Arms of Mercy

by Ruth Reid

  Leaving the barn, Elijah made his way to the small shed a few feet away. Thankfully it was filled with chopped wood. He collected an armload and headed to the house. He’d made it halfway across the yard when he heard heavy steps pounding the snow.

  “Whoa, Ginger.” The rider pulled back on the reins, and the horse stopped a few feet from Elijah.

  “Hiya,” Elijah greeted the Amish boy.

  An older man riding a much older horse plodded up the driveway.

  Elijah greeted the newcomer with a friendly smile. “Welkum. I didn’t know there was an Amish community nearby. I’m Elijah Graber from Posen, Michigan.”

  “I’m Titus Zook, and this here is mei sohn, Joshua. Michigan, you say. You’re a long way from home.” The older man looked around the area. “I didn’t know anyone was living here. It’s been closed up for years.”

  Years? The carrots and apples weren’t that old. Thrilled to have company, he motioned with a nod toward the house. “Would you like to kumm inside and warm up by the fire? I could put a pot of kaffi on the stove. I’d love to hear about your district.”

  “Danki, but maybe another time. We’re looking for a horse, and we don’t have much daylight left.”

  “Hold on a second.” Elijah went to the porch and dropped the armload of wood, then swept the bark off the front of his coat. “I think you’ll want to take a look at what’s in the barn. I found him tangled in barbed wire earlier today.” He led them to the barn once they tied their mounts to the fence post.

  The young boy’s elation claimed the stray. “Pickles!”

  The horse tossed his head up and down and stomped his hoof.

  “Should have named him Spitfire,” the older man said with a huff. “I bought him last year, and he’s too much beast to fool with. I plan to sell him come auction time.”

  “He spooks easily. I agree.” Elijah unlatched the stall gate and slipped inside. “Easy, boy.” The horse tossed his head and snorted as Elijah came close, but then he sniffed at his hand and settled down.

  “You have a way of gentling a giant,” Titus said.

  Elijah patted the horse’s neck. “He gets frightened easily and needs reassurance. I don’t doubt he’d make a gut buggy horse. He has good form.”

  “That’s what I thought when I bought him.” Titus studied the horse a few seconds, then shook his head. “I could use a mug of that kaffi you offered.”

  “Sure.” He gave Pickles a final pat, then exited the stall.

  “Do you know Menno Zook? He’s from Posen.”

  “Jah, he’s our bishop.”

  “Small world,” Titus said as they left the barn. “Menno’s mei first cousin. We both grew up in Holmes County. His family ended up in Michigan, and mine helped to start this community in Hopewater.”

  The three of them left the barn and headed to the house.

  “How long are you planning to stay?”

  Elijah was taking it day by day. He didn’t want to wear out his welcome at the stranger’s cabin, but he also had no intentions of going back to Michigan without Catherine. “Probably until spring.”

  Titus smiled. “I might have a job for you.”

  Chapter 28

  Julie stared at herself in the mirror. Ugly stranger. One cheekbone appeared much larger than the other, and bluish-purple blotches colored her skin. Her brow was shaved, and stitches surrounded her eye. Looking at her head, she noticed big square patches were shaved down to the scalp. How could she identify with this distorted image—with the monster in the mirror? She should have listened to Amy when the nurse tried to warn her. Now when people looked at her with shocked expressions, there would be no denying how deformed she was.

  Amy’s arm came around Julie’s shoulders. “You’re beautiful.”

  “No, I’m nett.” Julie flipped off the bathroom light switch. “I don’t ever want to look at myself again.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re still healing.”

  “My head is shaved. I have hardly any hair to pull down over my face, and I have no idea who I am or where I belong. For all I know mei name isn’t Julie.”

  “I know this is hard. You’ve gone through so much. Is there another name you would rather I call you?”

  “No—I don’t know.” She blew out a breath. “Julie’s a nice name, I suppose. It’s better than ‘hey you.’”

  “As for your hair, the doctor had no choice. He had to relieve the pressure on your brain. A subdural hematoma is very serious— deadly.”

  “I know. I’ve heard it all before. I’m lucky to be alive. Only I don’t know who I am, so how lucky am I?” She moved out from under Amy’s arm over her shoulder and turned toward the bed. “I’d like to lie down now.”

  “Sure. Can I get you a protein shake or some applesauce?”

  “Maybe later.” She wanted to crawl under the covers and never surface again. “Do you mind leaving me alone?”

  “Um, sure. I have some charting I need to catch up on at the desk. I’ll stop by your room before I go home.” She opened the door to leave but came back to the bedside. “I have a friend who’s a police officer. He mentioned running your fingerprints—you’d have to give consent.”

  “They can figure out who I am based on my fingerprints?”

  “Maybe. But there’s a catch. You might find out who you are but not like the results.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you’re a wanted criminal or there’s a warrant out for your arrest, he would arrest you.”

  Julie kept silent.

  “You don’t have to make up your mind now. I’ll leave you to think on it.” Amy left the room.

  Julie slipped under the covers and closed her eyes. What if she was a criminal? The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Lord, who am I?

  She spent the remainder of the day in bed, and as Amy had promised, she stopped by at the end of her shift, only Julie kept her eyes closed and didn’t answer when Amy asked if she was awake. It wasn’t until after Amy had gone that Julie opened her eyes and found the vase of yellow roses.

  Tears streamed down Julie’s face as she read the card.

  “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life . . . Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

  Don’t be discouraged.

  Your friend,

  Amy

  Julie gazed at the front of the card. Why did the sparrow perched on the fence post look so familiar?

  “I found out we have something in common,” Elijah said to Pickles as he fastened the harness around the horse’s girth. “We’ve both been in a bad accident.” Elijah patted the horse’s neck.

  The long hours he spent with Pickles over the past few weeks had helped him bond with the horse, and his shoulder muscles were slowly getting back in shape. He’d gained the gelding’s trust— until it came to hitching him to the buggy. Pickles still panicked. Elijah understood the horse’s fear. The thought of riding a bus again gave him nightmares.

  Elijah had worked with the horse every day in exchange for a few home-cooked meals at the bishop’s house. Elijah had gotten the better part of that deal. His wife was a good cook—so was his eldest daughter. It didn’t take long to feel at home in the district.

  Once Titus had learned why Elijah wanted to stay in Ohio until springtime, he’d taken an interest in helping him find odd jobs. He chopped wood for a widow, who in turn had sewn him a new shirt. He saved it to wear on Sundays. He shoveled driveways, helped with milking, and did pretty much anything to fill the void. Other members in the district had supplied him with pants, a hat, and a pair of warm winter gloves. They didn’t ask too many questions about his past, and Elijah suspected the bishop had something to do with that.

  He still couldn’t get through a conversation about Catherine without getting choked up, especially after learning that the authorities had called off search and rescue indefinitely. Inf
orming George of the news was the hardest letter he’d ever written. Even then he spared her brother the part about finding her bloody prayer kapp.

  Elijah stood behind him and tapped the reins. Pickles sidestepped, then refused to go. He wouldn’t hitch him to anything today. After the failed attempt last week, he had to start the training over, even getting the horse used to wearing blinders.

  Once Pickles moved, he immediately pulled for more rein, but Elijah was able to hold him back. Traipsing through the snow behind the horse was difficult at a slow walking pace, but he couldn’t let Pickles go any faster. He directed Pickles across the eighty-acre pasture that separated the cabin where Elijah was staying from the bishop’s farm. His boots sank into the snow. By the time he reached the bishop’s house for supper, Elijah was chilled to the bone.

  “Kumm inside. You look like you’re freezing,” the bishop’s daughter Rebecca said. The twenty-two-year-old placed her hands on her hips, her dark eyes locked on Elijah’s snow-covered boots.

  He stomped off the snow on the porch, then stepped into the warmth of the home and removed his coat. “Something smells gut.”

  “Beef stew and biscuits. Hope you’re hungry.”

  He smiled. “Jah, starved.” He hung his coat on the wall peg, then removed his snowy boots. Balls of icy snow had collected on his wool socks. He plucked them off so they wouldn’t melt and make a mess on the floor, then opened the door and tossed them outside.

  Rebecca poured him a mug of coffee, then handed it to him with a smile. “Daed’s in the sitting room.”

  “Danki.” He rubbed the side of his head and winced when the stitches tugged the skin.

  Rebecca leaned closer, her gaze locked on the wound. “Why do you keep scratching—ach! Those have to kumm out.”

  “Jah, I’ve been meaning—”

  “Sit down.” She pointed to the chair.

  “Nau?”

  The bishop’s wife, Lynn, came up from the basement, carrying a jar of preserves in each hand and breathing heavy. “Oh gut, you made it,” she said, looking at Elijah. “We’ll be eating shortly.” The stout woman handed the jars to Rebecca’s younger sister, Betty. “Titus is reading the newspaper,” Lynn told Elijah, motioning to the sitting room.

  “He needs the stitches in his head to kumm out. He left them in past their stay.”

  Lynn examined his head. “Jah, they sure do. Let’s have the scissors, and bring me the bottle of peroxide.”

  “Do they look bad? I was going to clip them, but I couldn’t find a pair of scissors at the cabin.”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  Rebecca handed her the scissors, and Lynn snipped the thread. The sting from her tugging on the thread made his eyes water, and he had to blink several times to hide his tears from the womenfolk. He didn’t need them teasing him over something so minor as a few stitches.

  Once Lynn dabbed some peroxide over his wound, he stood. “Danki.” He grabbed his mug and took his coffee into the sitting room. Elijah sat in the rocking chair next to the bishop’s.

  “How was your day?” Titus flipped to the next page of The Budget.

  “Before your fraa ripped stitches from mei head, gut.”

  Titus chuckled. “So that was the ruckus?”

  “Jah, it hurts more when you wait too long.” He sipped his coffee.

  “I’ll remember that. Are you making any progress with Pickles?”

  “Very little.”

  As Titus did every evening, he passed a section of the newspaper to Elijah. “What kind of price do you think he will fetch at the auction?”

  “In Michigan he’d go for a thousand easily.”

  Titus frowned. “Less than what I paid.”

  “I haven’t lost hope in being able to train him.” He’d already lost hope in so many things. He couldn’t lose faith in rehabilitating Pickles. The horse was traumatized. He needed time to heal.

  Elijah opened the paper to the Posen section. His stomach wrenched as he read the opening line: “Catherine Glick is still missing. A love offering is being collected for George’s transportation to Ohio.”

  Julie moved away from the window as Amy entered the room. Since she’d been moved to the rehab wing of the hospital, Amy was no longer her nurse, yet she came by to visit every day after her shift ended.

  “I spotted a robin today,” Julie said.

  “You know what that means. Spring’s around the corner. And Easter is next week. Can you believe how fast time is flying?”

  Not for everyone. Julie’s life had stalled. Even meeting once a week with a psychologist hadn’t triggered any memories.

  “I want to invite you to church next Sunday. I’ve already spoken with Dr. Gleeson, and he’s willing to issue a day pass. He thinks the outing would be good for you too. In fact—and you didn’t hear this from me—he’s planning to discharge you.”

  No wonder the social worker had been bringing housing applications in for Julie to fill out. The same ball of fire erupted in her stomach as it had the last time anyone talked about her leaving. Medically there wasn’t anything else any of the doctors could do. Her eyesight wasn’t great; she saw double when she was overly tired or stressed, and she’d learned how to cope without peripheral vision. According to the doctor, she could even learn to drive a car, although the idea frightened her.

  “I have nothing to wear to church,” she said.

  “I’ve got that covered.” Amy sat on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress.

  Julie plopped down beside her.

  “I want you to meet my fiancé on Sunday.”

  “You’re getting married?”

  “This June.” She showed Julie the ring on her left hand. “He asked me last night.”

  “I thought he was away in the military.”

  Amy nodded. “He finished his tour in Afghanistan and wants to settle down.”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “So, please tell me you’ll go to Easter service with me.” Amy made a pouty face with her lips until Julie agreed, then pulled her into a hug.

  Over the following week, Julie fretted over going out in public. She hadn’t looked in the mirror again, but judging by the stares she’d gotten from strangers she met in the hospital hallways, her face still shocked people. Anymore, she felt more comfortable wearing a scarf as a head covering. Thankfully the dress Amy had loaned her for the Easter service had a purple scarf to go along with it.

  Throughout the service Julie fidgeted with the folds on the dress. She didn’t like that her knees were exposed. Perhaps she was just self-conscious being outside of the hospital. Her dress wasn’t any shorter than what all the women were wearing. Julie tried to focus on the sermon. The message of Jesus dying on the cross and rising from the dead stirred her heart. In the end she was glad Amy had invited her to church.

  Amy’s fiancé, Brett, was tall and handsome with his hair cut short, and he was wearing an army uniform. Her friend looked happy, and Julie was happy for her.

  “Will you give us a minute, Brett? I want to introduce Julie to someone.”

  Julie tried to object, but Amy tugged on her arm. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Julie pulled her scarf down more on her forehead, fanning out the sides to shadow her face.

  “Dr. Wellington,” Amy called while crossing the church foyer. “I want you to meet my friend.”

  Julie wasn’t sure why Amy was introducing her to another doctor, but once she met the older gentleman, she felt at ease.

  “Dr. Wellington, this is Julie, the friend I was telling you about. Julie, Dr. Wellington owns a children’s ranch.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Julie. Was today your first time here?”

  “Yes, it was. I enjoyed the service.” Making small talk was awkward. She lowered her head and studied the green carpet.

  Amy filled the gap in conversation. “How many groups of children are you expecting to come to the ranch this year?”

  “The summer and fall are
already full. I have a couple groups coming as early as May. Did you hear we have a new indoor riding arena?”

  “No, but that’s great. The children must love being able to ride during the bad weather,” Amy said.

  “You’ll have to drop by sometime.” Dr. Wellington turned to Julie. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You too.” Julie waited until the doctor ambled away before facing Amy. “I hope you weren’t trying to play matchmaker in church.”

  “Oh, heavens no.” Amy lowered her voice. “He’s old enough to be your father.”

  “Then what was that about?”

  “He might have a job opening.”

  Panic threaded Julie’s veins. “You’re going to quit the hospital?”

  “No, for you.”

  Julie opened her mouth to decline, but Amy spoke first. “We can talk more about it later.” She rose to her tiptoes, searching the crowd. “Looks like Brett is ready to leave.”

  “Do you mind if I skip Easter dinner? I’d like to go back to the hospital.”

  Amy’s brows knitted. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Going to church was enough of an outing. She didn’t want to impose on Amy’s family gathering. Especially since Brett had only recently returned from overseas.

  The three of them walked across the church parking lot to Brett’s car. Julie climbed into the back seat. On the drive back to the hospital, Julie couldn’t help but notice the way Brett looked at Amy. Had there ever been anyone who looked at her the same way?

  “What if I can’t cook?” Julie paced the length of the hospital room, her stomach twisting into knots.

  “You probably won’t have to,” Amy said. “The children’s ranch has a head cook. You’ll be her assistant.”

  Julie shook her head. “I’m not ready to leave here. I’m still in therapy.”

  “About that . . .” Amy’s lips formed a straight line.

  “What were you going say?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress. “Come sit with me.”

  Julie eyed her friend a half second, then plopped down on the bed. “What are you not telling me?”