimes James would read Old Testament Scripture, stories of people who triumphed over adversity through their faith. Emma was heartened by these biblical heroes, and she knew a few broken bones were minor hardships by comparison. Sometimes he would read inspirational novels of modern people overcoming great challenges. Once in a while, they would sit quietly and listen to the night sounds—crickets, cicadas, nightjars, and tree frogs putting on a serenade.
If Julia excused herself for a few minutes, James would hold her hand and speak softly from his heart. He loved her. He always would. And with that knowledge, Emma would continue to endure walks to the park bench even if daed moved it all the way to Aunt Hannah’s beaver pond.
Her father made no mention of the inappropriateness of courting an Englischer. He no longer dropped hints about Joseph Kauffman or other Amish fellows that he favored. And he smiled often when he looked at her. Her mamm released her from any chores after the accident and had divided her work between Matthew, Leah, and Henry. Leah had waited on her hand and foot until Emma put a stop to it.
Emma, do you want some cookies?
Shall I get your shawl?
Would you like me to bring some lambs out of the pasture for you to see?
Leah, the girl who would start sneezing whenever she was within ten feet of a wooly critter.
Yes, Emma had much to be grateful for.
On Saturday afternoons, James arrived after chores with damp hair from the shower and unlimited enthusiasm. At first he pushed her in the wheelchair on warm sunny days to see her sheep, or into the barn where her spinning wheel and baskets of wool had been relocated to the first floor. Any work with the wool was comically impractical until her arm cast was removed, but Emma still loved to sit near her various projects. James even tried his hand at spinning under her tutelage and proved adequate for someone with large, calloused fingers. When weather permitted, James pushed her wheelchair down the path to the beaver pond or into the cool woods.
Leah accompanied them on these sojourns, entertaining them with funny stories and feeding them from her hamper of snacks and cool drinks. The three watched the not-so-graceful landing of mallard ducks, the industrious hummingbirds among the shrubbery, and lazy box turtles sunning themselves on fallen logs. The damp swamp air smelled sweet to Emma after weeks of confinement in hospital beds and in mamm’s enclosed back porch.
Leah and Emma grew inseparable as sisters, and Leah bonded in friendship with James as they both fussed over the invalid. Despite her condition, Emma couldn’t remember summer days as lovely as those of June and July.
When the legs casts came off and the physical therapy began, her days turned from idyll to tortuous. James helped her to exercise lead-heavy limbs and cajoled her to continue when she wanted only to retreat back to her chair. He was present when she gingerly took her first two steps as daed and the therapist supported her on both sides. Now that she could ambulate on her own with the walker, James had become her slave driver, pushing her to overcome each difficult threshold to recovery. Despite the added pain, Emma’s heart swelled each time his green truck drove into the yard. Saturdays had become her favorite day of the week.
And as Emma finished her silent prayers of thanks, she smiled brightly. Today was Saturday.
James parked in the driveway under a shady tree and reached for the bouquet he had picked for Emma. He had no trouble finding her. She sat where she always waited for him on Saturdays, under the low-hanging willow tree. A book lay beside her, but her attention had been diverted toward the heavens. Perhaps she prayed for rain for the corn crop or maybe for relief from the pain in her legs and back. He had been praying too, that Emma would see his idea as the logical solution and not some crazy Yankee notion.
“Hi, Emma,” he called at the midway point. “Good afternoon, James. What are you hiding behind your back? Better not be a snake or a toad.”