Anna's Return

by Marta Perry

  When she’d gone, Anna put her arm around Myra’s waist. “You have gut neighbors.”

  “Ja.” Myra seemed to rouse herself. “Do you think—Can’t we go a little closer?”

  Nodding, Anna led her around the side of the car, safely out of the men’s way.

  “They’ll have him out in a moment. It will be all right,” she murmured.

  She didn’t know that it would, and the fact that Joseph was still unconscious seemed bad to her, but Myra needed hope to cling to. They both did.

  Samuel was directing the operation, the other men moving without question to follow his lead. He was calm and steady despite his anxiety for his friend.

  The anger Anna had felt at him for not moving more quickly drained away, leaving her cold inside.

  “Now,” Samuel said.

  She saw what they intended. The men were levering the car up, shoving jacks into place as it lifted. She held her breath. If it slipped . . .

  It didn’t. Samuel dropped to the floor, peering beneath the car. “Once more,” he said.

  Again they levered the car up, muscles straining, shirts darkening with sweat. The instant the jacks were in place, Samuel snaked his body under the car next to Joseph. She held her breath, praying, knowing Myra was praying, too.

  She saw Samuel’s hand gesture, and the men bent as one to slide Joseph gently out.

  “He’s alive,” someone said, and Myra seemed to sag against her.

  Thank you, Lord. Thank you.

  Figures darkened the rectangle of sunlight in the open doorway. The paramedics had arrived and were moving quickly to Joseph, kneeling next to him in the center of a circle of Amish figures.

  “You’ll go with me to the hospital,” Myra said, clutching Anna’s hand.

  “Ja, of course I will,” she soothed.

  But all the time her thoughts spun in a wheel of blame. This was her fault. She had brought the car to this place where cars were forbidden. If not for her, Joseph wouldn’t be lying there, bloody and motionless. She should never have come home.

  How much longer would they have to wait for word? Anna moved to the window of the waiting room, trying not to fidget, and stared out over the flat roof of the adjoining hospital wing. It had been hours, surely, since Joseph had been taken to surgery.

  Please, Lord. Be with my brother. She fought to compose her mind to prayer, but her thoughts skittered helplessly in every direction. Now they fled to Gracie, and she yearned to be sitting with her at the kitchen table right now, spooning cereal into her mouth.

  “You’re not worrying about Gracie, are you?” Mahlon moved to her side, a cup of coffee looking too small in his big hand.

  She tried to manage a smile for the gawky teenage brother who’d turned into a responsible married man while she was gone. “How did you guess that?”

  “Wasn’t hard. You’d either be thinking about her or about Joseph.”

  “I’m doing plenty of thinking about him. And praying, too. If only . . .”

  “Ja,” Mahlon said. “He shouldn’t have tried to do that by himself, for sure. But he’s strong. He’ll come through this fine, ain’t so?”

  He was asking for reassurance, she realized. Beyond his height and beard and outward maturity, she glimpsed the boy he’d been—a year older than she, but always seeming younger, the happy-go-lucky boy who’d tumbled into mischief without thinking.

  “That’s right,” she said, trying to sound confident. “Nothing can keep Joseph down for long.”

  He nodded, pressing his lips together as if to keep them from trembling. “You don’t need to worry about your boppli, either. My Esther will take gut care of her and little Sarah, too, for sure.”

  “I know she will.” Mahlon’s young bride had come straight to the house to take over the babies, while Levi’s wife, Barbara, organized the folks who kept showing up to help.

  Those who weren’t taking over duties at home were here, it seemed. The waiting room had slowly filled up as word had spread through the Amish community.

  She turned back to the room. Daad was talking to Bishop Mose in one corner, a few older men forming a supporting circle around them. With their dark clothes and white beards they looked like a cluster of Old Testament patriarchs.

  Leah sat on one side of Myra, clasping her hand. Samuel was on the other, supporting his sister. Other Amish, their faces as somber as their clothes, waited with them, murmuring softly now and then.

  Suddenly Anna saw them as her sociology professor would have . . . a strange, anachronistic group with their old-fashioned clothes and their identical hairstyles, talking in their own version of Low German interspersed with English words.

  Different. Odd. He wouldn’t have used those value-laden words, but that’s what he’d have meant. She stared at them, feeling as if she were looking at an illustration in a textbook.

  She blinked, trying to shake off the sense that she saw them from both inside and outside the group. Coffee, that was what she needed.

  She skirted a small group of men and headed for the coffee urn. As she passed, a word from their conversation reached her. Car. They were talking about the car, of course, the cause of this tragedy. Her car, which never should have been in Joseph’s barn to lure him to disaster.

  Her hands weren’t quite steady as she lifted the lever on the coffee urn, filling the cup. Naturally they’d be talking about it, even as they prayed for Joseph. She glanced again at Myra, her face tense with strain, and at the supporting figures on either side of her, hiding their own pain to comfort her.

  Was this what it had been like the night she’d landed in this same hospital after the borrowed car she’d been driving had hit an Amish buggy? Had Daadi and Mammi grieved and been comforted by the community?

  She didn’t know. She hadn’t even thought of it as she’d come out of the daze of medication, aware only of her own misery. Mammi, Daad, Leah—one of them, patient and loving, had always been next to her when she woke.

  She’d repaid them with impatient words and stony silences, so obsessed with her own concerns that she hadn’t even thought about what they were going through.

  She spotted Bishop Mose coming toward her. She took a hurried gulp of the coffee, trying to wash away the shame that had hit so unexpectedly.

  “Some coffee for you?” She reached for a cup, trusting that the movement hid her face for a moment.

  At his nod, she filled the cup, adding the sugar she knew he used.

  “Denke, Anna.” He took the cup in a work-worn hand that was stained by the oils he used in his harness shop.

  “People out there,” she said, jerking her head toward the window, “they couldn’t imagine a bishop who has to do his own job as well as his ministry.”

  Bishop Mose didn’t seem surprised by a comment that had to sound odd under the circumstances. But then, it would take a lot to startle him.

  “I guess that’s true. But Paul still made tents when he was an apostle, ain’t so?” He didn’t seem to expect an answer. “How are you, Anna?”

  She clenched her teeth, determined not to say what she was thinking. But the words slipped past her guard and came out anyway.

  “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t brought the car here, none of this would have happened.”

  For a moment those wise old eyes surveyed her. “Joseph had nothing to say about what he did, then?”

  “I didn’t mean that.” She fumbled for a way to express what she felt. “Everyone knows how fascinated Joseph is with machinery. I should have realized that if the car was there he’d start tinkering with it. I should have gotten rid of it.”

  “And Joseph should have known better than to crawl under a car supported by one old jack, ja? And all alone, besides, with no one there to help him. Ain’t so?”

  Somehow she’d rather cling to her guilt. Was that just another way of being self-centered?

  Bishop Mose patted her hand. “We’ve all got plenty of real things to feel guilty about in this life, without ta
king on burdens that don’t belong to us.” He squeezed her hand briefly. Without waiting for a response, he moved off toward Myra.

  Things to feel guilty about—she had those, all right. They’d been slapping her in the face ever since she’d returned. Her friends in Chicago would reassure her that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that she’d just been trying to find herself, that she deserved to be free.

  She didn’t. The conviction landed on her. She didn’t deserve that freedom she longed for so much. Not until she’d made things right with the people she’d hurt.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Samuel held Myra’s hand in his, heart aching for his little sister.

  Dear Father, give her strength. She will need it.

  Strong wasn’t a word he’d ever used to describe Myra. Their sister, Elizabeth, on the other hand—no one ever doubted Elizabeth’s powers. Even though she came between Samuel and Myra in age, she’d bossed them all around from the cradle, and no doubt was doing the same for her husband and kinder out in Indiana.

  Myra was the gentle, easily wounded one, and maybe closer to his heart for that reason. He’d always thought he had to protect Myra. Until she married, of course. Then she’d found her strength in Joseph. It was a knife in his heart to think she might lose that, all from a moment’s thoughtlessness.

  He should have insisted on going with Joseph. He might have known Joseph wouldn’t be content to tinker around with the car’s insides. No, he’d have to test out every bit of it, because that was the kind of mind he had, endlessly curious about every piece of machinery he saw.

  “Samuel.”

  He jerked his mind back to the present, realizing his name had been spoken more than once, and stood to greet Daniel Glick, Leah’s husband.

  “I just came from your place,” Daniel said, turning his straw hat in his hands. “Everything is fine there. The kinder are happy and the animals fed. I locked up your house and saw to the horses myself.”

  “Denke, Daniel.” He’d known, of course, that everything would be taken care of. That was their way in times of trouble.

  “Is there any news?” Daniel lowered his voice, glancing at Myra.

  “Not yet.” Samuel realized he was clenching his hands and deliberately relaxed them. “All we can do is wait. And pray.”

  “Ja. I am doing that, for sure.” Daniel hesitated. He glanced at Leah, and it seemed a silent communication passed between them. “I was thinking that my oldest boy, Matthew, might be some help to you in the machine shop if Joseph is laid up for a while. He seems to have a gift for machinery.”

  “He does that.” Samuel had seen enough of young Matthew to be aware of the boy’s interest. It was a sacrifice for Daniel to be offering him, both because Daniel could use the boy’s help on his own farm and because it was well known that Daniel would rather see the boy a farmer. “Let’s talk to Joseph about it, soon as he’s able,” he said.

  Please, Lord . . .

  “Things will change with Joseph laid up.” Myra looked up at them suddenly, her face pinched. “I don’t know how we’ll manage.”

  “You mustn’t worry about that now.” Samuel bent to pat her clasped hands. “It will be all right. Joseph will be fine.” She needed to believe that.

  Daniel moved off to a group of men. Leah stood, stretching a little, and Anna came to take her place on the plastic chair next to Myra. Someone offered coffee. Samuel waited. Prayed.

  Finally the door opened. This time it was a doctor, a surgical mask hanging loose around his neck. He looked a bit startled by all the people there, gazing from one to the other.

  Myra rose, Samuel and Anna standing with her. “My husband . . .” she began, and her voice wavered.

  “Mrs. Beiler.” The doctor looked relieved to have her identified. “Perhaps you should come out into the hall to talk.”

  “Komm, Myra.” Samuel reached for her, but Anna already had her arm around Myra’s waist. Together they walked through the door with her, Elias Beiler following them.

  The door swung shut, cutting them off from their people, but not from their support. He could still feel them there, hoping and praying. Myra clutched Anna’s hand. They’d grown close in the short time since Anna had returned.

  “He’s come through the surgery very well,” the doctor said quickly, as if not wanting them to imagine anything else. “His vital signs are good, and he should be regaining consciousness soon.”

  “Can we see him now?” Elias asked, as if he couldn’t believe his son was all right until he saw for himself.

  “He’s still in recovery now, but I’ll have a nurse come for you as soon as you can see him.”

  Myra nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Samuel could tell that she hadn’t caught much more than that Joseph was alive.

  The doctor started to turn away. Surely there was more they should know . . .

  “How extensive was the surgery?” Anna’s crisp voice had the doctor turning back to them. “What exactly are his injuries?”

  Again surprise marked the doctor’s face. Had he not expected intelligent questions from them?

  “The head injuries aren’t severe. He has a concussion. There’s some damage to his left eye, but we believe it will heal in time. He’s very bruised, so don’t be alarmed by that when you see him.”

  Anna nodded. “What else?” She clearly didn’t intend to let him get away until they’d heard everything. Her years in the English world had taught her something of persistence, it seemed.

  “The injuries to his chest were more serious. Several broken ribs, a punctured lung.”

  Myra sagged a bit at that, leaning against Anna’s shoulder.

  “He will be all right in time?” Samuel put the question he knew was in Myra’s mind.

  “He has a long recuperation in front of him, but he’s young and strong. I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t get back to normal, given time.”

  Elias put his hand against the wall, relief coming over his face.

  “Denke.” Myra’s voice was little more than a faint murmur.

  The doctor nodded. Then he walked briskly away.

  Myra wiped at her tears with the palm of her hand, the way she had as a tiny child, and the gesture tugged at Samuel’s heart.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Anna said. “You see, Myra. Everything will be all right.”

  All right, in time. Samuel’s mind spun with the changes it would mean for all of them until Joseph was well again. The shop, the horses, Myra’s pregnancy . . .

  Myra murmured something to Anna, their heads close together. She’d grown to depend on Anna so quickly, he thought again. It was gut, surely, to have Anna there at the house with all that the future held.

  Except that Anna might not be the best person to depend upon. She might do exactly what she’d done before—she might run away.

  Anna slipped out of Joseph’s hospital room. With all the rejoicing going on, she wouldn’t be missed. After nearly a week’s stay in the hospital, Joseph would be coming home tomorrow.

  Myra had seemed a different person when she heard the news. She couldn’t be happy until she had him home with her, to spoil and care for.

  Thank you, Lord. Anna murmured the silent prayer as she hurried into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.

  For days she’d been looking for an opportunity to call her friend Liz in Chicago, but that normally simple task had proved unexpectedly difficult. Phone booths seemed to be a thing of the past now that everyone had cell phones. Everyone but the Amish, of course.

  However, she’d spotted a lone pay phone in a hall off the hospital lobby. She could call her friend, find out what she needed to know, and be done in time to meet Rosemary, Myra’s English neighbor, in the lobby for the ride home.

  Rosemary had been a huge help with rides over the past week. The church members had taken over everything else that needed to be done, but that they couldn’t do.

  The woman intrigued Anna. Childless, with a husband who tra
veled for work much of the time, Rosemary nevertheless didn’t have a job. That fact had certainly worked out to the family’s benefit this week.

  Anna started down the hall at a quick pace, saw the woman at the reception desk glance up at her in surprise, and slowed down. That was something else to get used to. There was seldom a reason to hurry in Amish life, unlike the frantic pace of her routine in Chicago.

  Her luck was in—the pay phone wasn’t in use. She dug out a huge handful of coins and stacked them on the ledge. Now, if only Liz wasn’t working the lunch shift . . .

  The phone rang four times, and then the machine picked up. Anna bit her lip in frustration. When would she have another opportunity to call?

  “Liz, this is Anna. Annie. I’m sorry to miss you—”

  “Annie!” Liz picked up, cutting off her message. “Is it really you? Girl, I’ve been worried. Why haven’t you called? Is Gracie all right? Where are you?”

  It took a second to get back into the rhythm of Liz’s rapid-fire questions. The last one Anna certainly didn’t intend to answer.

  “I’m fine. Gracie’s fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but there hasn’t been a chance.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Liz’s sharp-tongued retort was typical. When Anna had first gone to work at the restaurant, she’d been more than a little scared of the woman. Liz had been a server at Antonio’s for as long as the restaurant had been in business, and she didn’t put up with slackers or sass.

  Since Anna had worked hard and kept her mouth shut, Liz had had no complaint. She’d proved herself to be a true friend during the rough times.

  “I’ve thought about you often, but things have been complicated.”

  Liz couldn’t know how complicated. How good it would be to sit in Liz’s cozy living room right now, feet up, eating popcorn and watching an old movie on television. That had been their favorite evening in, since Anna couldn’t afford a babysitter and a trip to the movie theater.

  “You can always find time to pick up the phone,” Liz said, but there was affection under the tart words. “You sure that baby’s okay?”