The Taming of a Wild Flower: Book Three (Amish Fiction/Romance, Christian Romance)

by Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  I leaned over and squeezed her affectionately. Elizabeth sat in the corner of the room with her nose in a book, oblivious to the commotion in the room, while Eva tossed toys in the big box in the corner, muttering to herself about how the twins needed to learn to pick up after themselves. I giggled at the scene before me like I was someone else looking in from the outside. I had to admit, I had overreacted. But Lillie understood; I could see it in her expression. She, too, had suffered loss from the death of a loved one, and we seemed to share the same apprehension over life’s unexpected surprises.

  Not wanting her fear of the unknown to cripple her like it had once done to me, I regained my role as the parent and reassured her that she was safe in her present life at the farm. I would do everything in my power to protect her. I straightened up and took a deep breath, releasing the evidence of my fears, urging her to go outside and enjoy the early spring day.

  With Eva in tow, she did as I asked of her; Elizabeth, however, was a bit of a challenge. Tucking her book under her arm, she moved from the overstuffed chair in the family room to the porch swing and revisited the pages of her book. I didn’t fret about it, knowing that the porch was an improvement since, at the very least, she’d be getting some much needed fresh air.

  Knowing I could use some air myself, I bundled the twins in their sweaters and plunked them in their stroller, intending to walk to the row of mailboxes. The afternoon sun felt good on my cheeks, and remembering it was Saturday, I decided to walk a little further to check on Mitchell. I knew he was fully recovered from the accident, but I needed a little reassurance for myself.

  From the dirt road, I could see Mitchell walking from the barn, his gait uneven. He’d walked with a limp since the accident from the tines of the plow that tore a large section of his leg open. It had ripped clean trough his muscle and broken his leg in three places. The surgeon warned him that he may never walk again, but here he was, walking with only a slight limp. But something was different about his walk now. He almost looked unsteady on his own legs. He stumbled slightly, but caught himself on the rail of the horse coral beside the barn. I picked up speed of the stroller I was pushing when I saw him stumble a second time. Leaving the stroller parked just outside the coral gate, I yelled for my father as I ran to my brother. Mitchell slid to the ground; his eyes were glassed over.

  I pushed at his shoulder. “Mitchell, are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer.

  He just stared blankly. I could hear him breathing quietly, but I couldn’t get him to answer me.

  I jiggled him again. “Mitchell, answer me.”

  He mumbled something I couldn’t understand. Panicking, I yelled for help, until my father came from inside the barn.

  He knelt beside my brother. “Go in the house and call 911.”

  I hesitated, half from shock.

  He turned to me, looking at me sternly. “Do as I said. Now, Jane.”

  I shook myself from the stupor that momentarily controlled me, and ran to the house to do his bidding; I left my children outside the gate in their stroller. As I ran toward the house, my mother came running out with the cordless phone to her ear. From the conversation, I could hear that she was already calling for an ambulance. I ran back to my babies, trembling, as I watched my father from a distance, trying to get Mitchell to respond to him. Fear welled up in my gut, and I tried not to think about what could have happened to my brother if I hadn’t decided to visit him.

  With both my parents now both at his side, I could hear the faint sound of sirens. I looked off toward the main road, watching the dust clouding a clear sight of the ambulance and police car that disturbed the quiet road that led to the farm.

  ****

  As we readied for the upcoming November wedding of Mitchell’s daughter, Bethany, to Caleb Yoder, the news came that my brother had lung cancer. He delayed scheduling the surgery to remove two small tumors until after the wedding. We all agreed to keep the news from the children until after the celebration. If Mitchell had his way, he’d have put it off until after the holidays, too, but everyone urged him to take care of it as soon as the wedding was behind us.

  As tough as it was for all of us not to worry about my brother’s health and his constant coughing fits, he pressed on as though nothing had changed. I admired his determination, and even went with him to the library to do research on natural healing. He was strong, and I knew if anyone could fight it, he could.

  The first snow of the season didn’t slow us down a bit with preparations for the wedding. I think we all needed to stay busy during that uncertain time. The women in the community gathered for a quilting bee, the final item for Bethany’s dowry. None of us spoke another word of my brother’s condition; we all knew how important it was for him to have this day with his only daughter. We all watched as my brother fussed over her, and when he thought no one was looking I caught the mournful expression he was trying very hard to hide behind his frozen smile.

  ****

  The day of the wedding finally arrived, and I knew that although this was an important day for my brother’s family, I couldn’t help but think past this moment. I wanted nothing more than to be past my brother’s surgery and any treatments so we could all go on with our lives and things would go back to normal. Even my mother managed a stiff expression during the ceremony. I could tell my parents were worried, but they both tried not to let it show. Today would be a day of celebration as we all secretly hoped tomorrow would take care of itself.

  ****

  The news of Bethany’s pregnancy gave all of us new hope and something to look forward to. Mitchell’s surgery had gone well, but he wasn’t recovering as quickly as the doctors had expected. Most of our conversations lately had revolved around Mitchell and his recovery. I was tiring of the constant talk and was happy that Bethany’s pregnancy would give us something else to focus on. I also knew his first grandchild would give my brother one more reason to fight for his life.

  By the time spring finally arrived in full, I was happy to see my brother getting out and getting some fresh air. Though he’d sit on the porch swing with a thick quilt and sipping hot herbal tea, I knew the cool spring air would do him a world of good. With Abigail at home watching the twins, Bradley and I walked down the lane for a routine visit with him. I was grateful for my husband’s skills as a doctor, and I know Mitchell appreciated having him close by in case of an emergency. As we sat on the porch we engaged in polite small talk, though Mitchell knew we were there to check up on him. I knew Bradley was watching for any changes in his energy level that might indicate his condition had worsened.

  After a while, Bradley excused himself to go on his afternoon rounds within the community. After he left, Rebekah poked her head out from the side door and asked if I wanted tea. I offered to help her prepare it, hoping it would give me a chance to ask her how my brother was really doing. I knew he’d been keeping up a brave front for all our sakes, but his wife would surely have noticed if he’d been fooling us.

  As we entered the kitchen, Rebekah suddenly turned to me. “How did you survive when my brother died?”

  The question startled me. After Elijah’s death, we had never discussed such things between us. But now, she was asking. Not because of Elijah, but because of my brother.

  “Did his doctor give him bad news? Is he worse?”

  She tucked her head down to avoid eye-contact with me. “He’s refusing chemotherapy. I feel like he’s giving up.”

  I shook my head. “No. I know my brother. He would never give up. Not as long as he has even a hint of breath left in him.”

  “But he’s going against his doctor’s recommendation, Jane. He says he wants to give his body time to heal itself. What if he doesn’t get better?”

  She was sobbing by this time. I didn’t have a clue what she was going through. Elijah’s death was so unexpected, I didn’t have time to think about it, much less react.

  “He has time. Savor the time you have with him. Don’t dwel
l on the little things. My mam always used to tell me to pick my battles. You have to pick your battles with him, and this ain’t anything to fight over. If it’s God’s will that he leave this world soon, be grateful you have the time to say a proper goodbye, unlike…”

  My voice trailed off. I couldn’t finish the sentence. We both knew what I was going to say, and there was no use saying it. I couldn’t have even counted the times after Elijah’s death that I’d wished for more time. Rebekah had that time. We all did. I, for one, was not going to waste any time trying to talk my stubborn brother into something he wasn’t ready to face.

  ****

  The heat of August was almost more than any of us could bear. Though Mitchell had lost a great deal of weight, he was slowly getting his strength back. The doctors had advised him to get a radiation treatment to shrink the small tumor that had recently invaded his lung, but he wanted to wait until after Bethany gave birth. He was informed that he would have to stay away from the baby for two weeks after his treatment. If he took the treatment now, he wouldn’t be allowed near Bethany, and she was due to deliver any day.

  As I sat opposite my brother on the porch, I shucked peas and tossed them at Mitchell who sat there with his mouth wide open like a little kid. From a distance, I could see Luke and Simon running up the road. They’d gone with Bradley so they could see the new puppies at the Yoder farm, and I wondered why they weren’t with him now.

  Luke ran ahead and approached us out of breath.

  “Papa said to come quick. Bethany’s having the baby.”

  I sprang to my feet, dropping the colander of peas on the floor of the porch. “Go get your grandpa to bring the van around so we can get your Uncle Mitchell there. Hurry boys.”

  I ran into the house to get Rebekah so she could help me with my brother. Excitement showed on her face at the thought of new life coming into our family. It was the first great grandchild for our parents and the first grandchild for any of my siblings. I figured it would be my turn sometime next year with Abigail planning her wedding in November, but today was Mitchell’s and Rebekah’s day.

  By the end of the day, my brother was a grandpa to healthy baby girl named Grace. Being the first great grandchild, my parents couldn’t have been more proud than if it were their own child. I, on the other hand was looking forward to being the cool, Great Aunt Jane.

  ****

  I walked the long corridor that led to the private room at the end of the hall where they had Mitchell stashed away like a leper. I dreaded seeing him in such a weakened state. The doctors had given him the news that if the treatment was successful, he could live for many years to come. But if it didn’t shrink the tumor, he would only have about six months left. Saying goodbye was not how it was supposed to be. We were supposed to outlive our parents; that’s just how it was supposed to be. We’d always joked as children and said that our mother would outlive us all; in our opinion, she was too stubborn to ever give in to death. I slowed my pace a little, stalling for time to think of what to say to him. Only problem was, time was not something I had to waste the way I was dawdling. It had been a year-long fight for him, and he was ready to stop his chemo treatments. He’d eventually decided to take the chemo to allow more time with his family, but he decided this would be the last one. I didn’t blame him; if I’d been the one with cancer, I certainly wouldn’t have tolerated letting the doctors put poison in my body to fight off the wretched disease.

  I breathed in deep and let it out slowly before entering his room. Mam and his nurse had assisted him into a wheelchair, and were tucking in a blanket around his legs. His sunken face lit up when he saw me. I maneuvered around the many family members crowding the oversized room so I could hug him.

  He gave me a light squeeze and whispered in my ear. “Say, why don’t you take me for a spin around the block. I need to get out of here. Everyone is smothering me.”

  I looked at Rebekah, who’d heard him, and she nodded her consent. With that, I took my place behind the chair and steered him toward the door, IV and oxygen tank in tow.

  When we were out of earshot of the family, he reached behind him and patted my hand that rested on the handlebar of the chair. “Thanks for springing me from that room. I was beginning to feel like a prisoner.”

  I gave his frail hand a gentle squeeze. “It was getting pretty stuffy in there. How are you feeling? Really!”

  “Jane, they just pumped my body full of poison. How do you think I feel? Do you remember when we were kids and we thought our lives were so horrible, having to live with mom the way she was? Well, let me tell you that living with cancer is far worse than that ever was. Our rotten childhood was ten times easier than this.”

  I stopped wheeling him and stood in front of him.

  “You still think about that stuff?”

  “A person never forgets where he came from. But I try to concentrate on the good things now, like my new granddaughter. Our childhood wasn’t all bad. We had some fun times when we were kids. We got into more than our fair share of trouble, but we had fun getting there.”

  “All this time, I thought I was the only one that still carried around the memories of our childhood.”

  He took my hand. “Don’t carry it around like a heavy burden. Carry it like a badge of courage. We survived a lot of crap, but in the end, instead of having to live it our entire lives, we were freed. Not every kid gets a second chance like we did. I never really thanked you for having the courage to rat Mom out all those years ago. If you hadn’t told your guidance counselor at school what was going on in our house, she would never have called the proper people to get Mom the help she needed, and we wouldn’t be here now. Our lives have been great here. You know I’m determined to fight this cancer, but if I can’t, I can leave this world knowing I lived a full life here.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “But you’re still young.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll always be your big brother. Put the memories of the past into your think-bank and leave them there. All except for one.”

  I looked at him, wondering why he suddenly wore what he always referred to as his “cheese-eating” grin.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours? I remember that look. That look got us into trouble as kids more times than I care to remember.”

  He looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I was thinking about how we used to play cops and robbers on our bikes, and you’d chase after me, peddling your little Huffy as fast as you could.”

  “You always made me be the cop.”

  He laughed so hard, I thought he would puncture a lung. “That’s because you were so good at making the siren sound. You had this high pitch to your voice that made it sound almost real.”

  I smiled. “All this time, I thought it was because you thought you were faster than I was with your Stingray with that yellowish-orange banana seat. You thought you were so cool.”

  He tilted his head as though to reflect on the past.

  “I was cool. And for the record, I was faster than you. But in all fairness, that was a pretty fast bike.”

  “Oh, now you’re insulting me.”

  “It was the siren. If you weren’t so good at it, we wouldn’t have had such a great time. What do you say? One more time around the block for old time’s sake?”

  I imitated his “cheese-eating” grin. “You’re on.”

  I adjusted the IV pole so I could see around it, and then made sure the small oxygen tank was secure on the other side. Then I pushed hard to make him go fast, gaining momentum with each room we passed down the long corridor. Heads turned, but I didn’t care; we were untouchable. I even surprised myself at how well I could still make the “siren” noise that grew louder the faster I pushed him. Mitchell managed a hearty laugh when the wheelchair teetered a little out of control. We were kids again for that moment; a moment I wished I could preserve and keep forever.

  PLEASE ENJOY THE FOLLOWING SNEAK PEEK OF

  MILK MAID IN HEA
VEN

  (CHRISTIAN ROMANCE)

  ONE

  NO TIME FOR REGRETS

  Mitch Rutherford rolled over in his grey, steel bunk, unable to sleep in the damp prison cell. It wasn’t the sun from his tiny, barred window that was keeping him up; he just couldn’t shake the image of Emily Stuart, the farmer’s daughter, from his mind no matter how much he tried. It wasn’t just her milky white skin, her light, red hair, or her blue-green eyes that intrigued him. No, it was something more. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was almost like she was an angel, sent down from heaven just for him.

  For nearly three years, Mitch had worked the graveyard shift at the dairy farm through the prison work-release program. Other prisoner’s had rumored throughout the years that such a young woman existed, but that she had been away at college. Mitch never paid too much attention to the rumors, accepting them as just that—rumors—until he finally saw her with his own eyes.