An Amish Family Christmas

by Murray Pura

She pushed down as hard as she could. Blood oozed up between her fingers, and she put her shoulders and back into it. Micah put his ear by Timothy’s mouth while he ripped a patch off his jacket with a pocketknife. He placed the patch over a wound on the other arm. He glanced around.

  “Sarah?”

  Sarah was standing nearby, tears covering her face.

  “Sarah. I need you to hold this patch in place for me.”

  “It’s my fault. He was doing it for me. He wanted to show me.”

  “He will get better. If you help me with this wound he will get better.”

  “I’m no good at this.”

  “Hold this patch with your hands like you see Naomi doing. Please.”

  She squatted by Timothy, the tears still coming, and awkwardly put her hands on the black patch and his wound.

  “A bit harder, Sarah. That’s right. You’re doing very well.”

  Rebecca ran up, her breath coming in gasps. “I called nine-one-one—from our phone hut—”

  “Thank you, sister.” Micah peeled off his coat and draped it over Timothy. “Can I have your jacket?”

  “Ja—of course—”

  She took it off and gave it to him, and he placed it on top of his coat.

  “Do you need another, Mr. Bachman?” asked Sarah.

  “Two or three more would be good.”

  “Someone pull mine off me.” She looked up at her friends. “Lydia. Deborah. Go ahead. Just do it fast. Start with my left arm. I’ll keep my right hand on the wound.”

  “You’ll freeze,” Lydia protested.

  “I won’t freeze. It’s not that cold out.”

  “You’ll get chilled.”

  “And Timmy will die. Take it off me.”

  Her friends tugged off her navy blue coat and put it on Timothy. Then they added their own.

  Micah was cutting a long strip off his pants that he used as a tourniquet above the knee on the boy’s right leg. The men came rushing up as he was cutting another to wrap over a fracture on the other leg.

  “What is happening?” one of the men asked.

  “What can we do?” asked another.

  “I need two more coats on top of the boy to keep him warm.”

  All five of them unbuttoned their coats and placed them over Timothy.

  “Someone must get Minister Yoder and his wife,” Micah said.

  “So I’ll get my buggy and drive to their house right away.” One of the men left at a run in his shirtsleeves.

  “We can help you lift him and get him in front of a fire.” A man bent close with his hands on his knees.

  “No.” Micah shook his head. “We can’t move him. He could have a back or spinal injury. We might end up making things worse. Paralyze him.”

  “The ambulance will take at least ten minutes.”

  “He’s breathing. All your coats will keep him warm. We have the bleeding checked for the moment.”

  “How bad is he?”

  Micah didn’t respond. He was gently probing the back of the boy’s head. As he did he smiled at Sarah. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m all right,” she choked out, holding back sobs.

  A man crouched by her. “Let me take over.”

  She didn’t look at him. “I’m fine, Mr. Kurtz.”

  “You must be tired.”

  “Nein, I’m fine,” she repeated.

  Micah put his ear to Timothy’s mouth and then checked his pulse.

  “What about you, Omi?” he asked, his fingers against the side of the boy’s neck. “Do you need a break?”

  She could feel the strain in her arms, but she shook her head. “I’ll be here as long as you are.”

  “Ja?”

  “I like to see you work. I like to hear your voice.”

  He looked down at the wounded boy. “Something isn’t right. I’m missing something.”

  Carefully he put his fingers under Timothy’s back. On the right side they came away red. In an instant he had his shirt off and was folding it into a wad. Now he only wore his white undershirt and his torn pants.

  “We have a large wound.” He slowly put the wadded shirt into the hole his fingers had found. “This will help. Mr. Kurtz—”

  “Ja?”

  “Kneel here on the right side of Timothy. Push down firmly here...not too rough...this will put some pressure on the back wound. Keep it up against the dressing I made with the shirt to staunch the flow of blood. Do you understand?”

  Mr. Kurtz nodded and took his place, pressing with both hands where Micah showed him.

  “Easy,” said Micah. “A little less force. Just enough. Good. Perfect. Danke.”

  Naomi watched everything her husband did with the strong eyes of a falcon.

  So this is what you did over there. And this is what you do now. This is Micah Bachman.

  The sound of horses’ hooves on the gravel. A man running. Minister Yoder’s black beard and glasses and bald head.

  “What? What has happened?”

  “The bike flipped over on him, Minister,” Naomi replied. “We’ve called for the ambulance.”

  “No, no, no. What was he doing? Stunts? I asked him, ‘Please, no stunts.’” Tears formed behind his lenses. “We must get him into the buggy and back to the house.”

  “Minister Yoder.” Micah was checking Timothy’s pulse again. “Your son landed on his back. We dare not move him.”

  The minister’s eyes blackened. “What are you doing here? What are you doing to my son?”

  “Trying to stabilize him. Stop the bleeding. Control shock. Keep his airways clear. Make sure he’s warm. Watch his heart rate.”

  “You shouldn’t be touching him.”

  “We had to bandage him, sir. Apply pressure on the worst wounds. Make a tourniquet.”

  “My son—get away from my son. We put him in the buggy and get him to his bed.”

  “Minister Yoder—”

  The minister put his big hands on Micah’s chest and shoved. “Away from him!”

  Micah fell back against the dirt bike.

  “Stop, Minister!” snapped Mr. Kurtz. “None of this! Shame!”

  “He will not—he must not—”

  One of the girls pointed. “Now it comes!”

  The emergency vehicle wasn’t using its siren. It had barely stopped when men and women in uniforms jumped out.

  One of the EMS crewmen stared. “What have we got?”

  Micah bent over the boy again. “Dirt bike flipped over on him. He landed on his back.”

  “We need the board!” the crewman called back over his shoulder.

  “Pulse is weak but steady. Multiple fractures and multiple wounds. Compound fracture, tibia, left leg. Broken right arm. Bad wound, lower back, right side. Another under the right shoulder. A third on the left arm.”

  The crewman had his stethoscope out. “Got it.”

  Two women and another man, all in EMS uniforms, set a bright red board down beside Timothy.

  “Need help getting him on the trauma board?” asked Micah.

  A woman nodded. “Let me get his head. You can help the others.”

  “Sue,” the lead crewman said to the woman, “we’re going to need a number of feeds going as soon as he’s secured in the vehicle.”

  “I’ll get them going as soon as we’ve got him in.”

  Micah worked with them as if all five had been together for years. Timothy was swiftly secured on the board and slid into the emergency vehicle. Minister Yoder climbed in with his wife. He would not look at Micah.

  “Thanks for getting things under control.” The EMT shook Micah’s hand. “We’ll let you know how he does.”

  “Okay. I’ll be down.”

  “We’ll be taking him to Lancaster. May have to fly him into Philadelphia.”

  “Right.”

  The EMS vehicle pulled away in a spray of mud and slush.

  “You looked as if you were one of the ambulance team,” Naomi said. “As if the group of you had been to
gether for years.”

  “When I disappear into town for hours at a time, I spend it with them. I’ve been a volunteer.”

  “I see.”

  Micah looked at Naomi. “We should go in to the ER.”

  “I want to come as well,” said Rebecca.

  “What about Luke?” asked Naomi.

  Micah nodded toward the men. Luke was standing with them.

  “He’s been here all along,” Micah said.

  “He saw everything?” Naomi asked.

  “Ja.” He smiled at the girls and young boys and at the men. “Thank you all for your help and your prayers. Make sure you pick up your coats.”

  They nodded at him.

  Sarah responded with a thin smile. “Thank you, sir. I know you made a difference. Despite what Minister Yoder thinks.”

  “Danke, Sarah.” Micah threw his coat over his bloodstained undershirt. “Come on.” He looked at Naomi and Rebecca and Luke. “Let’s harness up Maria and get into town.”

  “Oh, Micah, we can’t take the horse, we must have a driver.”

  “All right, let’s get a driver.”

  He glanced at the men from the church. “Who will take care of the Yoder children?”

  Mr. Kurtz bent down to pick up his jacket. “Martha will already be there. We are the next farm over. I will join her.”

  “Gut.”

  Micah hurried across the road, Luke and the two women trailing him. His pace was rapid.

  “This is when I wish the Amish had helicopters,” he said.

  No one smiled. No one laughed. He glanced at Naomi’s face. “What?”

  Everything about her in that moment—her skin, her eyes, her hair, her face—was either black or white. “It’s nothing. Let’s just hurry.”

  “It’s something. We won’t be free to talk forever.”

  She stopped in the middle of the road. “So I know who you are.”

  Micah stopped too. “What?”

  “I understand why you were in Afghanistan. I see it clearly.”

  “You do? Just because of this?”

  She was almost at attention. “Only a few can do what you did in that desert and under those guns. God could have chosen only a few. You were one of them. Amish or not, you were one of them. No one else among us could do it, and only a handful of the Englisch. So it had to be you. You had to go there. That is who you are, Sergeant Bachman. That is who God made you to be.”

  Eleven

  Naomi sat with Rebecca in the waiting room down the hall from ICU. Across from them were Micah and Luke. Sitting in chairs all around were Amish men and women from their church. Some spoke in murmurs and whispers. For Naomi and Micah, the time to talk was over. Except for a few words between the two women, the four sat in silence.

  “But we wish to see him again.”

  “I’m sorry, Minister Yoder. We’re preparing him for medevac.”

  “Once more.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. He’s already out the door and into the chopper.”

  Everyone looked up as Minister Yoder and his wife appeared in the hallway with the doctor. Bishop Fischer was also with them, but he said nothing. His hand rested on Minister Yoder’s shoulder.

  “We can see him in Philadelphia, ja?”

  “Of course.”

  “And things are well, they are going very well, God be praised?”

  “Just as I told you. He is holding his own.” The doctor’s voice grew so quiet, Naomi could barely hear. “There’s no damage to his spinal cord. No paralysis. But there was significant blood loss.”

  She saw Yoder’s face darken. “Ja. So at the scene of the accident it was not done right.” He didn’t lower his voice. “Mistakes were made. People bungled.”

  The bishop patted his shoulder. “Please, brother.”

  The doctor looked at Minister Yoder in surprise. “What are you saying?”

  “My son would be in better condition but for what was done to him after he crashed, ja? He would not even need to be airlifted to Philadelphia, would he? It was there, right at the beginning, that someone who didn’t know what he was doing made things worse.”

  Naomi looked at Micah. He was bent over and had his eyes fixed on the floor.

  The doctor looked squarely at Minister Yoder. “I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at, but I will tell you this. I don’t know who the first responder was when your son had the accident. I don’t know who applied first aid before the EMS crew showed up. But whoever it was saved your son’s life.”

  The doctor disappeared back down the hallway.

  Minister Yoder’s face went from blood red to the color of snow. He watched the doctor as he strode away, looked at his wife and at Bishop Fischer, and then lowered himself into a chair.

  Rebecca patted Naomi’s knee. “We should go. It will be dark soon.”

  “Minister Yoder will want people to pray with him.”

  “It’s not us he wants, Naomi.”

  The four of them got up as other families gathered around the Yoders. Their driver, a young man from an Englisch home not far from the farmhouse, got up as well and opened the door. They all walked out into the cool air, where clouds were covering the evening sky.

  “Well, not long till Christmas,” the young man said as he slid behind the wheel of his van and blew on his fingers.

  Micah climbed in beside him. “No, not long.”

  At home a stew had been sitting in the warming oven. It was a little dry, but Micah and Luke dished up bowlfuls for themselves, cut large pieces of bread from a loaf on the counter, and went into the parlor together to eat together in silence, just as they’d been doing ever since Luke had started feeding himself.

  “So what are we to do with Minister Yoder?” asked Rebecca as she ate with Naomi at the kitchen table.

  Naomi shrugged with one shoulder. “What can we do? A minister serves for life. We can only pray.”

  “But even the doctor said Micah had helped—”

  “I know.”

  Rebecca ate for a few moments and then spoke again. “I’ve wondered about your father, Naomi.”

  “Ja?”

  “So he is with the Lord. But he was a minister with us. Shouldn’t there be someone to take his place? Someone who might stand up to Minister Yoder?”

  Naomi didn’t lift her head, scraping the sides of her bowl with her spoon. “They must draw lots. I expect they’ll do it at Christmas. But I don’t imagine a great deal will change.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Minister Yoder puts the fear of God in people. I can’t think of what another minister could do or say that would calm Minister Yoder down. Likely, he’ll become worse because his son is injured. So if he was difficult to take before, he will be impossible now. There’s nothing but prayer left for us.”

  “Well, but that is enough.”

  “Yes. Amen.”

  Naomi got up. “Let’s clear away the dishes and do the praying. Spend a good hour at it. Read some Scriptures to each other loud enough for Micah and Luke to hear.”

  Rebecca finished her stew quickly and wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Such a good idea.”

  A knocking sounded at the door.

  “Ah.” Rebecca stood up and crossed the room while Naomi loaded dishes in the sink. “It’s very late. Who is this?”

  She opened the door to Minister Yoder, snowflakes in his beard and on the crown of his wide-brimmed black hat. Behind him a car was running, its headlights making golden tunnels through the swirl of snowfall.

  Rebecca stared. “Minister Yoder. Velkommen. Vas fur eine Uberraschung.”

  He smiled awkwardly, glancing down for a moment. “Ja, a surprise, so it is late to be visiting. But my wife and I are on our way to Philadelphia. We will be there a few days...you know, to see our son.”

  “Of course.”

  “Still I needed to come by and see your brother. Is he here?”

  “My brother?” She opened the door wider. “Please come in, Min
ister. He’s sitting with Luke in the parlor.” She half-smiled. “They are both quiet together.”

  He removed his hat and nodded. “I have permission from the bishop to speak with Micah.”

  “I see.”

  He bent to remove his boots.

  “No, Minister.” Rebecca put a hand on his arm. “Just stamp them. You’re in a hurry. That’s all right.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Ja, ja.”

  He hit each boot against the mat twice, and bits of snow fell off. Then he followed Rebecca to the parlor, nodding to Naomi, who was at the kitchen sink but moved to where she could watch everything. In the parlor she could just see Micah sitting with Luke. Both were sipping from their coffees. Surprised at seeing the minister, Micah began to rise, but Minister Yoder waved him down with his hand.

  “No, no, stay where you are. This will only take a few minutes. I am allowed to speak with you, you are allowed to listen, all right?”

  Micah nodded and sat back down.

  “I’m known for being forthright. Over the years I have counted it a blessing. I don’t mince words, but speak plainly. And so it is good to speak so. As long as what you say is grounded in truth.” He nodded as he looked at Micah. “Of course I had trouble with you enlisting and going to war. We all did. I still have trouble with it. But that is not why I have come.”

  Naomi had left the sink with its warm water and dishes and saw and heard Minister Yoder from just outside the kitchen. Rebecca stood beside Minister Yoder with a dishtowel in her hand.

  “I freely admit I can be stubborn and headstrong,” Minister Yoder continued. “Two of my many faults the Lord is working on by day and by night. I am here to apologize for my actions on the road. I yelled. I accused. I pushed you with my hands as hard as I could. My behavior was unbecoming, especially for an Amish minister.” His eyes glimmered. “God forgive me. But I ask your forgiveness as well.”

  Naomi saw the movement in her husband’s eyes and on his face.

  “Yet there is more I must say,” Minister Yoder rumbled. “Our bishop is fond of saying that God’s ways are not our ways and that often enough he doesn’t do things in the manner in which we should like to see them done. I find the truth of that in what God has done with your life, Micah Bachman. I said nein, and I still say nein to your military training, ja, even your training as a medic.