The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  “Be careful,” he said.

  “I will.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You eat something. Your plate is on the nightstand.”

  “Is it snowing?”

  “It is, but nett hard.” It had snowed some all week, six inches yesterday.

  “You should ask someone to drive you to town.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful.” Had he forgotten she grew up in Ohio? She’d driven in the snow plenty of times. Besides, on the way home for her appointment, she planned on picking up Simon. He could drive if the road conditions worsened.

  He licked his cracked lips. “I should be the one to take you.”

  “You concentrate on eating and getting stronger.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll see you when I get back. Hopefully I’ll have gut news to share.” Lindie opened the door and paused before leaving. “Make sure you eat.”

  She stopped at Hannah’s room long enough to tell her to be mindful of Rebecca, then instructed Rebecca to watch that Hannah didn’t leave the house unattended. Lindie checked the wall clock. She would have to hurry.

  Driving to town, joyfulness bubbled within Lindie. She practically bounced on the seat, certain she would hear the doctor say she was a match. Lindie understood now why God had allowed the vile attack. The past events, though painful, had a higher purpose. She had a husband who needed her bone marrow. Surely God had all of this planned. He provided a fine husband, a daughter who needed motherly guidance, and a soon-to-be-born baby. God provided a family to love. And God would use her bone marrow to save Josiah’s life. Choked up with tears of joy, she peered up at the clear blue sky and praised the Lord.

  The temperature had plummeted several degrees in the short time Lindie had been in the office. The weather wasn’t nearly as numbing as hearing the news she wasn’t a donor match. She cried, not caring that the gusty, bitter winds turned her face raw. The burning sting didn’t matter, nothing did.

  You’re a closer match than anyone else in the district, but not close enough, the doctor’s words echoed.

  What was she supposed to do now? Stand by, urge Josiah to sip broth, and watch him die? Why, God? Why couldn’t you have used me? I thought I understood why I was here—why so many horrible things had happened to me. I never thought I could feel loved . . . until Josiah.

  Even wearing gloves, her hands were stiff by the time she reached the bus station. Simon’s bus was delayed due to weather. Lindie slouched on the bench and closed her eyes. “God, I don’t know how to accept this outcome, but I do know Hannah and Josiah need me to be strong. Help me, please.” She whispered continuous prayers throughout her wait, not paying attention to the overhead announcements. Another hour passed before a bus pulled up to the platform. She wiped her face with the hem of her cape and waited as the passengers unloaded.

  Simon’s expression turned weary when their eyes connected. Carrying a small suitcase, he ambled across the platform. “Is something wrong?”

  She nodded, then covered her face, overtaken in sobs.

  Simon patted her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. Has Josiah been sick this entire time?”

  She shrugged, then, wiping her face and taking in a hitched breath, she asked, “How did you know?”

  He grimaced. “Josiah wouldn’t have sent you out in this weather if he could kumm himself. I knew something was wrong. What’s happened?”

  “His lymphoma is back. He’s had a few chemotherapy treatments.” She sniffled. “I just found out I’m nett a donor match.” Her vision blurred and she fought to control her tears.

  “Let’s head home,” he said. “You can tell me more on the way.”

  As Simon drove the buggy, Lindie filled him in on what the doctor had said about Josiah’s condition. When they arrived home, Simon stopped the buggy next to the house. “I’ll be in to see Josiah after I take care of Molly.”

  “It’s gut to have you back.” She meant it. Hannah needed the stability of her grandfather, and Lindie needed help convincing Josiah to eat. “I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked you how your bruder is doing.”

  “He made improvement while I was there, but he’s lost the use of his left side.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Denki.” His voice choked. “You should go inside where it’s warm.”

  Lindie climbed out of the buggy. The snow crunched underfoot as she climbed the porch steps. She was tired of the snow and looking forward to spring when she could plant a garden.

  Rebecca met her at the door. “Everything okay?”

  “The boppli is fine.” She removed her outer clothing and shivered. “Simon’s home. He’ll be in after he takes care of the horse.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” Rebecca said.

  Lindie’s toes were numb. She couldn’t feel the floor as she walked into the kitchen. Lindie stood next to the woodstove.

  Rebecca placed a tea bag in each cup. “Any news if you’re a match or nett?”

  Tears brimmed. “I’m nett.”

  Rebecca frowned. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Me either.” She tapped her chest. “I felt it down deep that I was a match. I don’t know what I’ll do—” Hannah entered the room and Lindie quickly dried her eyes. She breathed a little easier when Hannah didn’t seem to notice she’d been crying, but instead seemed eager to show off her drawing.

  “Very nice,” Lindie signed.

  Rebecca praised Hannah’s drawing. “Did she draw the pictures on the wall in the living room too?”

  Lindie nodded. “She’s talented, isn’t she?”

  “Jah, it’s hard to believe an eight-year-old drew them.” Rebecca smiled at Hannah. She stumbled with her hand gestures telling Hannah she liked the picture, but Hannah seemed to understand.

  “I suppose I should be going,” Rebecca said.

  Lindie walked her to the back door. “Denki again for all your help.”

  “I’m glad to do it.” She put on her cape. “You don’t have to worry about the barn work. The men will continue taking care of the chores. I know Simon is home, but he doesn’t need to do all the work himself. Of course, the womenfolk will supply the meals.”

  “You have all been so kind.”

  “We wish we could do more.” Rebecca tied her winter bonnet strings. “But know our prayers are with you.”

  “That is a blessing.” She made herself smile until Rebecca was gone. Then she shuffled over to the sink, her thoughts consumed with how quickly her hope had faded after receiving the test result. She filled a glass with water to take to Josiah. He would be worried if she didn’t let him know she had made it home. But unable to face him yet, she set the glass on the table, sat down on a chair, and buried her face in her hands.

  Faith moved the hand of God and faith was the substance of things hoped for. Faith as small as a mustard seed . . . She didn’t even have that. How could she keep her hope alive when Josiah was dying?

  “Do I have any faith at all?” Lindie pushed off the chair. She wanted to be near Josiah. Entering the room, her gaze moved from his sleeping form to the uneaten food on the plate. She set the glass of water on the nightstand.

  Josiah patted the edge of the bed. “Will you sit with me?”

  “I thought you were sleeping.” Lindie sat next to him and reached for his hand, but realizing hers were much too cold, she released them.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I didn’t want mei hands to get you kalt.” She rubbed hers on her dress.

  “That’s nett why you’ve been crying. Is something wrong with the boppli?”

  “Nay.” She smiled, feeling an inner nudge. “She must have heard us talking about her because she just gave me a gut kick.”

  Josiah lifted his hand to her belly and smiled. “Jah, he is active.”

  She liked that he was teasing her again about the baby’s gender. If she had her wish, she would have two Josiahs around the house.

  “Talk to me, Lindie.”
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  “You haven’t eaten anything.”

  “I did. A little.”

  She looked away as new tears began to form. Josiah tugged her arm and she faced him, but unable to find her voice, she fell into his arms. “We just fell in love. I don’t want to lose you.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I’m nett your match. The test came back negative.”

  He wiped his palm against her face. “I didn’t know you were tested.”

  “I was so sure I would be the one. You’ve done so much for me.”

  “It’s okay.” Tears welled in his eyes. “You wouldn’t have been able to donate being pregnant. The doktah should have told you that.”

  She rested her head against his chest. His heart pumped strong measured beats.

  A few minutes passed before he said, “We have some things to talk about that we shouldn’t put off.”

  She froze.

  “Lindie.” He nudged her shoulder. “I want us to plan what will happen after I’m gone.”

  She bolted upright. “You promised to fight this.”

  “We both know I’m nett getting better. I can’t get dressed. I can’t even walk to the bathroom without help.”

  Lord, where is the hope? I need to hold on to something. A hard kick from the baby stole her breath. She clutched her belly.

  “Lindie, what is it?”

  “The boppli.” She puffed out a few rapid breaths. “The boppli doesn’t want to hear this talk either.”

  Hannah pushed the door open and bounded into the room, toting her sketch pad. She crawled up on the bed beside Josiah and handed him the artwork.

  Lindie pushed off the bed. He needed some time alone with Hannah. “I’m going to get supper started.” She didn’t want to spoil the surprise of Simon’s return. He should be in any moment.

  She paused at the threshold and looked back at father and daughter. Hannah’s hand was on Josiah. Her eyes were closed and her mouth moved without sound. Lindie’s throat tightened. Lord, as you answered Hannah’s prayer for the injured deer, answer this request too. You’ve placed it on her heart to pray for Josiah, just as you placed it on her heart to lay hands on the wounded deer.

  Lindie slipped out of the room. She stopped in the sitting room to add another log to the woodstove. Hannah’s drawing over the desk caught her eye. Something stirred within her as she stood looking at it. The different-sized hands reminded her that God had given her the perfect family, but the story of Job hit home also. The LORD gives and the LORD takes away.

  Chapter Thirty

  Lindie sat in the corner of the waiting room at the doctor’s office, silently praying Josiah wouldn’t discontinue the treatment. She had overheard him talking to Simon last evening and Josiah sounded very discouraged over the side effects.

  Doctor Ethridge approached her, his hands buried in the pockets of his white coat. “The infusion is finishing up,” he said, sitting in the chair next to hers. “I wanted to talk with you about his treatment.”

  Lindie gripped the arms of the chair, bracing for the news.

  “He’s currently receiving very high doses of chemotherapy.”

  She nodded. This wasn’t new information.

  “It isn’t working. Not like it should for two rounds of treatment.”

  Her stomach churned and her ears buzzed with a high-pitched sound.

  “I wanted to speak with you first and I would have mentioned this yesterday, but I didn’t have all the information.”

  “Is it a new treatment?” Lord, let it be so.

  “It’s still somewhat investigational.”

  Lindie inched to the edge of her seat. “When can he start?”

  “It’s not that simple. Many factors must coincide and it involves you. And the baby. That’s why I wanted to talk with you before mentioning anything to Josiah.”

  “Tell me what I need to do. I’ll do anything.”

  “A former colleague of mine is working in stem-cell research using umbilical cords. Even without having a perfect match, there have been successful studies in transplant patients.”

  Her mind burst with questions, but none she could formulate to ask.

  “There’s no risk to the baby, but it would mean delivering the baby in the hospital where Doctor Cole is affiliated. Once the baby is born, the stem cells would be extracted from the cord.”

  “I don’t care where I have the baby. Can we go tell Josiah now?” She stood.

  “We can talk more after his infusion is completed.”

  She sat back down. “You’ll send for me, right?”

  He nodded. “It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  Josiah blinked when the overhead light suddenly came on in the examination room. He must have dozed during the infusion. Unusual, since the fire fed to his veins made it difficult to relax.

  The nurse inspected the IV bag. “You’re almost finished. How are you feeling?” She shoved her hands into the rubber gloves.

  “Tired.” Weak. Useless.

  She inspected his arm. “Any itching?”

  “No.”

  “There’s no redness or swelling around the site. That’s good.” She disconnected the tubing from his IV port, tossed the empty bag along with her gloves into a red container, then washed her hands. “Any chest heaviness? Shortness of breath? Blood in the urine?” Her list of questions continued as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

  He answered no to all of them, though he doubted she heard him since her ears were plugged with the stethoscope.

  Doctor Ethridge poked his head inside the room. “How’s our patient?”

  “Ready to go home,” Josiah said.

  The air in the cuff deflated and the nurse pulled the earpieces out.

  “Josiah, will you stop by my office when you’re finished, please?”

  “Sure.” Josiah wanted to talk with him anyway. Every time he’d come in for an infusion, his blood had been drawn. Surely the doctor had an idea if the medication was working or not. If it wasn’t, Josiah didn’t see any reason to prolong the misery. Even Lindie should understand that.

  He’d felt stronger—more alive—before starting the chemotherapy. He’d preferred the night sweats. Even the deep-seated cough that made his ribs feel bruised was better than being off-center from the chemo treatment. It was better than spending the day vomiting, or worse yet, having dry heaves that left him hoarse.

  “Your blood pressure and pulse are within normal range,” the nurse said. “Are you feeling nauseated?”

  “Not yet.” That usually happened on the ride home.

  He rolled his sleeve down to cover his hairless arm. His beard and head would be next. As it was, the bald spots made him look as though he had mange. It bothered him more this time. It wasn’t vanity, at least he prayed it wasn’t. He didn’t want his daughter to remember him without a beard. He’d started growing it after he and Caroline were married, and Hannah was too young to remember when the chemo caused it to fall out the last time. Perhaps his reasoning was vain after all. He stood. No lightheadedness, balance seemed okay. He ambled to the door.

  The doctor’s office door was cracked and muffled voices filtered out. Lindie. Doctor Ethridge must have asked her to join them. Josiah sucked in a deep breath and tapped on the door. It opened on its own and the doctor waved him in.

  Lindie bounded off the chair and was at his side the moment he stepped into the room. “Let me help you,” she said.

  Self-rendered in defeat, he didn’t object to her circling her arm around his waist. As if things couldn’t get more belittling, she told him where to sit. He wasn’t blind. He could find the chair. He should be the one helping her. Her belly had grown to where she probably couldn’t see her feet anymore.

  “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.

  “I’ve felt better.” Understated.

  A light tap on the door preceded the nurse entering the room. “Here is Mr. Plank’s chart. I recorded his vitals and lab results.”

/>   “Thank you.” Doctor Ethridge opened the file.

  Josiah studied the doctor’s reaction as he reviewed the information. Stolid. Did Lindie notice the doctor’s lack of expression too? Josiah didn’t dare look her way. He gave the doctor a moment to review the chart, then cleared his throat. “Has my condition improved?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Doctor Ethridge rubbed his jaw. “Your platelet count is falling and so are the white blood cells.”

  None of that made sense to Josiah. He peeked at Lindie, who was chewing her bottom lip. He turned away before her rapid blinking set loose a cascade of tears.

  “Are you saying we should stop?” Josiah asked.

  “You need a bone marrow transplant.” He rubbed his forehead.

  “But we know that isn’t going to happen.”

  “Josiah.” Lindie reached over for his hand. “Don’t say that until you hear—”

  “Lindie”—his tone was sharper than he wished, so he paused until he could control his voice—“we talked about this.”

  “You must keep hope alive.”

  The extent of hope he could muster now amounted to hoping for a peaceful passing. He didn’t want to fight this battle. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

  “Are you feeling sick?”

  “Just resting.” Mostly to avoid seeing the disappointment in her eyes.

  “I’ve already mentioned this to Lindie,” Doctor Ethridge said. “There has been some success with implanting stem cells from an umbilical cord.”

  Umbilical cord . . . He spoke with Lindie? His heart thumped against his ribs as the words registered. Josiah shot open his eyes. “Nay!” He shifted in his seat to face Lindie. “You’re nett jeopardizing the boppli. How could you consider—”