She decided she did not like this man.
“Then I hope you won’t mind babysitting him when he starts to howl,” she said. “Claire and Rose are worn out.”
His eyes widened. She could tell that he was not used to being spoken back to.
“Bishop Weaver.” Rose had come to the door. “Please come in.”
“You are still here?” he asked.
“Yes.” Rose’s voice was resigned. “I am still here.”
“Our people can care for Claire.”
“But she is my sister.”
“She is Swartzentruber. You are not.”
Rose’s chin lifted. “I am aware of who and what I am.”
He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “I will see Abraham’s wife now.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose said, “but she is asleep. This is the first rest she’s gotten in two days.” Then Rose firmly closed the door.
The bishop apparently did not know how to respond, so he scowled at Grace. “The funeral is over. You have no business here.”
He still hadn’t lowered his voice. Bishop Weaver was beginning to get on her last nerve.
“Are you telling me that there is something wrong with a nurse checking on a woman and child whose lives she helped save?”
“Only Gott can save lives.”
“I agree,” she calmly said. “But God had a little help from Levi, who rushed to get help, and the ambulance driver who broke the speed limit getting here, and the medical team that was waiting at the emergency room.” She paused for a breath. “Like the good Samaritan in the Bible, we all functioned as the hands of God on that terrible day.”
It was then that she saw his eyes glaze over as he shut out her words. She had seen the same look in the eyes of a mullah whom she had once made the mistake of speaking to in Afghanistan. It was the look of someone who believed that his way was the only way—and anyone who believed differently should remain silent.
She really should have kept her mouth shut. She was in way over her head with these people. She didn’t understand the difference between the Swartzentruber Order or the Old Order or the New Order or the New New Order or any other order they wanted to create.
How many “orders” were there of these people anyway?
“Can I help you, Bishop?” Levi seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
“Yes,” the bishop answered. “You can start by telling this Englisch woman to stay home where she belongs. We are to keep ourselves apart from the world.”
It seemed to her that when Levi glanced at her, it was with apology. “Grace Connor is a neighbor who has given my family much help.”
“Hmmph!”
“Is there a reason you came, Bishop?”
“I came to see what your family needs.”
“My family’s needs have been met,” Levi said. “The church has been a wonderful good help.”
“If your family has no more needs, then it is time for your aunt to leave.”
“My mother has found comfort in having her only sister with her.”
There were so many undercurrents in the men’s conversation; Grace didn’t even pretend to understand.
“I will see you at church Sunday,” the old man stated. “And I will expect to be told that your aunt is gone. I will send my daughter to live here until your mother heals. Unlike the other women of our church, Zillah is still unmarried and childless, so it will be no sacrifice for her to come.”
“Zillah?” Levi’s voice rose.
“Yes,” the bishop said. “She knows what it is to run a Swartzentruber household.” He glared at Grace. “You will no longer be needed. My Zillah will take care of this family from now on.”
In silence, Grace and Levi watched the bishop step into his buggy and leave.
“So,” she said, as his buggy trotted out of sight, “who put antifreeze in his oatmeal this morning?”
“I don’t understand.” Levi did not so much as smile at her attempt to lighten the mood.
“It’s just an expression,” she explained. “One my sergeant used to say when one of us was in a foul temper.”
“Foul temper,” Levi mused. “I don’t think the bishop is in a foul temper, but he is overburdened with worries about his flock. It is a great responsibility to be the shepherd of over forty families.”
“If he is so overburdened,” Grace said, “why did he take the job?”
“It is not a job,” Levi explained. “He was chosen by God.”
“You mean he didn’t have a choice?”
“Once a man has become a baptized member, he has a responsibility to serve in any way God chooses.”
“And how do you know that the Lord chose him?” Grace asked.
“If a man picks up the Ausbund, our songbook, and it has a certain piece of paper in it—that is a sign from God that he is to be bishop, or preacher, or deacon.”
It was the longest string of words she had ever heard come out of Levi’s mouth. The man could actually communicate. Who knew?
“So where does the paper come from?”
“No place special.” Levi’s voice sounded slightly irritated. “Whoever is in charge of placing the paper in the hymnals gets to choose the kind of paper they use.”
“What does the paper say?”
“How should I know?” Levi said. “I’ve never been chosen.”
“You mean to tell me that you let these people tell you what to do, but you don’t even know what the paper in the hymnal says?”
“What the paper says is not important.” Levi was beginning to sound truly exasperated. “Why must you ask all these questions?”
“Because I’d really like to know what that paper says.”
Levi gave her a long, level stare as though evaluating whether or not she would shut up and leave him alone if he told her. “What the paper usually says is ‘You have been chosen.’”
“Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”
He sighed. “Because it is none of your business.”
“That’s probably true,” Grace conceded, “but do you want to know what I think?”
Levi sounded resigned. “What do you think?”
“He may be your bishop. And he may be chosen by God. But frankly, I don’t like him.”
At this, Levi finally smiled. “I don’t think the bishop cares much for you, either.”
chapter NINE
Daniel stirred, snuffled, and began to root against her arm. The little guy was hungry. When he didn’t find anything to eat, he started to cry again, a wail that penetrated all the way to the marrow of her bones.
“I had hoped your mother could rest a little more,” she told Levi. “I wish I had a bottle so we wouldn’t have to awaken her.”
Levi considered. “We have some bottles of formula they sent home from the hospital.”
“Has he had any?”
“Yes. Rose tried. He spits up formula, too.”
“And you haven’t taken him to the doctor?”
“Maam thought he would soon recover.” He shrugged. “We do not easily go to the doctor.”
“Warm up a bottle for me, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I would like to watch how he takes it.”
Levi disappeared and came out a few minutes later with a small baby bottle.
She sprinkled some drops of formula on the inside of her wrist, testing the temperature. Cradling the baby in her left arm, she carefully inserted the nipple into his mouth. He immediately quit crying and drank greedily until about an ounce of formula was gone. Then he squirmed in her arms, made a face, and spit out the nipple, and a stream of formula shot out of his mouth, soaking the sleeve of her T-shirt.
“I’m sorry.” Levi surprised her by going inside and bringing out a diaper, which he used to wipe off her sleeve.
“That’s okay. I’ve had a lot worse on me than baby’s puke. Is this how he reacts when he nurses?”
“Yes.”
“That must have been w
hat your mom had on her mind yesterday at the funeral when she said she wanted to talk to me.”
She tried the bottle again. This time, the baby drank about half an ounce, sucking greedily, as though starving—then pulled away, squirmed as if in pain, and another stream of milk shot out of his mouth. Grace was quicker this time, and the liquid spilled upon the porch floor.
Again, she lifted him upright over her shoulder and in a few moments he stopped crying.
“Has your mother been keeping him in her bed with her a lot?”
“She has.”
“I think I might know what is wrong.”
“What?”
“I need to do a little research before I can say for sure, but I think this child might have infant gastroesophageal reflux. It happens frequently among preemies.”
“And what does this long word mean?”
“Have you ever experienced heartburn, Levi?”
“No, but Abraham suffered from it.”
“Think of this as baby heartburn. Some babies’ esophagus sphincter muscles aren’t developed enough to keep the stomach acid down. Instead, it comes up into the esophagus. That’s the . . .”
“I know what the esophagus is, Grace.”
“Okay, then. If a baby with a poorly developed esophagus spends a lot of time horizontally, or with someone holding him around the belly, the stomach acid won’t stay down. That plus the upset Daniel is picking up from Rose and your mom might explain all this crying. At least it’s a theory.”
“You have no children. How can you know more about this than my aunt and mother?”
“A whole lot of medical schooling, Levi.”
The baby had quit crying again. Enough liquid had dribbled into his stomach, in spite of the regurgitation, that she thought she could leave long enough to go check her facts.
“Would you take him?” she asked. “I need to go back home.”
“You are coming back?”
His voice actually sounded hopeful. It was truly amazing what quieting a screaming child could do to raise a woman’s value in a man’s eyes.
“I’m coming back.”
She transferred the infant into Levi’s arms. As she made the transfer, the back of her hand came in contact with Levi’s biceps. She was surprised. Beneath the loose-fitting shirt, the man had muscles that were as hard as rock. The few people she had ever known who had bodies like that worked out in fancy gyms every day, whereas this Amish man, from what she could see, simply worked hard around the farm.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She took off running toward her home, but the image of Levi cradling the tiny infant in his strong arms was going to be very hard to forget.
He couldn’t help it. No one was looking, and so he allowed himself the luxury of watching her run. He put his little brother over his shoulder, patted his back, and enjoyed the sight of the lovely Englisch woman with her long legs racing toward her home.
There was something about her pace that reminded him of the thoroughbred horses he had watched being put through their paces at the auctions. She was spirited, smart, and sleek—like some of the more expensive fillies he had seen galloping around the track, the ones who were far beyond the ability of a young Amish man to purchase.
He had admired those thoroughbreds’ glistening health and good breeding, knowing he would never own one, but content to know that such magnificent creatures existed in this world.
That was what it felt like now to him, as he watched Grace lope toward her home. She came from a different world. Her life in the military alone was enough to make her alien to him. Her ignorance about his people and their ways was incalculable. But he could watch her from a distance and appreciate the magnificent woman she was.
But one thing she had said echoed in his ears.
A whole lot of medical schooling.
What would the weight of such an education feel like? No wonder she knew the long name of his brother’s illness. If he were a betting man, he would lay money on her being correct in her diagnosis. He doubted that Grace was often wrong when it came to medical things.
As he turned to take Daniel back into the house, he remembered that Zillah would be coming to stay with them and felt half sick at the thought. Zillah might be competent enough to run a household while Maam recuperated, but it was going to be extremely awkward for him to have this girl, who had plagued him from childhood, living in his home.
One thing he knew for sure: He could not turn down the bishop’s offer. It was a reasonable thing for the daughter of the bishop, a young woman with no family of her own, to volunteer to come help a mother recuperate from surgery. It would look strange to their religious community if he refused. This was a thin line he would have to walk.
He patted Daniel’s tiny bottom, careful to keep the infant upright over his shoulder. “Women are a blessing from God, Daniel. But some of them can be a sore trial.”
The baby squirmed and passed gas—loudly.
“Oh!” Levi laughed out loud. “Is that your opinion of the whole thing, is it? Then you and I are going to be great friends, little Bruder.”
As Grace entered the back door to the kitchen, the sour smell of the baby’s throw-up made a shower an absolute necessity, but it would have to be a short one. She wanted to dig into some medical websites for more information about Daniel’s colic.
She glanced at one of the many clocks her grandmother had hanging on the wall. With Becky home to watch over Grandma today, she had a long list of errands to run, but taking care of little Daniel was her first priority.
She found Becky and her grandmother watching Saturday-morning cartoons together. Elizabeth had a tray in front of her and was spooning up oatmeal. Becky was lounging in the armchair, one leg flung over the arm, eating an energy bar and petting a bedraggled-looking gray kitten.
“When did you find him?” Grace asked.
“I found her meowing on the front porch this morning when I went out to get the paper for Grandma. I have no idea where she came from.” She held the kitten up for Grace’s closer inspection. “Her name is Tabby.”
“If you live here long enough, Grace, you will discover that Becky has a penchant for rescuing strays,” Elizabeth said. “You came home during one of the extremely rare intervals when we were without four-legged companions. Now we have been blessed with a scrawny kitten.”
“He’ll fatten up,” Becky said. “And you forgot about Bonzo.”
“Bonzo?” Grace asked.
“Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten? Bonzo the turtle. Becky’s roommate. I’m certain he will outlive us all. I’ve given up fighting it, Grace. Don’t be surprised if you come home someday and find Becky cuddled up to a stray coyote.”
“You like animals, too, Grandma,” Becky said, “and you know it.”
“True.” Elizabeth leaned over and scratched behind the kitten’s ear. “I’ve met several with personalities preferable to various people I’ve known, but you have to admit, Becky, our experiment with raising goats did not go well.”
Grace was intrigued. “What happened?”
Becky laughed. “They escaped their fence and got into our yard, where Grandma had just hung up a week’s worth of laundry.”
“What clothing they didn’t eat or chew to pieces,” Grandma said, “they apparently tried to wear. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a billy goat prancing down the road wearing an old woman’s panties on its horns.”
“Well, it definitely looks like you guys are enjoying yourselves,” Grace said.
“Tremendously,” Elizabeth said. “At the moment, I am testing a theory that the demise of our civilization rests firmly on the shoulders of Bugs Bunny.”
Grace noticed that the knitting Grandma had been working on was lying in a heap beside her.
“How’s the knitting going?”
Grandma held up the tangle of yarn for her to admire. It was the most misshapen piece of knitting Grace had ever seen.
“What’s it supposed to be
?”
“A sweater for you, dear.” Grandma sounded hurt. “Can’t you tell? Don’t you like it?”
Becky spluttered with laughter. “Don’t let her mess with you. It was supposed to be an afghan, but she’s given up on it.”
Grace was relieved. “You had me scared there for a minute.”
Elizabeth sighed and tossed the offending knitting into the corner of the couch. “I think I’m going to stick with crossword puzzles from now on.”
Becky swallowed the last bite of the energy bar. “How was your run? You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I was at the Shetlers’,” Grace said. “That baby is having some issues I want to check on this morning. After I’ve done what I can for him, I think I’ll go stock up on food for the week.”
“Could you pick up some movie DVDs?” Becky said. “TV with Grandma is getting a little old.”
“Preferably something with Cary Grant,” Grandma said, “or Fred Astaire.” She held one hand up to her mouth and whispered loudly, “Becky’s taste in movies is a little odd.”
Becky rolled her eyes.
“I’ll try to find something you both can enjoy,” Grace said.
After a short shower and clean clothes, Grace came back downstairs and found Grandma taking a midmorning rest in her room and Becky in the kitchen, coaxing the kitten to drink some milk. She was lying on her stomach with her chin resting on her fists, verbally encouraging the tiny thing to take laps with its pink tongue.
Becky looked up at her. “I think Tabby is going to be okay.”
Just then Becky’s cell phone buzzed with a text message. She sat up and read it and her face grew pale. She stared down at the phone as though she were holding a snake coiled to strike.
“What’s wrong?” Grace asked.
Her sister shot her a fearful glance, cleared the screen, and nonchalantly slipped the phone into her pants pocket. “Nothing.”
“What kind of a text did you get? You looked like you saw a ghost.”
“Just one of my friends telling me that we have a big test Monday.”
Grace was unconvinced. Becky was a good student. She would not be that upset at the idea of an unexpected test, especially since this was only Saturday morning and she would have two days to prepare for it.
An Uncommon Grace Page 10