Deborah smiled, the lines around her eyes tired. “Beth, haven’t you figured out by now that Mennonites take care of the needs of their people?” Not a hint of sarcasm colored her tone. “It’s kind of you to be concerned, but rest assured Graham and Trina will be all right.”
Beth’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Okay. Thanks. I realize I’m not Mennonite, but I do care a lot about Trina.”
Deborah gave Beth’s cheek a quick pat and turned back to the stove. Beth took that as her hint to leave. She returned to the dining area and sat down in a booth next to Trina, joining in the conversation. But at the back of her mind, a question hovered: How would the community take care of Graham and Trina?
Something poked the sole of his left foot. Graham grunted in frustration. “Chuck,” he rasped through a throat that felt as gritty as sandpaper, “quit it.”
A low chuckle sounded, and then his right foot got the same treatment.
With a snort, Graham opened his eyes and focused blearily toward the end of the bed. “What’re you—” Then he realized Chuck wasn’t in the room. A tall man in a white shirt and rainbow-colored tie stood smiling down at him. “Who’re you?”
The man moved closer. “I’m Dr. Howey. How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
The doctor chuckled again. “Are you in pain?”
Graham considered the question. He wasn’t comfortable—a pressure in his back made him wonder if someone had stuffed something under the mattress, and his head felt twice its normal size, but he couldn’t honestly say he was hurting. “No. Not really.”
The doctor moved back to the foot of the bed and grasped Graham’s feet, squeezing his toes. “Are you able to feel this?”
Graham scowled. “Yes. Never have cared much for people messing with my feet.”
Dr. Howey let go and returned to the side of the bed to pinch Graham’s wrist and frown at his own wristwatch for several seconds. While the doctor did his checking, Graham twisted his head and found a clock on the wall. Three fifteen. But morning or afternoon? With the window shades drawn and the lights in the room on low, he couldn’t be sure. The uncertainty left him feeling unsettled.
And something else occurred to him. “What day is it?”
Dr. Howey released his wrist with a pat. “Friday.”
The accident had been on a Friday. Had an entire week passed? Graham pressed his memory, trying to account for the time. He recalled riding in an ambulance, telling his folks to make sure Trina stayed home and studied, but after that. . .nothing.
“Have I really slept away an entire week?” It hurt his throat to talk.
The doctor put his hand on Graham’s shoulder. “It was important for your body’s recovery for you to remain perfectly still. So we used drugs to keep you in a coma, Graham. Keeping you still brought the inflammation down enough that we could do surgery. So early this morning, we replaced your crushed vertebrae. The fact that you can feel me touching your feet is a good sign, but I need you to try to do something for me.” He moved back to the foot of the bed. “Can you wiggle your toes?”
It took great concentration, and sweat broke out across Graham’s forehead, but he waggled the toes of both feet up and down.
“Wonderful!”
Graham closed his eyes, exhausted from the effort. Sleep claimed him. When he opened his eyes again, instead of the doctor, he found his parents and brother lounging in plastic chairs. The clock read seven forty-five. He swallowed against his sore throat and managed a weak greeting. “Have you been here the whole time?”
His parents leaped from the seats and rushed to the bed, leaning over him. His mother stroked his hair. “And where else would we be with you here?” Her scolding tone let Graham know the depth of her concern.
“But a whole week. . .” Guilt struck as Graham realized how worried his parents must have been. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, son,” his dad said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Graham hoped that was true. The details of the accident were fuzzy, other than trying to get out of the way of the truck and praying Trina wouldn’t be hurt. He hoped there wasn’t something more he could have done. Fear made his heart pound, but he managed to ask, “Is Trina. . .?”
His mother squeezed his shoulder. “Trina is right as rain. A sprained wrist, some bruises, but nothing serious.”
“Thank the Lord.” Graham released a heavy sigh. “She hasn’t been here, has she?” He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted.
“In and out a couple of times,” Mom said. “She’s been studying, just like you wanted her to.”
Relief flooded Graham that the accident wasn’t putting her behind on her course work, yet he admitted to a prick of disappointment that she wasn’t here when he opened his eyes. “Good.” The word grated out without much enthusiasm.
“Lots of people have been in and out,” Dad reported, his hand on Graham’s arm. “We kept a book and had them write their names down so you’d know. Your uncle John and cousins have kept the lumberyard going, and they said they’d work as long as we need them to. The doctor said we’ll spend at least a couple of weeks in Nebraska at a rehabilitation clinic to help you get on your feet, but then your job will be waiting for you.”
Graham processed everything his father had said. He focused in on one thing: rehabilitation clinic in Nebraska? He’d never been out of Kansas, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go. But if it meant walking again, he’d go. He had to walk. He had to work. He couldn’t allow this accident to keep Trina from finishing college. She depended on him.
The pressure in his back increased, turning into a dull ache. He grimaced, squinting his eyes closed.
“Are you hurting, son?” His mother’s anxious voice carried to his ear.
“A little.”
“I’ll get a nurse.”
Graham decided he would avoid asking for painkillers as much as possible. The medication instantly put him to sleep, and he’d already lost too many days of his life. From this point on, he needed to be awake and alert. He had work to do.
The doctor came in Saturday morning with a chart of a spine to explain Graham’s injury. Graham found the terms cervical, thoracic, and lumbar confusing, but he managed to comprehend that his injury—which the doctor called a T-11—affected his legs but not his arms. The doctor explained that many people with lower thoracic injuries regained the full use of their legs over time, and he encouraged Graham to make walking his goal.
“Of course,” Graham retorted with vehemence.
But when the doctor indicated months of therapy, Graham’s resolve wavered. Months? He didn’t have months. He’d sold his house—he would be living in Mom and Dad’s upstairs. He needed to work to support Trina—how could he cut and haul lumber from a wheelchair? And would it be fair to Trina to saddle her with a husband who couldn’t take care of her? Of himself? He didn’t want her taking care of him!
After the doctor left, Graham closed his eyes so his parents would think he was sleeping, but inwardly he raged at the unfairness of the situation. He might as well be an invalid. He would only hold Trina back. Her studies would be set aside so she could see to his needs. Instead of caring for animals, as she’d planned, she’d be stuck caring for him—a grown man.
He stifled the anguished groan that longed for release. Oh Lord, I don’t understand. Why did You allow this to happen?Graham had been taught that all things worked together for good for those who were called to God’s purpose, but he couldn’t see any good in being stuck in a wheelchair while Trina set aside her own dreams to wipe his chin and help him change his socks.
His back throbbed. His legs ached. Temptation to ask for more pain medication to give him blessed escape pressed hard. But he knew the moment he awakened from the drug-induced rest, the worst pain would still be with him. How could he set aside the sharp agony of disappointment?
TWENTY-EIGHT
Here you are, Trina.” Dr
. Groening placed a paycheck into Trina’s waiting hand. “It includes a small bonus.”
Trina’s eyes widened. “Oh, Dr. Groening, that isn’t necessary!”
The older man smiled, his eyes crinkling. “You let me decide what is and isn’t necessary. I appreciate your hard work, and I know you have a heavy load to carry between working here and keeping up with your studies.” He frowned, crossing his arms. “When are finals?”
“Another four weeks,” Trina said. She didn’t know who would take her—Graham was still in Nebraska with his mother, although his dad was home running the lumberyard. No one seemed to know when Graham’s time in rehabilitation would end. Her chest held a constant deep ache from missing him.
“Being able to use both hands must make things easier,” he said.
Trina rubbed her left wrist. The splint had come off only three days ago, and it felt odd not to have it there. A twinge reminded her not to overuse the wrist, but typing shouldn’t tax it too much. “Yes. It will be better to send files by e-mail instead of cassette tapes through the mail.” She released a light laugh. “Easier for me and for my instructors, I’m sure.”
Dr. Groening chuckled. “Well, it’s good you have this Thanksgiving break, then—a couple of free days to concentrate on studies, hmm?”
Trina managed a smile.
The doctor went on. “Has Marc talked to you at all about his plans?”
Trina shook her head. Even though she spent every day at the clinic, her path rarely crossed Dr. Royer’s. He preferred to spend his time at farms, going to the animals rather than remaining at the clinic and letting the animals come to him. Trina admitted the arrangement suited her fine—something about the man continued to intimidate her.
“Well, I’m sure he will when the time is right. He has some ideas for expanding the clinic, and he indicated you would be instrumental in seeing those plans through.”
Trina pinched her face into a puzzled scowl. “Expanding the clinic?”
Dr. Groening rubbed his finger over his lips, a grin hovering. “Well, not exactly making this one bigger, but having two clinics. This one and one in Hillsboro.”
Trina shook her head. “That would be a lot to keep track of.”
“Yes.” Again a chuckle rumbled. “And even someone as tall as Marc can’t be in two places at once. Actually, his ideas aren’t bad. I think you’ll find them interesting.”
Trina offered a slight shrug. “I’ll wait, then, for him to talk to me.”
“Probably after the holidays,” Dr. Groening said with a nod. He lifted his gaze toward the window when the sound of a truck’s engine intruded. “There’s your ride. Have a good Thanksgiving, Trina.”
The holiday wouldn’t feel right without Graham. Last year right before Thanksgiving, he’d made known his intentions to court her. Now they were miles apart. She swallowed. “I’ll do my best, Dr. Groening. You have a good weekend, too.”
She slipped her arms into her sweater and headed outside. Tony waited with the engine running. Climbing into the warm cab felt good after her brief time in the nippy November breeze. She sat quietly as Tony turned the pickup toward Sommerfeld, her heart pounding as they approached the spot where the man’s pickup had crossed the line and hit Graham’s car.
Each time she drove past the accident site, she looked around carefully. Over the past month, the place where the ground had been scuffed by the rolling car had smoothed out. Except for a few bare patches of missing grass and the occasional wink of broken glass, you could hardly tell something monumental had occurred there. But Trina still knew. She lived with the consequences.
She sighed, sending up another silent prayer for Graham’s recovery. Although she wrote to him every day and called every Saturday, it wasn’t the same as having him close enough to talk to or to touch. The telephone conversations were far from satisfying. She sensed Graham’s impatience to be done, yet they wouldn’t release him until he could pull himself into a standing position. Hurry, Lord, and bring healing, Trina’s heart begged. She needed Graham home so things could return to normal.
Suddenly, from behind the steering wheel, Tony erupted in a hysterical giggle, which he quickly squelched.
Trina sent him a puzzled look. “What was that all about?”
He pinched his lips together and didn’t answer.
Trina stared at him for a few minutes, but when he kept his eyes on the road, humming to himself, she turned her gaze forward. Silence reigned until they reached the Sommerfeld turnoff. Then, as Tony made the curve, another snort of laughter burst out.
Trina bopped him on the arm. “Stop that!”
“Stop what?” He giggled nearly uncontrollably.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” Yet the giggles continued in spurts until he pulled up in front of their house. Then he cleared his throat several times, pasted on a serious face, and said, “Well, let’s go in.”
Awareness prickled down Trina’s spine. “Tony?”
But he just hopped out and jogged up the sidewalk as if he hadn’t heard her. She followed more slowly, holding her sweater closed against the bite of the wind. When she reached the front door, Tony was waiting, a goofy grin on his face. He swung the door open for her, and she cast a sidelong glance at him as she stepped over the threshold.
The moment she entered the room, an exultant shout rose: “Surprise!”
Trina staggered backward, connecting with the doorjamb, as dozens of people—family and friends—popped from various locations. She pressed her hands to her chest and stammered stupidly, “W–what?” And then a movement toward the back of the group captured her attention. The bright flash of light on steel forced her to blink, and when she opened her eyes again, her heart fired into her throat.
“Graham!” She raced across the short expanse of carpet and grabbed his hands, which were curled over the padded bar of a silver walker. “You’re home!” Oh, how she longed to catapult into his arms, to press her lips to his, to feel his arms wrap around her and hold her close forever. But the frame of the walker created a barrier, so she had to be content to lean as close as possible and beam into his face. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! When did you get back?”
“Late last night.” He looked older, thinner, haggard. But his dear blue eyes were as warm as ever as he tipped his face toward hers and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Did we surprise you?”
“Yes!” She sent an accusatory look in Tony’s direction. “Although Tony tried to give it away by giggling.”
Tony assumed an innocent expression, and Andrew gave him a teasing smack on the back of his head. Everyone laughed. Mama stepped forward and put her arm around Trina.
“It was Graham’s idea not to tell you he was coming home so you could be surprised.” Mama’s smile bounced back and forth between Trina and Graham.
Mrs. Ortmann stepped beside Mama, her round face glowing. “And not to be outdone, we have surprises for both of you. Sit down.”
Trina walked beside Graham as he made his painstaking way to the sofa. His steps were slow, measured, his feet scuffing against the floor. But Trina’s heart pounded in happiness at the sight of her Graham on his feet, in her house back in Sommerfeld again. She held her breath as he maneuvered the walker in a small circle before lowering himself to the sofa. Once on the cushion, he released a huge breath, and Trina allowed her air to whoosh out, too. Then, with a smile, she snuggled as close to him as she could get without climbing into his lap.
The others gathered near, surrounding the sofa. Beth and Sean stepped forward, and Sean held out a black leather case. “Trina,” Beth said, “now that Graham is home, we know you won’t want to spend your evenings at our place on the computer, so. . .”
Sean placed the case on the sofa cushion next to Trina and unzipped it, folding back the cover to reveal a slim, black laptop computer. Trina gasped.
“You can take this wherever Graham is and do your assignments. You’ll need to establish Internet connection, b
ut then you can send your assignments from home—wherever that may be.” Beth’s eyes twinkled. “We’re so proud of your accomplishments, Trina, and we wish you much success as you finish your education.”
Applause broke out from the group, and several people gave Sean pats on the shoulder as he stepped back. Beth leaned down to give first Trina then Graham a hug, and Trina was too stunned to even protest the extravagant gift.
Deacon Reiss pushed to the front. Mama, Dad, and Graham’s parents flanked him, as if forming a wall of support. An air of expectancy filled the room, and Trina took Graham’s hand, pressing it tightly between hers.
Deacon Reiss spoke. “Graham and Trina, over the past months, we’ve seen you exhibit great dedication: dedication to following God’s will in your lives and dedication to one another. You have been an inspiration to all of us in facing difficulties with faith and fortitude.” He linked his fingers together and pressed them to his middle, a prayerful stance. “We know this accident has created a hardship for you to see your plans through.”
Graham flicked a glance at Trina, his brow furrowed. Trina looked back, as puzzled as he.
“There aren’t any guarantees when Graham will be able to return to full-time work, yet Trina’s college classes will go on. There will be costs involved to pay for school, maintain a home, and meet your daily needs. So. . .” The man drew in a great breath, sending his gaze around the circle of faces before looking at Graham and Trina again. “The deacons and minister met last Sunday afternoon; then they paid visits to every family in the fellowship, and we have gained commitments to contribute a small love token each month for your use. When these tokens are combined, it totals an amount that should meet your monthly needs until Graham is able to work full-time again.”
“But we couldn’t—,” Graham started.
“Oh, but—,” Trina started at the same time.
Deacon Reiss raised his hand. “No arguments. We’re your family, we love you, and we want to help. Besides—” His lips curved into a smile. “When Trina comes back as a veterinarian, she’ll be meeting our needs. You’ll have the chance to repay us then.”
Blessings Page 23