Christmas at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Roman felt a sense of calm returning as folks took up the various meal preparation tasks. He smiled at the three Peterscheim boys and Lowell Kurtz. “Who wants to be in charge of hot dogs?” he asked. “And who wants to make mountain pies? I’m thinking we five guys can handle that cooking once the fire gets going, don’t you?”

  The boys nodded eagerly. “All that commotion with the fire truck and ambulance made me really hungry,” Menno piped up. “Maybe we should check out the fried pies my mamm brought before we start.”

  “Jah, we don’t want anybody keeling over into the fire for lack of fortification,” his brother Lavern said. “I get dibs on a rhubarb pie!”

  “I get apple!” Johnny cried, and away the boys went, rushing toward the bin of goodies.

  “Bring me one, too! And fetch the hot dog sticks,” Roman called after them. The flames were beginning to lick at the dry branches, so he needed to stay close to the woodpile to keep the fire under control. They had cut a lot of dead wood from the trees in the orchard earlier in the season, so the smoke drifting away from the blaze soon had a slightly sweet, fruity aroma.

  When Roman glanced up, he saw Mary Kate approaching him with a plastic cup and something wrapped in a napkin. She appeared calm yet a little subdued.

  “Thought you could use some cool water and a lemon bar,” she said softly. “It’s hot work, tending the fire.”

  “Denki, Mary Kate.” Roman gulped the water gratefully and wiped the cup across his forehead. “Won’t be long before the fire’s ready. Let’s stand away from the heat so the sparks won’t jump out at you.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Seems to me you already got burned when my sister launched herself at you. That was so . . . obvious.”

  Roman glanced around the crowd. Aunt Rosetta had convinced Gloria to join Laura and Phoebe, who were dipping and dredging the fish—not that she appeared any too happy about handling the slippery fillets. “I suppose Gloria’s scared about what happened to your dat.”

  Mary Kate rolled her eyes and handed him the napkin with a large lemon bar on it. “At least there were other folks around as witnesses. They’ve got her pegged now, I suppose. Gloria can be such a drama queen.”

  Roman smiled, closing his eyes over a bite of sweet, tart lemon bar. “This lemon bar sort of makes up for it,” he murmured with his mouth full. “Did you make these?”

  Mary Kate’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Baking our bread and goodies is my way of helping mamm, since she doesn’t let me shift furniture or do the cleaning anymore. I’m glad you like it, Roman.”

  He nodded, polishing off the final bite of the bar. “You sure you’ll be all right at home tonight? My aunts—and my cousins—would be happy to have you stay upstairs in one of the lodge’s guest rooms.”

  “If I’m at home, I’ll hear the phone—in case Mamm calls. Dat put the phone out front in a shanty, but he rigged up a ringer in the kitchen,” she explained.

  Roman nodded. “I can understand that. I figure your mamm—and mine—will be calling later this evening when they know for sure what’s going on with your dat and Amos.”

  “What exactly happened?” Mary Kate murmured. Her eyes clouded over and she glanced away. “Last thing I knew, Amos was stretched out on the roof—and then Dat tried to catch him, and they were both rolling on the ground. Amos looked . . . well, really gray. Way too still.”

  Roman thought back to what he’d seen as he’d been jogging toward the shed. “The best I could tell, Amos was just about to grab the Frisbee when the edge of the roof broke off—”

  “Oh my,” Mary Kate murmured.

  “—and the ladder fell away from him,” Roman continued, shaking his head. “Then he landed on your dat, and I suspect they both whacked their heads when they hit the ground. It’s not like either one of them will spring back as fast as, say, Menno or Johnny would,” he continued. “And speaking of those boys, here they come. Want to help us roast the hot dogs and make the mountain pies?”

  Mary Kate glanced at the four boys, finding a smile. “How about if I put the meat and cheese between the bread slices and you guys can hold the irons in the fire?” she offered.

  “And how about if you bring her a chair?” Roman added as Menno and Johnny set down the cooler they’d been carrying.

  A few minutes later they had a nice system going. Mary Kate slid the hot dogs onto the metal sticks and filled the sandwiches for the mountain pie irons, and then the boys did the cooking. Roman watched the fire, and he also took the cooked wieners off the sticks and laid them in a metal pan with a lid to keep them warm. The mountain pies, gooey with cheese and ham, smelled so good he almost jammed one into his mouth—except the boys would’ve followed his example rather than waiting for everyone else.

  The smell of frying fish drifted out over their picnic area. As the last of the wieners were roasted, the women called everyone to fill their plates. The sun was drifting low in the western sky and the temperature was sinking enough that the ladies slipped into their shawls and jackets. The serving table was covered with bowls of potato salad, deviled eggs, baked beans, and other picnic foods along with a number of tempting desserts.

  Ahead of Roman in line, Mary Kate glanced up at him. “I’ll be sitting at the table with Irene and the older gals, because my getting up from the ground makes for quite a spectacle,” she murmured.

  Roman imagined the scene she described and thought of himself helping her up—realizing she’d feel awkward if he did. “How about if I come to the house later to be sure you and Gloria and the cats are doing all right?” he asked softly. “I won’t come inside, of course—”

  “That would be nice,” she murmured. “Maybe by then we’ll know if our mothers and Truman are coming back this evening. I’d hate to have Mamm come home to an empty house after her ordeal at the emergency room.”

  Roman nodded. Mary Kate’s thoughtful remark touched him. “Jah, even with Truman there, she and Mamm will go through an ordeal I couldn’t even imagine. I’ve never been to a hospital.”

  “Me neither. I’ll see you later then.”

  Her smile made butterflies dance in Roman’s stomach. As he filled his plate with a couple of crispy fish fillets, a mountain pie, and all the side dishes he could pile on, he thought ahead to his visit to the Lehman house. He’d have to handle it carefully, so no one would misconstrue his intentions. Lester’s house was a short distance down the road; if the moonlight was at the right angle, the bishop’s brother might spot Roman and figure he was up to no good. The last thing he wanted was to compound Mary Kate’s problems as an unmarried mother by appearing to make an improper visit.

  But the first thing Roman wanted was another chance to spend time with Mary Kate on the porch . . . hopefully without her sister horning in. The thought of seeing Mary Kate again, sitting on the porch swing on a moonlit evening, filled Roman with a sense of peaceful anticipation. It gave him something pleasant to think about as he ate supper on the quilt beside Noah, Deborah, Harley, and Minerva—young married couples who radiated a happiness he hoped to find for himself someday.

  And isn’t that an interesting thought?

  Roman smiled. Change was certainly in the air at Promise Lodge.

  Chapter Nine

  Mattie shivered despite the overheated hospital waiting room. She couldn’t ever recall being more scared, more uncertain about what was going on in this strange place where voices came from hidden speakers to summon doctors, using code words she didn’t understand. The hard plastic chair was uncomfortable, so she stood up to walk around the waiting area—not that pacing settled her nerves.

  Frances had been called to wherever the emergency room staff had taken Floyd, and Truman was at the nurses’ station to see if anyone had information about how Amos was doing. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock in the evening, but Mattie felt as though they’d spent an entire day at the hospital. Who knew how much longer they might be here?

  Mattie sensed Amos wouldn’t be going home a
nytime soon, unless he’d regained consciousness after they’d wheeled him down the corridor into a curtained room. And if he had come around, he surely must feel disoriented and frightened because of all the tubes and monitors he was hooked up to. She and Truman had shared what little they knew about Amos’s medical history with the doctor, yet Mattie wondered if their sketchy information had been helpful—or if these unfamiliar doctors and nurses had even paid much attention to it.

  Mattie saw Truman signaling for her from the nurses’ station. Bless him, he appeared ragged around the edges with frustration after acting as their spokesman.

  “Mattie, they’ve checked Amos into the hospital for observation,” he said in a low voice.

  She frowned. “And what exactly does that mean?”

  The nurse, a young blonde who wore loose burgundy pants and a matching shirt, gazed at her over the top of the high counter. Her badge said MELODY. “Mr. Troyer is still unconscious,” she replied. “Dr. Townsend has ordered a series of tests to determine if he has brain or other internal injuries.”

  Mattie sucked in her breath. The thought of Amos waking up to learn he’d been seriously hurt—or not waking up at all—sent her mind spinning in frantic circles. “Can’t one of us be there with him?” she asked. “If it were me, I wouldn’t want to wake up amongst strangers, with so many wires and tubes coming out of me and—”

  “HIPAA regulations stipulate that the doctors are only allowed to discuss Mr. Troyer’s condition with a designated family member or representative,” Melody interrupted. She wasn’t snippy, but she wasn’t much help, either.

  “Hippo?” Mattie asked. “What on earth does a hippo have to do with finding out what’s wrong with Amos?”

  The nurse cleared her throat as though Mattie were testing her patience. “The government has established HIPAA regulations to insure the privacy of patients. As I was explaining to Mr. Wickey, patients are to name a person from their family—or another advocate they choose—in writing, to confer about their diagnoses.”

  “But Amos isn’t in any condition to choose anybody,” Truman pointed out—not for the first time, Mattie suspected.

  “He’s widowed, and his kids live in Indiana and Ohio,” Mattie added, growing even more concerned. “Amos and I are engaged. Does that count?”

  Melody appeared doubtful, as well as determined to dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s of the government regulations. “Do you—or does anyone in his family—have power of attorney?”

  “I—I’m not sure what that means, either,” Mattie murmured. “We Plain folks don’t cotton to all these legalistic things.”

  “The EMS team—those are the men from the ambulance,” the nurse explained tersely, “have told us that Mr. Troyer has no health care directive or living will that will specify what—if any—forms of life support our doctors may use. If he stops breathing or his heart stops—”

  “If Amos’s heart stops, it means God has called him home,” Mattie whispered weakly. “Why would a doctor interfere with God’s own will?”

  “As a preacher in the Old Order Amish Church, Amos would refuse any such means of keeping him alive,” Truman insisted earnestly. “He just doesn’t have any paperwork to prove it.”

  Melody scribbled a few lines on a sticky note and attached it to the papers that were in front of her. “I’ll confer with the chief of staff about this tomorrow morning,” she stated. “Meanwhile, we’ll do everything possible to keep Mr. Troyer comfortable and to determine the extent of his injuries so we can get him on the road to recovery. If I were you, I’d go home and get some rest. By midmorning tomorrow we’ll know a lot more about his condition.”

  When Melody headed down the hall with her handful of papers, Mattie’s whole body drooped. “What a nightmare,” she said softly. “Not only do I not understand the regulations—why they can’t let one of us speak for Amos or hear about his diagnosis?—I’m really worried about what they might be doing to him.”

  Truman wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s sit down until we see what Frances has learned,” he suggested kindly. “I feel like praying about this situation—and then I think we’d all feel better if we went to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. It’s been a long time since lunch.”

  “Jah, you’re right,” Mattie replied. “But let’s find some better chairs. We don’t know how long we might have to sit in them. Or do you think we should go home, like the nurse said?” she continued wearily. “I know you have to work tomorrow morning—”

  “I’ll call my foreman, Edgar, and tell him what’s going on. They can head to the job site without me tomorrow,” Truman said as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Who can I call for you, Mattie? Do you want to leave a message on the lodge phone?”

  “What would I say? We don’t know any more about Amos than we did when we came here.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to pull her thoughts together. “I should call his kids after we get home. He hardly ever talks about them, so I suspect they had a falling out after his wife, Anna, passed away.”

  As they reached a row of upholstered chairs, Mattie sank into the first one with a loud sigh. She felt so helpless. So useless. After Truman completed his call to Edgar, he sat down in the chair beside hers and bowed his head. Mattie did the same.

  Forgive me for losing faith, for feeling so alone when You’ve provided a friend like Truman to look after me, Mattie prayed as she squeezed her eyes shut. Look in on Amos and guide his doctors, Lord, because only You have the power to heal him and to determine what happens—no matter what government regulations say.

  When Mattie heard a familiar-sounding sigh, she opened her eyes. Frances stood before them, wringing her hands. She had an odd expression on her face.

  “What’d you find out?” Mattie asked. “At least you’re Floyd’s next of kin, so you can have a say in what they’ll do to him.”

  “Puh!” Frances said, shaking her head. “Floyd was raising such a ruckus about the legal paperwork they said he was supposed to have, that they slipped something into his IV to settle him down before he made his injuries any worse.”

  Mattie’s eyes widened. “They knocked him out?”

  “Said they had to keep his pulse and blood pressure under control—and they’ll be running tests where he has to stay absolutely still,” Frances explained with a suppressed smile. “The doctor took me outside the room and asked my permission to proceed. If Floyd finds out I agreed to sedating him, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Mattie chuckled, partly because it was funny and partly because she was feeling so frayed around the edges. “I won’t say a word. At least he’s got you to help him. They—they won’t allow me or Truman in to discuss Amos’s condition or treatment with the doctors.”

  Frances frowned. “Why not? You know more about Amos than anybody else.”

  “Government red tape,” Truman explained. “They’re calling it an invasion of his privacy if Amos hasn’t named one of us—in writing—to be involved with his care.”

  “Who could’ve known Amos would fall off a roof?” Frances protested with a shake of her head. “And how were we Plain folks to know about all those forms we were supposed to have a lawyer fill out? Floyd told them we didn’t believe in signing away God’s control over us to doctors we’ve never met—and that it sounded like another way lawyers and doctors were setting themselves up to make more money.”

  “I’m sure the doctor appreciated that part,” Mattie murmured, “even if I believe Floyd was right.”

  Frances let out a shuddery breath, looking very weary. “They told me to go home and get some rest—puh!—and to come back tomorrow when they had some test results.”

  “Jah, same here. And bless him, Truman has offered to take off work tomorrow so he can bring us back.”

  Truman nodded. “Do we want to get a bite to eat in the cafeteria, or just head on home?” he asked. “Maybe they have sandwiches already made up that we could eat in the truck.”

&nbs
p; “Let’s see about that,” Mattie suggested. “I don’t feel like I could eat a bite, but I’m sure you’re starving.”

  About fifteen minutes later the three of them were walking out to the parking lot with wrapped chicken salad sandwiches. Mattie wondered how it could be such a pleasant evening, frosty but calm outside, after they’d endured such an ordeal in the waiting room. The stars, scattered across the night sky, sparkled peacefully, as though God were still in perfect control of everything that was going on.

  When they reached Truman’s truck, Mattie turned to gaze at the hospital building. It was impossible to know which one of the many windows belonged to the room Amos was in—or to know if he was awake, or aware of his condition, or in pain . . .

  Watch over him, Lord. Help us figure out a way to get him the care he needs. We can’t do this without You.

  Mattie wiped a stray tear from her cheek before she climbed into the big pickup. She hated leaving Amos in the hospital alone, but it was the best she could do for now.

  Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

  Mattie hoped with all her heart that this verse from the Psalms would prove to be true.

  Chapter Ten

  Despite the chill in the evening air, Mary Kate sat out on the porch swing swaddled in an afghan. Sugar and Spice were curled up on either side of her, demanding that her hands be on them, but her mind wandered free . . . toward the barn behind the house, where Roman and his brother were doing the livestock chores. It felt good to know they were nearby while she wasn’t sure what was going on with her father and mother—even if Gloria was banging around in the kitchen, making a big deal of fixing the Schwartz boys a snack.

  At the sound of her sister singing “You Are My Sunshine,” Mary Kate shook her head. Bless her heart, Gloria couldn’t carry a tune with a bucket in each hand, but she was determined to get Roman’s attention by belting out—in a wavering vibrato—her hope that he wouldn’t take her sunshine away