by Ruth Reid
“I’m looking for Josh Messer. He was just brought in by ambulance. Car accident.”
“One moment.” The young receptionist picked up the phone, inquired about Josh, then lowered the receiver. “He’s in X-ray. The nurse will let you know when he’s back.”
Bo paced the waiting room, recalling the accident he’d been in as a teen. His recollection was sketchy, the sound of a loud siren mostly. The other details had been erased along with most of his childhood memories. His case stumped a team of specialists. He answered to the name of John Doe for the better part of a year—or so he was told. He couldn’t remember most of that either.
“Family of Josh Messer,” the nurse standing at the entrance of the waiting room announced.
Bo stepped forward. “I’m his caseworker, Bo Lambright. Someone from here called me when he first arrived.” He reached for a business card. “How is he?”
“Hello, Mr. Lambright. His injuries are minor, but the doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation. He has a slight concussion, broken ribs, some lacerations. He’s going to be sore for a few days.”
Bo let out a heavy sigh. “Can I see him?”
“Yes, follow me.”
She led Bo to a curtained-off area where Josh was sitting on a cot, shirt off, ribs bandaged, and holding an ice pack over his right eye.
“I hear they’re planning to keep you overnight,” Bo said as he approached the cot.
Josh squinted. “I told the doctor I feel fine.” When he attempted to move, his teeth clenched and he winced.
“Sure you do.” Bo straightened Josh’s pillow. “You could’ve been hurt much worse.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me how God must have a plan for my life.”
Bo shrugged. “Who knows, maybe you’ll become a social worker like me.”
Josh chuckled, but immediately held his ribs and grimaced. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”
“Who were you riding with?”
“Friends.”
“Am I going to read in the police report that you were drinking?”
“No.”
“What about drugs?”
“No. What’s with the interrogation?”
Bo eyed the kid hard. “Blood tests are standard procedures. You’re telling me the truth, right?”
“Right,” he snipped.
A redheaded nurse opened the curtain. “Are you Josh’s guardian?”
“No,” Bo replied. “But I’ve called them and they’re on the way.”
The redhead smiled. “If you could let them know I have paperwork for them to sign, that would be great.”
“Sure,” Bo said.
The nurse peeked under the ice pack. “You still have a lot of swelling.” She lowered the pack. “I’ll come back to get you when the room is ready upstairs.”
The moment she disappeared behind the curtain, Josh snapped. “Why did you have to call the Walkers?”
“Josh, they’re your foster parents.”
“Well, can’t you get me out of here? I don’t want to stay.”
Bo shook his head. “Maybe the Walkers can arrange that, but I’m not your guardian.”
Josh huffed. “It’s just a matter of time before they won’t want me.”
“Don’t say that. You’re the one always on the run.” Bo shook his head. “You don’t know how good you have it.”
“I know. No one wants a teenage boy. I’ve heard it all before. I should be grateful.”
“The Walkers are caring people. I wouldn’t have placed you with them if I didn’t believe it was a good home.”
“You say that, but you don’t know what it’s like living in someone else’s house—under their rules.”
“I understand more than you think.” He’d never shared his story with one of the kids he placed, but maybe it was about time. “I was in an accident like you. I still have the scars—”
The curtain opened again and this time Mr. Walker entered the treatment area, a concerned look on his face. “How are you feeling, Josh?”
“Bruised.”
“That’s understandable.” The short, gray-suited man extended his hand toward Bo. “Thanks for calling us. My wife is busy with the children.” He glanced at Josh. “She wants you to know that she’s praying for you.”
“Thanks,” Josh said and closed his non-iced eye.
The redhead returned with a clipboard in her hands, and after explaining what forms she needed Mr. Walker to sign, she announced Josh’s room was ready upstairs.
“I don’t know why I have to stay. I feel fine.”
“It’s precautionary.” Mr. Walker patted Josh’s shoulder. “Just think, you’ll have a TV in your room. You can’t get that at home.”
Josh cracked a smile, then flinched. “The only time I’ll probably ever have a TV to myself, one of my eyes is swollen shut, and I’m seeing double out of the other.”
Bo and Mr. Walker chuckled.
A few minutes later, two workers wheeled Josh to his room on the second floor. Mr. Walker and Bo stepped out of the room while the nurse got Josh situated in his new bed.
The lines across the foster father’s forehead deepened. “I’m not sure if Josh is going to work out living with us. My wife is always worrying about him.”
Bo sighed. He was afraid Josh would wear them down.
“Josh doesn’t seem happy with us,” Mr. Walker went on to say. “I know he’s only been with us a few months but . . .” He shrugged.
“Some kids take longer to adjust.” Bo repeated the same thing he told the last two foster families Josh had been placed with.
Mr. Walker shook his head slowly, a perplexed look on his face.
“If you could find it in your heart to give him more time . . . I’ll talk to him.” Again.
After a long, thoughtful pause, Mr. Walker finally said, “I’ll ask the wife what she wants to do.”
“Thank you.” Bo reached for the man’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Josh is a good kid.”
“Are you going to be here for a while? I hate leaving Josh alone, but I have to work in the morning.”
“I’ll stay with him.” He made a mental note to call his mother and let her know he wouldn’t be home for dinner. Hopefully she hadn’t made arrangements for them to dine with anyone else.
Bo slouched on the vinyl cushioned chair in Josh’s room, stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. Josh’s big plan to watch TV all night was short-lived. He fell asleep before the first commercial break.
Bo yawned and stretched out his arms. He made plans to pick up Amanda in the morning from the Appletons so that Mattie could spend time with her daughter. He also called his mother to inform her about staying the night at the hospital and asked her to request more visitation hours for Mattie. Two hours a week was unreasonable, at least in his mind.
As the news aired on the television, Bo fought to keep his eyes open. The announcer was saying something about a heat wave as Bo’s eyes closed.
THE DRY BONES, THE PEOPLE’S moans, the aimless wandering were familiar to him now. A white cloud of fog settled over him and a deep reverberating voice called out.
“Boaz, My child. Draw closer to Me.”
Bo shuffled toward the voice, unable to see anything before him for the blur of white was too thick. He batted away the clouds but more enclosed him.
“You have cried out for help but have not seen My hand. You have prayed for wisdom yet have not listened for My direction. Open your eyes, Boaz. Tell Me what you see.”
The fog lifted. “Grass,” he said. He was standing in a meadow of green grass, a gentle breeze blowing on his face.
“Listen and you will hear.”
Bo stilled as a distant sound of rushing water filled his senses. Then he heard weeping and moved toward the sound. He came to the water and looked across the stream at a mother cradling a child, both of them weeping.
“What do you see?”
“A mother and child.”
“Look closer.”
Both the mother and child were spotted—leprosy? Bo took a step into the cold stream and immediately sank underwater. He flailed his arms. Kicked his legs. Felt the air leave his lungs, and then he was floating.
Hearing heavy footsteps tromping through the woods a few feet from her garden, Mattie looked up from pulling weeds. She squinted into the early-morning sun as Grace’s husband came into view. Ben trekked across the yard, a hardened look on his face.
Mattie pushed off the ground and wiped the dirt off her dress from where she’d been kneeling.
Ben stopped at the foot of her garden, his balled-up hands on his hips and brows furrowed.
“Is something wrong, Ben?”
“You know mei fraa is with child and in a weakened state. Why would you send the police to our haus asking questions about the day we took care of your kinner?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“They kumm at dawn with a search warrant. Wanted to catch us both at home, they said.”
Mattie plodded barefoot over the loose soil and stopped before him. “What on earth do they want with Grace and you?”
“That’s what I want to know. They told us nett to leave town. They might have more questions. Nau mei fraa is beside herself with worry.”
“Ben, I’m so sorry.”
“We would never do anything to hurt your kinner.”
“I know that,” she assured him.
“He wasn’t bruised at our haus—in our care!”
Without realizing it, he was pointing his finger at her. She couldn’t blame him for being angry, especially if the police ransacked their house like they had hers, scouring every inch for evidence. Her thoughts went back to what Bo had said to Grace and Ben in the hospital. “I understand the children were in your care prior to Nathan being admitted.” Mattie’s heart sank. She was the one who had told Bo that Grace and Ben had watched the children. Was that the “recent developments” Alvin had overheard Bo say over the phone?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bo had been awake since the nurse arrived with Josh’s breakfast tray, and he still couldn’t shake the events of the dream. He recalled the helpless feeling underwater, unable to reach the surface—unable to reach the mother and child.
“Would you ask the nurse for another carton of milk?” Josh said between slurps of cereal.
“Sure.” Bo left the room. He yawned, then glanced at his watch. Half past eight and he was tired. Not a good way to start the day.
The nurses’ station was empty. Bo wandered around the area, found an open door, and heard voices from inside the room. “Maureen called in today. Her kid’s daycare had an outbreak of lice and she doesn’t want her daughter to get it,” a woman said.
“Sounds lame to me,” another one replied.
“Oh, it’s a nightmare. Combing the nits, washing the linen, spraying everything. The poor kid is a social outcast—really. It’s like . . . like leprosy was in biblical times.”
“Hey, did you know you could get leprosy from armadillos? You can,” the younger woman said.
Bo poked his head into the storage room and cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Can I get another carton of milk, please?”
“Absolutely.” The older nurse handed the younger one a box of gloves on her way out the door. “Come with me,” she said, motioning with her hand to another room a few feet away. “Do you want white or chocolate?”
“White, please.”
She opened a refrigerator and handed him a milk carton. “Anything else?”
“No, this is fine. Thank you.” He returned to Josh’s room and handed him the milk for cereal Josh had already finished, then plopped down in the chair next to the bed.
Leprosy. His mind conjured up the image of the woman and child in his dream. Spots. What did it all mean? Bo rolled the words over and over in his mind until a thought sparked and he shot up from the chair. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Where are you going?” Josh said.
“I have to talk to Nathan’s doctor.” He sped out of the room, down the hall to the elevator, and after pressing the Up button, he decided to take the stairs. Urgency like nothing he’d experienced before fed adrenaline through his veins. He wasn’t even sure why he was suddenly standing at the pediatric nurses’ desk. The boy didn’t have any spots.
“May I help you?” the nurse asked.
“I’d like to talk with Doctor Oshay, please. About Nathan Diener.” He sucked in a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer asking God to stop him if he was wrong—if he was about to make a fool of himself. Then he whispered another prayer asking God to forgive his prideful attitude. The nurse informed him that the doctor was making rounds. She mentioned waiting for him in the waiting room, but Bo chose to loiter near the desk. After several minutes went by, he started to debate whether he’d allowed his mind to run amok—believe things unseen. The boy had no outward signs of leprosy or chicken pox. Then he rebuked the thoughts, reminding himself that faith was hope in things unseen.
A few minutes later, the doctor came out of Nathan’s room.
Bo met him in the hall. “How is Nathan Diener?” The doctor’s brows crinkled, and Bo quickly reminded him that he was the investigator for Child Services.
“His prognosis isn’t good. His liver is beginning to shut down. I’ve ordered toxic screens on every chemical and plant on the list the mother provided, but everything is coming up negative.”
“The boy’s sister has chicken pox,” Bo blurted. “I know Nathan doesn’t have any spots, but I thought you should know he’s been exposed.”
Doctor Oshay’s eyes widened. “When did the chicken pox manifest in the sibling?”
Bo shrugged. “A few days ago. The doctor the foster mother had taken her to said it was a mild case.”
“That’s important information, thanks,” he said over his shoulder as he rushed to the nurses’ station where he sat in front of a computer terminal and started typing.
Bo paced, wishing he had more information. He could search his father’s library for information, but that would be time consuming, and besides, it wasn’t like he had a medical background and could decipher the medical jargon.
The doctor rounded the desk. “Can I speak with you a moment?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I need to get in contact with the mother. She doesn’t have a phone number listed.”
“The Amish don’t—she doesn’t have one,” he said, sparing the doctor about why the Amish didn’t believe in modern conveniences. “I can get a message to her to call the hospital.”
“I’d rather speak with her in person,” Doctor Oshay said. “The sooner, the better.”
“I’m on my way.” Bo hustled to the elevator. On the ride down to the first level, he typed a short text to Josh saying something had come up that required his attention. Exiting the lobby, he remembered he hadn’t picked up his car from Mattie’s. Bo dialed the number for a local cab company and waited near the hospital entrance.
Mattie took her frustration out on ridding her garden of weeds. If Grace lost her baby from stress, Mattie would never forgive herself. She was well aware of her dear friend’s medical condition, how stress could affect her muscular dystrophy. Bo Lambright had no business involving Grace and Ben in the investigation. No business whatsoever. She reached the end of the first row of pole beans and moved over to the next one, snatching a few beans to snack on before she resumed pulling weeds.
“Mattie,” a distant voice called.
She spotted Bo running up the driveway and groaned under her breath. He picked the wrong time to get his car. A tree had fallen across the gravel road leading to their district and the men figured it might keep the news vans away if they didn’t rush to remove it. She pulled more weeds.
He stopped at the foot of the garden, bent at the waist, and gulped air. “Did you know your road’s . . . blocked?”
“The road’s
blocked to keep unwanted people from trespassing. Englischers who don’t belong—”
“Mattie.” He gestured with an impatient wave for her to get up.
She pushed off her knees with fire in her belly. “Mr. Lambright, that includes you.”
He righted himself and pinned her with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look that added fuel to her determination to set him straight.
“You don’t belong here.” He’d fooled her once. She wouldn’t leave herself vulnerable again. He was an investigator for Child Services, after all.
Bo stormed down the row of beans and towered over her. “I’ll talk to the bishop later and clear everything up. But right now the doctor wants you at the hospital.” He pointed to the road. “I have a cab waiting. We have to go.”
“The doctor? What’s wrong with Nathan?” She absentmindedly wiped her dirty hands on the side of her dress.
“I’ll tell you on the way into town.”
She looked at the dirt on her hands, her dress. “I should probably wash up, change into something . . .”
“Mattie.” Bo cupped her shoulders and turned her toward him. “You don’t have time.” He released her and picked up the nearby watering can. “Hold out your hands.”
Cold well water splashed over her hands, spilling over onto the bottom of her dress.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you wet.” He dug his hand into his pocket, removed a hankie, and wet it.
Mattie wiped her hands on the side of her dress, then examined them. The water didn’t wash away the dirt under her fingernails. Anyone would consider her unfit.
“We should go. I don’t want the cab leaving without us,” Bo said.
Mattie slipped on her shoes she’d kicked into the grass, then took off running.
Bo caught up to her. “I understand how the downed logs will keep the media away, but isn’t the bishop worried about a fire? A fire engine wouldn’t be able to get down this road.”
She was too winded from running to speak. They had a system in place within their district. Should a fire break out, one of the members would direct the fire trucks from the main road down the old timber road.