“This is my second bionic knee,” Mrs. Freeman went on, “and I’m pleased as punch with the first one. My husband says he’ll never be able to catch up with me now. He’s a year older than I am.”
“Maybe you will slow down for him,” James said. “If you want to be caught.”
The Englisher lady swatted at him dismissively. “Oh, Arty caught me fifty-two years ago and I’ve been a blushing bride ever since.”
James grinned. He liked Mrs. Freeman’s sense of humor, and talking with her was a good way to occupy his mind during this tense time. They chatted for a few more minutes while Chet rolled in the machine and set it up. Mrs. Freeman kept up her walking, gently guided by the therapist.
Like a gathering flock of birds, they came. JJ, the physical therapist with the black cross inked on his neck, came in. Dylan returned and Dr. Finley sauntered in with two assistants trailing him like ducklings.
“Let’s see how you’re doing. Are you ready to try and stand up?” Dr. Finley asked. Dressed in a bow tie and baggy pants, Alec Finley had a round, pink face with a large nose. The man always reminded James more of a circus clown than a medical doctor.
“I want to stand,” James said, “but I thought I’d be doing it on my own, without the electricity.” He pointed to the machine. “I can’t be taking that thing around with me everywhere.”
“No, you can’t,” Finley said. “But right now, you need it to get started. Let me explain how this works. We used to think that the spinal cord was just a conductor for the brain—sort of like a telephone line carrying messages, if you will. I know you’re Amish, but you understand how electric service works.”
James nodded. “If wires aren’t attached to your home, you won’t have a working telephone.”
“Right. So we thought that the message to move your legs had to come from the brain, down the spinal cord and to the legs. And that’s how things usually work. But we’ve learned that sometimes, when the spinal cord has been damaged, we can restore the connection between the muscles in the legs and the nervous system with a little electricity flowing into the lower spinal cord. We have been able to make the leg muscles function without any input from the brain.” Doc Finley pressed his palms together in prayer position and touched his fingertips to his chin. “That’s the treatment in a nutshell; what we’re trying to do for you.”
“And I hear you’ve had success with the treatment,” Dylan said.
“There was one remarkable case, an athletic young man around the same age as James. He has worked very hard in rehab—hours a day—but he has managed to stand on his own and walk with some assistance.”
“The exercises and PT are not a problem for me,” James said. “I’ll do what it takes.”
“And so will we,” Dr. Finley said earnestly. “Let’s give it a try.”
Chet and JJ, the physical therapist, helped him onto a high bench that faced U-shaped support bars. After the electrodes were checked, JJ instructed him on how to plant his feet solidly on the floor and slide forward.
“You can use your arms to lift you at first,” JJ said, “but try to use your legs and abs. Contract the muscles, the way we do in PT.”
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, their eyes on James. Over in the corner, Mrs. Freeman sat watching, her dark eyes shining.
With a hearty breath, James leaned forward and braced his legs.
The room was silent as he pulled the muscles in his legs tight, tighter, tighter, and leaned forward. Pushing at the earth with all his strength and might, he straightened at the waist and rose, standing tall.
The silence stretched out for a moment, and then there were happy murmurs, smiles, and even applause. Mrs. Freeman clapped rapidly, bobbing in her seat. Doc Finley’s face lit with a wide smile, and Dylan gave a hoot and whistle of excitement.
A strange mix of emotions churned in James’s belly as he stood there, wobbling only slightly. Ya, there was joy at this success, but there was also disappointment that he needed the electric harness to make his legs work and fear that this was as far as he might ever progress. Although James was no stranger to strong emotions, this complexity of being soaked by so many contrary feelings all at the same time was new to him.
He wanted to laugh and cry, all in the same breath.
He was still far from climbing a ladder in the orchard, but he was making progress. Inch by inch, step by step, he was on his way to being a man again.
Thursday morning Shandell awoke as the pallid sunlight filtered in through the cracks of the shack. From the small porthole of a window she could see that the sky was gray, but rain did not dampen her hopes.
Today was the day. She would be so relieved to give Mom a hug and sit back in the car, heading home. She wondered if Mom felt the same excitement that bubbled inside her. Not that Shandell thought she was returning home to a perfect life. Her time here, all the quiet time, had got her thinking about that, and she’d realized that many of the bad parts of her life couldn’t be changed right now.
She couldn’t see more of Mom, because Chelsea Darby needed to work two jobs right now.
She couldn’t cure Phil’s drinking problem. No one had the power to get Phil off the couch and back to work until Phil wanted to change his life.
And she probably couldn’t fix her math grade before the end of the school year.
Shandell wasn’t expecting a fairy-tale ending to this trip, but she was looking forward to the two-hour drive to talk with Mom, just the two of them. They were two smart cookies, and if they put their heads together, Shandell was sure they could come up with a plan to make things better.
A plan for happiness.
Sliding out of the sleeping bag, she hopped across the cold wood floor and quickly added some wood to the embers. Before long it blazed into a flame, chasing the chill from the air. That was better.
The smell of burning wood had become a familiar, cozy part of her day. By the warmth of the fire she changed from her pajamas to her jeans and hoodie. This outfit was in need of a wash, but it would have to do until she got home.
On the way to the outhouse, she pulled her hood up to keep away the drizzling rain. The dirt path was soft with mud, the grasses glimmering with raindrops. It must have rained through the night. How lucky she was to have had a roof over her head these past few nights. She was really grateful to the Lapp family. Even though James couldn’t tell his parents that he was letting her stay in the sugaring shack, she prayed that God would bless the family for their son’s generosity.
Back in the house, she took the foil-wrapped packet that James had brought her last night and placed it near the fire to warm. The casserole, which James called Yummasetti, had been delicious, with noodles, ground beef, cheese, peas, and a creamy sauce. Lucky for her, he’d brought enough for her to make two meals out of it. He didn’t have time to talk yesterday, and she suspected that he’d wheeled himself out here to the back of the orchard just to bring her some food. It was really, really nice of him. James was the opposite of Gary, sort of the big brother she’d never had. While the casserole warmed, she grabbed two clean buckets and headed down to the stream to collect water for heating.
This is my last morning here, she thought as she walked down the path. Tomorrow, she would just go into the bathroom, turn on the faucet, and there would be instant hot water.
She was grinning about the thrill of such basic comforts when her shoe slipped on a bald patch of mud. As her arms went up to catch her balance, the buckets went flying, and both shoes slid out from under her.
“Oof!” With a cry, she fell, landed on her bottom, and slipped down the incline until she could dig in her hands and heels to stop the momentum. When she managed to stand, her hands, shoes, and pants were a muddy mess. She wasn’t hurt, but smelly brown muck streaked the back of her jeans and hoodie.
“Oh, not now, please!” Shandell could hear Mom’s voice telling her: “You’re not getting in my car with those jeans!” She would have to wash them and hope t
hat they would dry by the fire before she had to head into town this afternoon.
Bending down at the edge of the stream, she rinsed her hands for as long as she could stand the icy water, and then filled the two buckets. The powdered soap she’d found in the cabin would come in handy. She would be doing a load of laundry as soon as she could get the water heated.
She turned toward the riverbank, then paused. These jeans needed some serious work. It seemed wrong to walk around half-naked out here, but there was too much mud on her jeans to clean them in the bucket. Shandell found a stone to stand on as she slipped off her boots and jeans. Her bare legs were more embarrassing than cold. With gritted teeth, she squatted beside the stream and submerged her blue jeans. They floated for a moment like a disembodied soul, then sank down, heavy and dark in the water. She scrubbed vigorously, her teeth chattering as the frigid water chilled her to the bone.
With most of the mud rinsed off, she did her best to wring them out, though her fingers were nearly numb from the cold. She rose, draped the dripping jeans over one bucket, and headed back to the cabin, laughing at her final act as Nature Girl. Yeah, she was going out with dramatic flair.
Oh, the lengths Rachel King would go to so that James would be surprised!
She chuckled aloud as she approached the back acres of the Lapp orchard, her arms loaded down with baskets of food and a thermos of milk. Her brother Abe had offered to give her a ride past the Lapp house, all the way to the path leading to the sugar shack. “It’s raining. You’ll be soaked by the time you reach the barn.”
“It’s just drizzling,” she had insisted, pointing to the side of the road where he should pull over. “And a little bit of rain never hurt anyone.” She had hopped out at the beginning of the lane, removed her goodies from the buggy, and set off down the path behind the Doddy house, away from the orchards, where she figured James and his brothers and sisters would be working. She didn’t want to be spotted as she trekked to the sugar shack. James didn’t expect to see her for another two hours or so, and she wanted to use that time to sweep the cobwebs and critters out of the sugar shack so that later they could simply enjoy their indoor picnic.
The picnic had been Rose’s idea. “You and James need some quiet time together to talk,” Rose had told her. “I know you chat during the ride into Paradise, but it’s different with you having to mind the horse and the traffic and all. A picnic would be just the thing. You’ll have a chance to put words to the way you feel, and he’ll have a chance to answer without feeling put out because his girlfriend is the driver.”
“Why, Rose King, I think you’ve got that right. How do you know so much about the way a fella thinks?”
Rose squinted, her nose wrinkling. “I listen when the older girls talk at singings. And I read the magazines while I’m waiting for Mamm at the pharmacy in town. You wouldn’t believe some of the things that men are thinking.”
“I’m sure I can’t. But a picnic is a good idea. I can bake something. James’s favorite cookies, the cocoa drops.”
“And a good, hearty meal. Some chili or a wiggler casserole.” Rose wrapped the end of one of her kapp strings around a finger. “They say that the way to a fella’s heart is through his stomach.”
“Such good advice,” Rachel said with a smile. “Watch out, little sister. Once those fellas at the singings figure out how smart you are, they’ll be lining up to take you home.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my sister.” But despite her denial, there was a glimmer of pleasure in Rose’s eyes.
“Ya. I’m your sister and I love you and it’s all true,” Rachel said firmly.
Now, as Rachel made her way past the second barn, she thought of the new friend she had found in her sister. That night in Rose’s room had bonded the sisters in a special way. It had helped Rachel to share her worries, and it seemed that Rose had been waiting for a hand to help her navigate into the teen world of rumspringa. At a time when boys could be very judgmental and some girls could be even worse, Rachel wanted her sister to know that her family loved her just the way she was.
Rose had helped Rachel bake fudge cookies for the picnic, and this time Rose got all the measurements right—not too much salt, and just the right amount of butter. By necessity, lunch would be leftovers, although no one had ever turned away Mamm’s cheesy casserole. And just this morning, as Rose had helped Rachel pack a hamper, she had asked about the business end of the Lapp orchard.
“How is everything going out there?” Rose had asked. “Folks are saying that the orchard may be in trouble. The Lapps can’t stay on top of it all, what with James away at his treatments and still not able to do the work he used to.”
“It’s true,” Rachel said sadly. “James is worried that his dat will hire a foreman, someone to see them through the harvest.”
“That might save the orchard, but it will cost a lot of money,” Rose pointed out.
“But most of all, it will be a setback for James. He feels like his father is pushing him out of the orchard, pushing him away.”
Rose clucked her tongue. “Such a sad time for James. But a meal like this is sure to boost his spirits!”
Now, as Rachel passed through the border of green shrubs and trees thick with bud at the back of the orchard, she spotted the sugar shack in the distance. Oh, how she missed those sweet days with James in the shack. Back then she didn’t have to argue her way into James’s arms. He had been more than happy to pull her close and take her breath away with a kiss!
The sugar shack had been the first place she had thought of when it became clear that the weather was not cooperating with her plan for a picnic. And since it was right here on the Lapp farm, it would be easy to bring James out to this cozy little hut once they returned from his treatment in the late afternoon.
As she drew closer to the shack, she noticed that the woodpile was stacked high against this side of the building, and a puff of smoke rose from the chimney.
That slowed Rachel’s pace. Someone was out here. Who? Who had built a fire? It was too late in the season for maple sugaring, and besides, James had told her that his family hadn’t collected sap this year. Who was in there?
Perhaps it was a drifter, taking cover in the shack. More likely it was one of James’s brothers, sneaking out here to avoid chores or find a bit of quiet. She couldn’t blame them for that, but she hoped whomever it was would let her use the sugar shack this afternoon for her little surprise.
Rachel approached the shack with caution, slowing as she reached the door. She knocked and called out a hello, but there was no answer. Not a very friendly response. Concern rippled through her, and goose bumps rose on her arms. Was she intruding in a place where she didn’t belong?
Checking nervously over her shoulder, she noticed a movement by the ravine and spun around. Someone was there.
“Hallo?” she called out.
Two buckets now stood on the edge of the muddy path, and Rachel headed over toward them. “Who’s there?” she called.
A head poked up from the embankment—an Englisher girl with a hood covering most of her head.
Rachel’s jaw dropped in surprise. The girl seemed too young to be a drifter. A moment later her surprise shifted to shock as the young woman climbed the rest of the embankment revealing a flash of bare legs. Rachel blinked, her mouth a round O of surprise.
The Englisher girl’s eyes were round and full of fear, like a deer ready to spring. She shifted a piece of dark fabric in front of her bare lower body, but it did little to cover the expanse of pale flesh from her hips to her boots.
“Hey,” the girl said, forcing a smile. “Are you James’s sister?”
This girl knew James? “No. I’m … his friend. Who are you?”
“My name is Shandell. I … um …” She shifted uncomfortably, shivering and apparently trying to hide behind the dark, wet fabric. “This is so embarrassing and awkward. I slipped in the mud and gunked up my jeans, so I rinsed them in the river and �
�� and now I just want to get inside to warm up a little.”
Well, that explained why the girl was half naked, though Rachel couldn’t imagine what she was doing here. “Better get inside,” Rachel said.
Shandell bolted toward the door, leaving it open behind her, and Rachel followed her in, feeling like a stranger in this very familiar place.
Inside, a fire burned heartily in the stove. Rachel turned away as the girl began to step into some pants, but not before noticing that the plastic chairs were arranged across from the bench, like a little living room, and the floors, walls, and ceiling had been swept clean. She placed her hamper and bags on the old wooden table beside neatly arranged toiletries and a little blue book of children’s Bible stories.
“That’s better,” said Shandell. “Sorry about that. I don’t usually run around outside in my underwear.”
Rachel turned back to find Shandell wearing flannel pajama pants under her hoodie. “I’m glad for that. But I’m wondering what you’re doing here.”
“I’m staying here until I can get a ride home, back to Baltimore. That’s where I’m from. I traveled up here with a friend and sort of got stuck on my own with no money and nowhere to stay.”
“And you know James?”
Shandell nodded. “He said I could stay here, only … well, I don’t want to get him in any trouble. He said his parents wouldn’t approve, so please don’t tell them.”
“It’s not my place to tell.” Though she could not lie if someone asked about this girl. “And how long have you been here?”
“James found me on Sunday, but I won’t be here much longer. My mom is driving out from Baltimore to pick me up after work tonight. In fact, I was planning to walk into town today to leave her a message about where to meet me, but that was before I messed up my jeans.” Shandell pushed her hood down, revealing black hair with an unusual blue glow, the color of the twilight sky.
From up close, Rachel could see that Shandell was more a young woman than a girl. What was her story? “Did you run away from home, then?”
A Simple Hope Page 17