by Amy Clipston
“Absolutely.” Patty placed her hand on Noreen’s shoulder. “Maybe when I kumm back, you’ll be ready to leave, jah?”
“We’ll see.” A hearty cough carried across the night air. “I imagine that’s Thomas reminding me about the water.”
“I’ll see you in a little while.” Patty headed toward her buggy.
Noreen returned to the area lit by floodlights from the fire truck. Thomas was still propped against the tree, breathing into a mask, the rescuer squatting next to him. To her untrained ears, his breathing sounded better. Less wheezy. His chest expanded and fell several times without triggering a coughing fit. That had to be good. She sat next to him and handed him the rag. “Hopefully, you can suck enough water out to help your thirst.”
Thomas removed the mask and rasped, “Danki” as he placed the corner of the cloth into his mouth. The longer he went without the mask, the more his lungs rattled. He hadn’t improved as much as she first thought.
She studied how his chest moved up and down in sync with the wheezy sounds he made. Inhaling, exhaling—it all looked exhausting for him. “Your breathing is still labored. Is the oxygen helping at all?” Her question was for the man attending him as much as for Thomas.
Thomas groaned.
Noreen noticed the worker’s strained expression and asked again, “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
“I still think he should see a doctor,” the man said.
A firefighter approached, wearing a reflective jacket and pants, clipboard in hand. His yellow, oversized rubber boots had a film of ashes covering them. He glanced at the clipboard. “Are you Mr. and Mrs. King?”
“Jah,” Noreen replied.
“I’m Lieutenant Kyle DeBoer. I was told you are the homeowners?”
Thomas withdrew the rag from his mouth. “Jah, that’s right.”
“We’ll be packing up our equipment and heading out shortly, but I wanted to let you know my report will be available tomorrow. I’m sure your insurance company will request a copy and I’ll file one with the county fire investigator as well.”
“We don’t have insurance,” Thomas said.
“Then you probably won’t need an investigational analysis to determine where and how the fire started.”
Noreen’s insides wrenched. They didn’t need an investigator to tell them what she already knew. She neglected the simmering beef stew. She caused the fire.
“Nay, we won’t need a report.” Thomas turned and coughed into his fist.
Noreen picked up the oxygen mask. “Maybe you should put this back on.”
“Nay, I’m fine.” Thomas pushed off the ground and stood. “How much do we owe you?”
“I don’t handle the billing.” The firefighter tapped his pen against the clipboard. “The fire department will send a bill to the township and from there I’m not sure. There might not be any charge for the service.” He motioned over his shoulder toward the smoldering embers. “Be careful around the ash pile. It’ll stay hot several more hours. You’ll also want to watch for any new hotspots that could develop. I don’t think you’ll have any problems, but secondary fires have been known to start even after a fire is thought to be contained.”
“Jah,” Thomas said. “I plan to keep a close eye on it all nacht.”
The man’s brows lifted and he turned to the other firefighter who had been administering the oxygen.
“Mr. King doesn’t wish to be transported for treatment,” the man who had been caring for him said.
“That’s right.” Thomas coughed.
The lieutenant eyed him a moment as if assessing Thomas’s condition. “Then I guess our work here is finished.” He offered a friendly smile before turning his attention to the other man. “How long do you need, Jack?”
“Five, ten minutes.” The firefighter glanced at his clipboard, flipped a page, then spoke to Thomas. “If you’re absolutely sure you don’t want to go to the hospital, I’ll need you to sign a release-of-treatment form.”
“I’ll sign it.”
Noreen leaned closer to Thomas. “Are you sure you don’t want to see the doctor?”
He shot her a let it be glare, turned to the worker, took the clipboard and pen, and jotted his signature on the form. “Thanks for your help,” he said before walking away.
If only she could fool herself into believing his curt behavior was an oddity. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t the same jubilant man she’d married fifteen years ago. But life had been different then.
ALSO BY AMY CLIPSTON
THE AMISH HEIRLOOM SERIES
The Forgotten Recipe
The Courtship Basket
The Cherished Quilt
The Beloved Hope Chest (Available May 2017)
THE HEARTS OF THE LANCASTER GRAND HOTEL SERIES
A Hopeful Heart
A Mother’s Secret
A Dream of Home
A Simple Prayer
THE KAUFMAN AMISH BAKERY SERIES
A Gift of Grace
A Promise of Hope
A Place of Peace
A Life of Joy
A Season of Love
A Plain and Simple Christmas
Naomi’s Gift
NOVELLAS
An Amish Kitchen—
A Spoonful of Love
An Amish Cradle—
A Son for Always
An Amish Christmas Gift—
Naomi’s Gift
An Amish Market—
Love Birds
An Amish Harvest—
Love and Buggy Rides
YOUNG ADULT
Roadside Assistance
Destination Unknown
Miles from Nowhere
Reckless Heart
NONFICTION
A Gift of Love
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHOTO BY DAN DAVIS PHOTOGRAPHY
AMY CLIPSTON IS THE AWARD-WINNING and bestselling author of more than a dozen novels, including the Kauffman Amish Bakery series and the Hearts of the Lancaster Grand Hotel series. Her novels have hit multiple bestseller lists including CBD, CBA, and ECPA. Amy holds a degree in communication from Virginia Wesleyan College and works full-time for the City of Charlotte, North Carolina. Amy lives in North Carolina with her husband, two sons, and three spoiled rotten cats.
Visit her website: amyclipston.com
Facebook: Amy Clipston
Twitter: @AmyClipston