by Susan Wiggs
“This is Millennium Park,” she said. “There are bike and walking trails that’ll get you all the way to the Old City in one direction and Penn’s Landing in the other. Ever been to the historic district?”
He shook his head. “Cradle of liberty, right?”
“So they say.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“Then you should. I mean, while you’re here.”
They stopped at shady Race Street Park in the shadow of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. Nearby was a collection of food carts gathered in a loose circular arrangement. “It’s like the United Nations of food here,” she said, gesturing at the scene. “Each cart flies the flag of its cuisine—Mexico, France, Germany, Australia, India . . . take your pick. Where would you like to go tonight?”
“Bali,” he said, pointing out one of the carts.
Other than a peach-colored flag with a symbol in the middle, there was nothing to identify the cart. “How do you know that’s Balinese?”
“They’re flying the flag of Bali.” He half smiled at her surprised expression. “I know stuff,” he said.
A few minutes later, they found a spot on a bench, where they savored their ikan pepes—a delicate white fish steamed in banana leaves. “Listen,” she said, “I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“It’s okay. Lots of folks think being Amish is the same as being ignorant.”
“That’s not—”
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Some Amish are ignorant. So are some English.”
She spotted a guy in a muscle shirt with a rebel flag on it and nodded. “Point taken. So do you travel much?”
“Armchair travel only. When I was a kid, my folks took us all to Niagara Falls. That was a long while back.”
“Oh, brothers and sisters?”
“I had one brother, John. Small family, by Amish standards.” He watched a tourist boat gliding up the river.
“So your brother was Jonah’s father.”
“Yes.”
Reese felt all sorts of questions pushing at her. She wondered how much she could ask without seeming completely intrusive. She sensed that this was a man who would reveal himself—or not—in his own time. As a doctor, she was going to have to get used to difficult conversations.
“Your brother, John, and his wife both passed away, then,” she ventured. “I’m so sorry. Was it an accident?”
He finished eating and looked down at the river again. “They were murdered some years ago.”
“My God . . . What? I mean, I heard you, but . . . Oh my God. Those poor kids. What happened?”
“John and his wife, Naomi, were coming home from an auction one night. Amish are sometimes targets, because we only use cash and we’re not supposed to fight back. And we don’t prosecute. Anyway, John had sold a hitch of Clydesdales at an auction that night and had a wad of cash on him when he and Naomi were driving home in their buggy. A couple of thugs robbed them. And I guess maybe John did fight back, because one of the robbers was beat up pretty bad. The other shot my brother and his wife so they wouldn’t be able to identify them. But John survived long enough to tell the police . . .” He paused, swallowed hard. “I was living away from Middle Grove at that time, but I came rushing back. I gave blood—too late. I promised John I’d look after his kids. I promised I’d raise them in the faith. The killers are both in prison now.”
“What a horrible nightmare,” she said, her stomach churning. So that was how he knew his blood type. “I’m so very sorry for your family. So that’s when you became Jonah’s guardian?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my gosh, you had to take on two kids. There wasn’t anyone else who could look after them?”
He shook his head. “Naomi’s family had troubles of their own.”
“But your own parents? Couldn’t they have helped?”
“My mother left the family when I was little. She had troubles too.” His voice trailed off. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I could claim that’s my training as a doctor,” she said. “Maybe it is, partly. It’s also because I’m interested in you. And in Jonah.” She was blushing. Babbling and blushing. “So after your mother left . . . ?”
“John did his best to look after me, and I was too young to understand how hard that must have been. I only realized it when he tried to take his own life. He climbed up to a hanging bridge over a gorge, and he jumped.”
“Oh, shit,” she said. “My God, that’s . . . What a nightmare. But he survived the fall.”
He nodded. “Some say it was a miracle, because he walked away, when the fall should have killed him. He walked all the way back to Middle Grove. Went straight to the bishop and prayed on his knees to be forgiven and submitted to baptism right away. After that, he embraced the faith with every fiber of his being. He gave a clock to Naomi—that’s what a man does when he promises to marry. They settled down and had their kids and John was known to be a man of powerful faith. He always said the Lord gave him a second chance at life and so he intended to spend the rest of his days following the old laws. And he did, right up until he died.”
“That’s an incredible story. When your mother left—is that what drove him to want to take his own life?”
“Reckon so. And he had a good deal of sadness all his life. It was just his way. After our mother went away, his sadness took a deeper turn. I figure that was the trigger that led him to do it.”
There was likely some kind of undiagnosed depression, Reese thought. “She simply left.”
“She had a sadness in her, too. My father . . . I guess you could say he’s not an easy man. My mother was a lot younger than him, and she . . . I just remember her crying a lot. She packed her bags one day and walked herself to the bus station. My father warned her that she would be shunned, and that brought her back. But she kept trying to leave, and finally one night, she did it.”
Reese’s heart ached for Caleb’s family. The mother leaving, the brother’s attempted suicide, a double murder. How much could they survive? “You’ve been through so much.”
“Reckon so. But there was work to do, and after the bridge incident I had to watch over John, you know, make sure he wasn’t going to try something crazy like that again.”
“That’s quite a burden.” She thought about herself as she came of age. School, sports, friends. Parents admonishing her to make straight As, to earn perfect scores on the SAT, to get into an Ivy League school like they had. It was a lot of pressure, sure. But nothing like taking on a suicidal brother and a mother gone AWOL.
“I never considered it a burden.”
“After your brother and his wife died, did your father not step up to help with the children?” she asked.
“I couldn’t allow that.”
And with those four small words, thought Reese, he had told her everything. Every blessed thing. Not an easy man.
“Where is your mother now?”
“She lives in Florida. Has another family.”
“Are you in touch with her?”
“Not so much, although I’m not obliged to shun her. I’ve not submitted to baptism, so I’m not bound by the rules pertaining to shunning.” He didn’t offer more, even though she had questions stacked up in her brain like air traffic over O’Hare. Did his mother think about what she’d left behind? How did she live with herself?
She took a deep breath. “Your family is lucky to have you, Caleb. It all sounds incredibly hard.”
“I get a lot of joy from Jonah and his sister, Hannah,” he said simply. “Although Hannah is sixteen now, and a great mystery to me.”
“She’s sixteen and a girl,” Reese pointed out. “That’s her job.”
“I hope she’s getting on all right while I’m here.”
“Have you spoken with her?”
He shook his head. “The phone is for emergency use. I sent her a postcard letting her know we’d be a while, here in the city.”
“I can’t even get my mind around that,
” Reese confessed. “She must be frantic.”
“No, frantic is when a call comes in on the phone. If that phone never rings, then there’s no emergency.” He folded up the empty food containers and stood up. “Let’s go see Jonah.”
One of the things Reese was learning as a doctor was how to deal with other people’s pain. She often met a patient on his worst day and had to absorb his fear and agony—and the terror and uncertainty of the family.
As they walked together along the paved parkway, they passed a horse and carriage rig taking tourists around. Another rig waited at the curb. A couple with a little kid sat in the ornately decorated carriage. The driver, in top hat, white shirt, and black pants with suspenders, was flicking the reins and urging the large black horse to move. The animal strained at its bit but appeared to be balking, holding one of its front hooves cocked at an angle. The driver snapped the reins again. “Bumbles,” he said. “Walk.”
The horse shifted but didn’t go forward. The driver reached for a worn leather crop.
Caleb strode over to the rig. “Excuse me,” he said. “Looks like your horse might have an injury.”
The driver frowned. “Who’re you? And how is this any of your business?”
Caleb didn’t reply but went around to the horse, making soft, soothing sounds with his mouth. He ran his hands over the animal’s shoulder and down its leg. He palpated the lower limb, and the horse flinched. “Pretty sure Bumbles has a bowed tendon,” he said.
“What the hell—” The driver glanced at his passengers. “I’ll just be a minute, folks.” He jumped down. “Bumbles is fine. He and I have been doing this a long time.”
Caleb motioned him over. “Right here,” he said, placing the guy’s hand on the leg. “He’s lame with pain. Feel the heat and swelling?”
“I— Yeah, maybe. It’s been a hot day, is all.”
“No, it’s bowed. Could be the summer heat and fatigue. He could use better trimming, shoeing, and footing, too. It’d be a shame to force him to walk on this.”
“Who the hell are you, a vet?”
“I know horses,” Caleb said simply.
“Look, buddy, so do I. This is my livelihood. I take good care of Bumbles.”
“He’s going to need a break or it’ll get bad,” Caleb said. “He needs rest, cold packs, a pressure bandage, and herbs for the swelling. You got any devil’s club or yucca ointment? And add some sulfur compounds to his feed.”
“Sure, I’ll get right on that,” the driver said, making a sour expression.
Reese saw the man in the carriage lean over and say something to his wife. They got down and approached the driver. “We’re going to pass on the ride,” the man said. “Don’t want to make your horse work if he’s injured.”
“Bumbles is fine,” the driver said. “We’ll take you for a nice ride.”
“No, we wouldn’t feel right doing that.” The man handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “For your trouble.”
“Hey now . . .” The driver hesitated. Then he took the money. “Thanks,” he added, then shot a scowl at Caleb.
The little kid whined. The mom brought him over to Bumbles. “Give the horse a pet, Sidney,” she said. “He has a sore leg, so we can’t have a ride today.”
The kid stopped whining and stroked the horse’s cheek. “Bye, Bumbles. Feel better.”
The driver turned to Caleb. “Hope you’re happy now, buddy.”
Reese handed him another twenty. “Take care of your horse. Please. We’re not trying to cause any trouble.”
“Yeah, well, you just did, lady.”
“A bowed tendon takes six months to heal,” Caleb said, seemingly impervious to the driver’s irritation. “If you don’t look after it, he could be lame for good.”
“That’s great,” the driver said. “Just fucking great.” He tore off his top hat and raked a hand through his hair. Then he looked at the horse and down at the cocked hoof. “Sure. Whatever. I have a good vet. I’ll get it checked out.”
“Hope so. He’s a fine-looking horse.”
“Have a nice evening,” Reese said. She touched Caleb’s arm. God, those muscles. “We should go.”
He nodded a farewell at the driver, and they walked together toward the hospital.
“So,” she said. “You know horses.”
“I run a team at home, and I work at the stables at Grantham Farm up a ways toward the mountains—the Poconos.”
Everyone in the city knew about Grantham Farm. Part theme park, part livestock facility, it was one of the places where the famous Budweiser Clydesdales were bred and trained.
“I’ve heard of it,” Reese said, “but I’ve never been there. What do you do there?”
“I work with the horses, mainly. Training and breeding. From the time I was real little, I’ve always had a knack for managing livestock. Big draft animals like Belgians or Clydesdales tend to intimidate most English. A lot of Amish are accustomed to them because we use the big fellows for plowing and hauling on the farm.”
It seemed so perfectly fitting, Reese thought, that Caleb Stoltz had a special gift, working with the immense Clydesdales. He hadn’t said so, but she got the sense he was an expert handler. How could he not be, so big and graceful in a way she’d never seen before. There was magic in this man, she mused, knowing it was fanciful but unable to escape the idea.
“That’s . . . remarkable,” she said. Everything about him was remarkable. Getting to know him was like studying the changing facets of a jewel. Some things about him were perfectly simple and clear, yet she sensed a depth in his character she wanted to explore. He was guarded, though. She didn’t blame him. Based on what he’d told her about his family, she now understood the peculiar sadness that haunted him. What was it like, growing up amid those multiple tragedies? How did he go on? How did the heart heal after a blow like that? It made her own background look like a fairy tale.
He was different in every possible way from the people she worked with, who were all driven, competitive, constantly rushing around. Earnestly handsome, with a body sculpted by hard, honest work, he was far more interesting to her than the slender residents and competitive interns she had dated in the past. This wasn’t a date, though. It was so far from a date that she felt silly allowing the thought to cross her mind. She had nothing in common with this Amish farmer, though she found him as intriguing and baffling as he seemed to find her.
She couldn’t deny that she felt different around him. More present. More centered. Lit up. Then she dismissed the feeling as hospital fatigue. End-of-shift ennui. The lure of forbidden fruit. He represented something natural and undisturbed—something that was beyond her reach.
Caleb had probably shared too much with Reese Powell during supper and the walk to the hospital. For some reason he found her easy to talk to, and he’d never considered himself much of a talker. The words had flowed from him with surprising ease as he told her about the things that had happened to his family.
Still, there were things he hadn’t fully explained, such as the reason he was so utterly committed to raising his brother’s children as John would have wanted. He hadn’t told her the plans he’d set aside in order to help Jonah and Hannah. He didn’t hold with whining.
Before all the trouble, Caleb had imagined another life for himself, a far different life. But the world had another path for him. The murder of John and Naomi had brought him reeling back to the farm. For the sake of the family, Caleb had abandoned the dreams he’d quietly nurtured for years. In the time it took for a man’s finger to squeeze a trigger, his life had changed completely, radically, and permanently.
At the hospital, Reese led the way to the elevator. “Jonah’s been moved to the peds wing of the patient care unit,” she said. “That’s good news. It means he’s on the mend.”
“Peds wing,” he said. “What’s that?”
“Pediatrics wing. He doesn’t need all the monitoring of intensive care. This is the start of his recovery.”
; That, at least, sounded positive. As they walked down the wide, brightly lit corridor, Caleb slowed his pace, looking around the unfamiliar place. Rolling computer stations lined the hallway. Some of the doors to the patient rooms were decorated with homemade artwork and colorful get-well cards. Some of the doors, left ajar, offered glimpses of the patients. A few lay motionless and dull-eyed, staring at TV monitors. Others were animated and chatty, surrounded by shiny balloons and visitors bearing gifts. Still others were painfully ill or broken—a kid with a bandaged head, another hooked up to a breathing apparatus. In one room, he spied a pale, hairless child who lifted a thin hand in a wave, his bruised and earnest eyes filled with impossible hope.
Reese paused and turned to him. “This is where Jonah will be for the next several days.”
“It’s . . . nice, I guess.” He studied her for a moment. She was like no one he’d ever met—nosy and smart, helpful and earnest, unapologetically bossy, and undeniably pretty. He couldn’t set aside his intense curiosity about her, the urge not just to know her, but to invite her to know him in ways he had no business wanting. It was a cause of deep shame, because he ought to know better than to feel these things for an English woman, particularly when Jonah lay fighting for his life.
A doctor in a long white coat came along. He had a round, shiny face and a genial smile, a stuffed bear sticking out of one pocket and sneakers that lit up when he moved. “Reese Powell, as I live and breathe,” he said. “I had to do a double take there for a sec. You’re the image of your mother.”
“Does that mean med school speeds up the aging process?” she asked.
“Oops, put my foot in it, didn’t I, young man?” The doctor stuck out his hand. “Oliver Edwards.”
“Caleb Stoltz.”
“His nephew’s a patient—Jonah Stoltz. We’re just heading in to see him.”
The doctor nodded. “Good seeing you, Reese. Give my best to your folks.” He headed into the room with the bald kid. “Suzannah Banana,” he said. “How’s my girl?”