by Susan Wiggs
“There was a time when you wanted us to marry.”
“That time is past. I’m going to do you the kindness of saying no, Caleb Stoltz. I’m not well. I won’t last much longer.” She took a wispy breath. “I know what you truly need. And it’s not me.”
Reese felt a jumble of shock and pain and admiration. He had tried. Even though he knew it was wrong, he had tried to find a way to help. And it was she who had put the notion in his head. She nearly drowned in humility as she watched him kneel at the bedside, murmuring in Deitsch as Rebecca drifted.
Other visitors and family members came and went. Hymns were sung, prayers recited. Reese stayed with her patient. She studied the exquisite beauty of the young woman, felt the perfection of her slender hand as she held it. Amid the fear and the sadness, Reese discovered a gift from Rebecca—a sense of peace. Reese had the honor of being with her for the amount of time she had left. She stopped seeing Rebecca for what she might have been and started to see her for what she was in this moment. She didn’t have to measure out her feelings so they would last, like a course of antibiotics. She understood, finally, that sometimes the grandest thing a doctor could do was to treat her patient kindly in the hours she had left.
Sitting with Rebecca, she read a favorite short story by the light of a lantern—The Gift of the Magi. The impossibly romantic tale brought a faint smile to Rebecca’s lips. “That’s nice,” she whispered. “They both gave away their most valuable possessions and ended up with nothing.”
“Well, nothing useful, anyway. A fob without a watch, combs without hair.”
“It’s forbidden for a woman to cut her hair,” Rebecca said. Her features were growing slack, her eyes unfocused.
Reese didn’t reply. One of the reasons Rebecca had refused treatment was that it would involve shaving part of her head. A part of Reese wanted to scream, It’ll grow back, but she knew that wasn’t the issue. To change the subject, she picked up a cloth from the nightstand. “Your embroidery?”
“Mm. I started another sampler. Didn’t get too far.”
One letter, to be exact—W. Perfectly formed. “What were you going to stitch there?” she asked.
The tiniest of smiles flickered. “I don’t remember.”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to.”
More time passed. Rebecca’s mother and sisters came and went in silence, their simple presence a loving gesture. Reese got up, thinking Rebecca was dozing. When she stood, the young woman opened her eyes slightly. “You’re going?”
Reese nodded. “I have work. I’ll come again after.” She picked up the cloth. “Do you mind if I try my hand at this? My embroidery’s not so good, but I’m excellent at stitching wounds.”
“Of course,” Rebecca murmured. She motioned with her hand for Reese to come closer. “How will I know when it’s time?” she asked in a faint whisper.
“I can’t say. You’re very wise and surrounded by love.” Do right by your patient, Reese reminded herself. “When your pain is bad, and your strength is gone, you might start thinking of leaving.”
“Leaving. I like that.”
While staying with Mose and Ida, Reese rediscovered the pleasures of gardening. She’d helped Ida with the kitchen garden throughout the abundant growing season. Now an Indian summer was upon New Hope, and the garden was enjoying a last hurrah with a crop of big dense squash and pumpkins on the vine. She’d used the best pumpkins to make pies for the funeral.
Rebecca was gone. Beautiful, ethereal Rebecca, who had chosen to live and die on her own terms. The funeral took over the entire community. Women had prepared a mind-boggling amount of food. The line of black buggies stretched for half a mile. During the lengthy service, the processional to the burial ground, and the graveside farewell, Reese had thought about how she and Rebecca had been friends of a sort, and her heart ached.
While in the thick of med school, she had trained herself to face tragedy with philosophical detachment, but she didn’t feel that distance anymore. She felt close to Rebecca and her heart ached with sadness. Yet in the midst of that was a sense of gratitude. Learning to work and love in the here and now pulled her away from her old self, the one who was always looking ahead.
Death was a part of life. In a case like Rebecca’s, there was nothing Reese could offer, and because of that she somehow found a way to succumb to the inevitability of losing her.
With a sigh that blended in with the autumn breeze, she tidied up the faded foliage and dropped fruits of the summer, loading up a wheelbarrow for the compost bin. Doing the fall chores properly laid the groundwork for the springtime. Death and decay would bring new life, a certainty as dependable as the seasons themselves. Moving aside the rough vines, she found more squash and placed them in a bushel basket. As she was preparing to take the harvest into the kitchen, she heard the smooth whir of an engine and saw a shiny SUV pull into the driveway.
She set down the basket and took off her gloves. The visit she’d been waiting for all summer was finally happening. “Mom, Dad. You found me! How was your drive?”
Her mother rushed forward, effortlessly stylish in jeans and boots, oversize sunglasses, and a silk scarf fluttering on the breeze. “Totally scenic,” she said, folding Reese into a hug. “And long. But we picked a gorgeous day to come out here.”
Reese turned to her father and embraced him, too. “Well, I’m delighted you’re finally here.” Things had been strained between them since she’d gone rogue and opted for the rural medicine residency. She wanted them to let go of their plans and to see that this was right for her.
“Look at you,” her father said, holding her at arm’s length and taking in her overalls and gum boots. “You always liked mucking about in gardens.”
She flashed on a memory of her childhood pea patch. “Yep. No chance of someone putting a golf cart shed here.” He probably didn’t even remember the incident. “Come inside and meet Ida.” She led the way to Ida’s big country kitchen and made the introductions.
Ida bustled around, pouring glasses of lemonade and setting out a plate of iced oatmeal cookies. “Welcome, welcome,” she warbled. “Reese has told me so much about you. Two busy doctors and professors. Mose was hoping to join us, but he’s delayed at the hospital.”
“I can see why Reese likes it here so much,” said her mother. “Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you. And we love having her. She’s already one of our favorites. You must be very proud of her.”
“Extremely,” her father said.
Ida made a shooing motion with her apron. “Go outside and enjoy the day. Indian summer is so short, you’d best take in the sunshine while you can.”
Sending her a grateful look, Reese brought her parents to the sunny back porch and they sat together. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “Thanks for coming.”
“We miss you, too,” her mother said. “And we have a proposal to make.”
Crap, thought Reese. Her guard went up.
Her father laid a sheaf of papers in front of her. “I didn’t want to send this by email. Let’s look at it together. An incredible opportunity has come up.”
Reese felt a prickle of suspicion. “That’s what this is about? You want me to switch to a different residency program?” She should have known. Her parents were nothing if not persistent. Even after all that had happened, they still believed they knew better than she did what she needed.
“Keep an open mind,” her mother said. “You can start next summer and you won’t have to go through the Match again. There’s a new pediatric surgery program . . .”
Reese’s ears rang as her parents talked. It was like so many other conversations they’d had throughout her life. Her parents explained what they wanted for her, and it was her job to tacitly accept. In a way, she was reminded of the vanloads of Amish elders who went out periodically to chase down runaway Amish, exhorting them to return to the fold or face eternal damnation.
In her parents’ case, they wanted her to
return to a more conventional training program, the one they had always planned for her. If she didn’t, her own eternal damnation would be an unrewarding and undistinguished career.
“It’s really nice of you to show me this option,” she said, keeping her tone even, although she wanted to scream. “I’m staying here, though.”
“If you’re worried about switching programs, you shouldn’t be,” her mother said. “If you act soon, you might even be able to salvage your year and make the move sooner.”
“Doubtful, Joanna,” her father cautioned. “She might need to stick it out here. It’ll take some doing, but we can still get her credit for the first year. We can use our connections and back channels to find an opening. Reese, you’ll be there before you know it.”
“Switching programs at this phase is career suicide,” Reese pointed out. “Even with your connections and back channels.”
Her mother didn’t seem to hear. “Hector, we can talk to her program director—”
“Maybe you could talk to your daughter,” Reese suggested.
“That’s why we’re here,” her father said. “This is just a stellar opportunity, and it could pave the way to the career you’ve always wanted.”
“This is what I want. I’m becoming the doctor I want to be, and I’m sorry if it doesn’t fit your vision.”
“You could do so much more,” her father said. “Cutting-edge facilities, clinical trials, high-level studies—”
“I’m working on an asthma study,” Reese pointed out. She’d become intrigued by the fact that so few Amish children suffered from asthma and was working with one of the residents to study the phenomenon.
“That doesn’t compare to what you could accomplish in a more challenging setting,” said her mother.
In that moment, Reese felt an incredible affinity with Caleb. This was what it was like to deal with demanding, manipulative parents, doggedly committed to maintaining their way of life to the point of threatening to shun her.
19
The medical center in New Hope stayed busy, mostly with routine cases. Day by day, Reese gained confidence in her skills working with patients. She was covering the ER on Ursula’s service one night, a duty she had come to like a lot. She was energized by the immediacy of it, the instant connection to the patient. It was hard but rewarding to be privy to people’s pain and fear, their hopes and joys. And she had to admit—a quiet ER in the midst of a long shift was a chance to catch up on sleep. Housekeeping, pharmacy, dietary, and most support staff went home at seven, leaving a small crew behind.
Tonight, she’d counseled a drug-seeking teen, then treated an older gentleman who had banged his head on a tool hanging in his garage, resulting in a nasty bump and a laceration. After the CT scan, sutures, and tetanus booster, she retreated to the small, closet-like on-call room, where Ursula was already snoring away. Reese had to learn to detach—a survival mechanism—to clear her head for the next patient. At the moment, there was no next patient on deck. She laid her head down and dreamed of Caleb. He worked constantly, trying to keep up with Jonah’s bills. In her dream, she could taste him and feel the warmth of his skin against hers, and hear the sound of his voice murmuring in her ear.
Rather than clearing the way for them to be together, Rebecca’s death had pushed them apart. The unbearable sadness and its aftermath had laid bare their insurmountable differences. A girl could dream, though. She could visit him in dreams.
When the buzz of a page intruded, she left the dream reluctantly, brushing away the cobwebs of sleep.
“Coming,” she muttered. “Shit.”
She shrugged into her lab coat, pocketed her phone, and looped a stethoscope around her neck. She hurried but she didn’t rush. There was a difference. Not so long ago, she often awakened to a full-blown panic attack. Here at the Humboldt, she never did. One of these days, she would unpack and examine the reason for that. Not now, though. Now she had to find out what was going on in the ER.
After splashing water on her face and raking a hand through her hair, she hurried to the ER. There was a flurry of activity in one suite. Nurses and techs surrounded an infant warmer on an exam table, and the charge nurse was on the phone, speaking rapidly. When another nurse saw Reese coming, she motioned her over.
“We have a newborn. Abandoned baby. Appears healthy, but she’s tiny.”
Reese felt a jolt of shock. Abandoned. This was a first for her, and, judging by the faces of the others, it was a first for everyone on the floor. She washed at a sink, resisting the urge to summon Ursula right away. “Do not disturb the resident” had been ingrained in her.
“Let’s have a look,” she said, bending over the tiny baby—a girl, the umbilical cord tied with what appeared to be a bit of baling wire. She was streaked with vernix and mewing softly, her eyes slitted against the bright lights. She was perfectly formed, her delicate skin flush with life. A nurse went over the intake assessment while Reese double-checked the airway, breathing, and circulation and took in the general impressions. The disc of her stethoscope practically covered the baby’s entire chest—strong peripheral and central pulses. The soft crying sounded normal, and the muscle tone was good as she slowly moved her extremities. The baby’s weight was 2,700 grams, on the small side but above the benchmark for preterm.
She ordered a blood gas analysis to check oxygen levels in the blood, tests for glucose, calcium, and bilirubin levels, continuous monitoring of the baby’s breathing and heart rate. She decided to wait for an attending to order a chest X-ray. “Who brought her in?” she asked without looking away from the infant.
“We don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“She was in the safe haven box in a crate with some towels, quiet as can be. First time the box has ever been used, and it worked just like it’s supposed to. The silent alert came through to the ER, and there she was.”
Hospitals and fire stations, even some police stations had safe haven boxes for newborns. The device was meant to prevent desperate women from leaving their babies in dangerous places. Infants could be left anonymously and without legal consequences.
“No one saw the drop-off,” said a nurse. “The surveillance cameras don’t monitor the box.”
Reese was astounded. She couldn’t get her head around the idea that a woman would abandon a baby, though she knew it happened on rare occasions. While preparing the infant for admission, she stayed focused on the child. As the physician on duty, it was her job to take the newborn into protective custody, a process that felt unbearably crucial. She had to perform a medical evaluation and safeguard the baby’s well-being. A call went out to alert other facilities about the birth mother. The head nurse was rapidly following protocol, alerting the local police and county child welfare agency.
Once the baby—Baby Jane Doe—was foot-printed, braceleted, and placed in the nursery, Reese went back to the ER to meet with the police. She and the rest of the staff gave an exhaustive report. During the interview, she watched an investigator evidence-bagging the box that had been found. It was a slightly battered apple crate with a peeling label—pocono gold apples, pennsylvania’s finest.
She stood at the periphery of the area. It felt surreal to realize this was being treated like a crime scene. With gloved hands, another investigator catalogued and bagged two faded and threadbare towels. As he was folding the fabric, she saw a flash of . . . something. A line of dark thread at the bottom hem, a bit of embroidery, perhaps.
And her heart turned stone cold with shock.
“You’re getting real good at that,” Caleb said to Jonah as he came into the kitchen.
With a guilty start, Jonah looked up from the table. “Sorry, Uncle Caleb, what’s that?”
“Putting your arm on.” Caleb checked the old coffeepot on the stove. “Your sister’s not up yet?”
“Guess not.” Jonah concentrated on his arm. It was the robotic arm, the one Grandfather didn’t want him using. He knew his u
ncle and his grandfather disagreed about it; he heard them arguing a lot lately but pretended not to hear. He’d discovered it was possible to learn a lot by pretending not to hear things.
“Did you get some breakfast?” Caleb asked.
“I will in a bit,” said Jonah.
“You need to eat if you’re going to help out at the Beilers’ today.” Caleb gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m heading over there right away to get an early start on their new barn. You can ride over with the Haubers after breakfast, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let them know you’ll be there shortly.”
“I will. After chores.” Jonah’s throat felt very tight. It was hard to get the words out. Feelings and doubts were clogging him up. He hoped beyond all hope that he had done the right thing.
Shortly after Caleb left, he heard a shuffle on the stairs and hoped it wasn’t his grandfather, whose thunderous frown never failed to worry him. No, it was Hannah.
She looked the way she always did, in her long dress and apron, her braid coiled under her kapp. But her face was different—pale skin and sad, puffy eyes.
“It’s done,” Jonah said. “I did what you told me to do.”
She nodded and brought cereal and a pitcher of milk to the table, pouring herself a big serving. “That’s good. All will be well, neh?”
“I don’t know.” His head felt fuzzy with exhaustion. He was hungry, but he didn’t feel like eating.
“Tell me what you did,” she whispered. She eased down into a chair, moving like an old woman. “I want to know.”
He took a deep breath, sorting through the memories. In the middle of the night, Hannah had awakened him from his bed. “I need your help,” she’d said. “Leave Jubilee closed in your room and come with me.”
There had been a note in her voice, strained and scared, rousing a vibration of fear inside Jonah. His Spidey sense, the kids in Group would have called it, back at the city hospital.