A movement beside the porch caught Mary Kate’s eye. Roman, Noah, and Queenie came quietly to the porch steps and sat down—and Roman pressed his index finger to his lips and pointed toward the kitchen, signaling for Mary Kate’s silence. As more of the familiar old song drifted out through the screen door, the Border collie’s ears perked up. When the dog tilted her head back and began to howl along with Gloria’s singing, Mary Kate got the giggles.
“Queenie, stop,” Noah murmured as he wrapped his arm around the dog’s neck.
Roman turned to peer through the door. “Uh-oh. Here she comes,” he whispered as he, too, tried to silence the singing collie.
The screen door banged as Gloria stepped out onto the porch. “So what’s the deal with your dog? The Peterscheims and Uncle Lester and everyone else will realize you guys have come over here.”
Roman shrugged. “It’s not like we’re trying to hide,” he pointed out. “We fed and watered your horses—”
“Queenie picked up on that tune pretty fast, don’t you think?” Noah interrupted, trying not to laugh.
Even in the dusk, Mary Kate couldn’t miss her sister’s irritated expression. “For your information, ‘You Are My Sunshine’ is one of the most enduring songs of all time,” she said archly. “My grand-dat used to sing it—to me, because he loved me so much.”
Mary Kate struggled to keep a straight face. “The neighbors could hear you every bit as clearly as they heard Queenie,” she remarked. “They’re probably wondering why you’re singing so loudly with the windows wide open, chilly as it’s getting.”
“What do they know?” Gloria muttered. Then, in the blink of an eye, her attitude changed. “Since you fellows were nice enough to tend the horses, I fixed you a little bite to eat,” she said in a sugary voice. “Roman, if you’d come in and help me carry it—”
Mary Kate was relieved to hear the rumble of a pickup truck as headlights illuminated the road leading to their house. Poor Roman. Was he as tired of Gloria’s overblown flirtation as she was? “There’s Truman’s truck!” Mary Kate said, easing the cats out of her lap. “Let’s go see if Mamm’s with him.”
“But—but the grilled cheese sandwiches will get cold!” Gloria protested as the two fellows stood up and started toward the road.
Mary Kate didn’t miss the chance to join Roman and Noah. If her sister chose to stay behind, whining, that was her choice—Mary Kate was just glad to see her mother getting out of the truck. When Mamm saw her, she rushed toward Mary Kate with her arms open wide.
“Oh, but it’s gut to be home,” her mother said. “If I never set foot in a hospital again, it’ll be too soon. Except we’re going back tomorrow, hoping your dat will be able to come home with us.”
Mary Kate hugged her mother tight, then eased away. Even in the darkness, Mamm’s face appeared haggard from the ordeal she’d endured. “So he’s all right then? Just a bad bump on the head?”
Truman got out of the driver’s side, greeting Mary Kate and the Schwartz boys. “We’ll know more about your dat and Amos tomorrow after the doctors run some tests,” he replied. “I hope you’ll all get some rest so we’ll be ready for whatever they tell us. If there’s anything you’d like me to do before I head home, just say the word.”
Mary Kate smiled at their neighbor, truly grateful for his compassion. “Roman and Noah have done the chores, so I think we’re ready to turn in for the night,” she said. “It’s a blessing to have such kindhearted friends here looking after us. Denki for your help, Truman.”
“I wouldn’t feel right leaving your mamms to face the hospital by themselves. It’s a strange world inside those walls,” he remarked with a shake of his head. “We don’t know a lot more about your dat or Amos than we did when the ambulance pulled away, but at least we’ve done the best we could for them.”
“Roman—and Noah—have taken such gut care of us,” Gloria put in sweetly. “If you’d come inside, we could have those grilled cheese sandwiches I made.”
“Denki, but I’m heading home,” Truman said with a nod to Mamm. “I’ll stop by about eight o’clock for you, Frances, if that’s all right.”
Mamm sighed wearily. “Jah, and meanwhile we’ll pray that God’s holding Floyd and Amos in His hands through the night while they’re in the care of strangers.”
Gloria reached out to grab Roman’s hand. “But you—and Noah—can come on in,” she wheedled. “We could visit and have a warm bedtime snack—”
“I’d better check on Mamm and get home to Deborah,” Noah said with a knowing smile. “Gut night, all.”
As Roman watched his brother stride down the road with Queenie trotting beside him, Mary Kate sensed he was desperate to leave, as well. But when Roman met Mary Kate’s gaze, he reconsidered. “Well, maybe I could stay for a moment,” he murmured. “But you ladies all need to get your rest. It’s been a difficult evening.”
Smiling triumphantly, Gloria headed toward the house with Roman in tow. Mary Kate hung back, slipping her arm through her mother’s. “So will Dat be all right?” she murmured. “I thought it was a gut sign that he was calling out orders to the ambulance guys while they wheeled him inside it.”
“And he didn’t get quiet until the doctor gave him a sedative so they could run their tests,” Mamm said with a shake of her head. “When he wakes up, maybe he can talk some sense into those folks about how we Amish don’t believe in the medical intervention they were talking about—such as life support machines, if Amos’s heart or breathing stops while he’s still unconscious.”
Mary Kate sucked in her breath. “My word, I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she murmured, massaging the side of her belly. “I—I sure hope Minerva can deliver my baby so I don’t have to go to the hospital—”
“Oh no! Fire! Fire!”
Mary Kate released her mother to rush awkwardly up the steps at the sound of Gloria’s desperate cries. Even from the porch she could smell burning food, but when she entered the house she saw no flames, although Roman was pouring flour into the skillet. Gloria was standing by the open window, fanning at the black smoke that filled the kitchen.
The odor of the burned food made Mary Kate feel nauseous, so she stopped in the front room. “Don’t tell me you left the burner on under those grilled cheese sandwiches while you came outside—”
“So they’d be hot when we came in to eat them!” Gloria protested. “I—I just wanted to have a nice snack ready for—”
“There! The food’s stopped smoldering now,” Roman said as he ran water into the skillet. A sizzling noise filled the kitchen and steam rose from the sink. “Nice of you to think of us, Gloria, but I’ll head on back to Noah’s now.”
Once again Mary Kate felt acutely embarrassed about the ruckus her sister had caused, but what could she do? If she accompanied Roman outside, Gloria would rush out to join them.
She smiled at Roman as he paused in front of her. “Sorry about all the fuss,” she murmured. “And denki for doing our barn chores.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered. “Maybe next time we’ll be able to visit a bit. Gut night, Mary Kate.”
As Mary Kate watched Roman leave, she hoped he wouldn’t be so put off by her sister’s carelessness—and Gloria’s singing—that he wouldn’t come back.
Mamm went over to the sink and shook her head. “Well, my favorite skillet’s so scorched I’m not sure we’ll ever get the burnt butter and cheese scrubbed out of it,” she murmured ruefully. “But we’ll deal with that tomorrow. I’ve had all of this day I can handle.”
“Gut night, Mamm,” Mary Kate murmured. “I’ll keep you and Dat in my prayers.”
Her mother nodded sadly and made her way through the unlit front room toward the stairs. With an exasperated sigh, Gloria followed her.
Mary Kate let the cats inside and shut the front door. Breathing shallowly, she closed the kitchen windows against the cold November air, regretting that it would take several hours for the acrid smell of smoke to dissipate.
She listened for footsteps crossing the upstairs rooms . . . the sound of water running in the bathroom . . . the silence that told her Mamm and Gloria had gone to bed.
Mary Kate doused the kitchen lamp. She was becoming accustomed to the placement of their furniture and the shadows it cast in their new home, and as she climbed the stairs she felt thankful that their family had moved to Promise Lodge—and that Roman Schwartz seemed to think she was worthy of his time.
As she entered her room, moonlight was casting a soft glow on her hardwood floors. When she looked out her window, she could see Noah’s new white house basking in the moon’s ethereal glow. A lamp flickered in one of the upstairs rooms.
“Gut night, Roman,” Mary Kate whispered wistfully. “Sleep tight.”
Chapter Eleven
Amos groaned. His head felt like someone was hitting it with a mallet, a pain so deep and intense that he didn’t want to open his eyes for fear the pounding would get worse. He tried to lie absolutely still, to recall why he would be feeling so wretched . . . to analyze the odd scent in the air and the foreign feeling of the mattress. What was that whirring noise beside his head? Why did his legs and arms feel bare? He slept in his long johns at this time of the year.
When Amos dared to touch what was attached to the top of his hand, a voice startled him.
“No no, Mr. Troyer—you’re not to remove your IV again,” a man said. “You gave us quite a scare a few hours ago when you yanked it out.”
Amos frowned, which only made his head hurt worse. “Uh?”
A large, warm hand closed gently over his arm. “It’s all right. You’re bound to be confused, after that hit you took to your head,” the man said. “Try to relax. Your friends will be here shortly, after they’ve spoken to the doctor.”
Friends? Doctor? Amos willed his heavy eyelids to open and then wished he hadn’t. A blurry male figure—no, two of them—stood beside him. The ceiling was starting to make a lazy circle, and if it didn’t stop, he might just throw up. Moments later he was grateful that the stranger had moved fast enough to catch the vomit before it spewed beyond the bed into whatever sort of strange room he was in.
“I’m Gary, by the way. Your nurse for this shift.”
Nurse? A guy who’s a nurse? The thought jarred Amos enough that he woke up a little more.
Amos sighed, blinking to clear his vision. On either side of him, machines clicked and displayed lit-up numbers. Where on God’s earth was he? And how had he gotten here? And why did his head feel like a melon that had hit the floor and split open?
When Amos heard voices at the door, he turned his head toward them and was again sorry that he’d moved even that slight amount.
“. . . apologize for the misunderstanding at the nurses’ station,” another unfamiliar male was saying. “Melody just started working here last week, and she wasn’t aware of our policies that honor the religious beliefs of the Plain residents in this area. Mr. Troyer has been resting comfortably with only an IV to keep him hydrated and free of pain.”
Amos wanted to refute that part about the pain but he didn’t have the energy. He blinked a few more times, trying to discern the facial features of the folks who’d just entered the room. Two men and a woman, from what he could make out.
Gary moved away from the bed, exchanging greetings with the newcomers. Next thing Amos knew, a woman who smelled clean—like the soap he used at home—was grasping his hand and leaning over him.
“Oh, Amos, it’s gut to see your eyes open,” she said. “We’ve been so worried, ever since they sent us home last night even though I didn’t want to leave you here amongst all these strangers and machines and—well, I’m babbling,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.
A sense of sweet relief came over Amos, even though the pain in his head threatened to overwhelm his emotions. “Mattie,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Jah, it’s me. Truman’s here, too,” she replied.
“Hey there, neighbor. Too bad you had to leave your party before we served the food,” Truman teased, grasping Amos’s shoulder. “Gut to see you awake, Amos.”
He tried very hard, but for the life of him Amos couldn’t figure out what they were talking about. “Party?” he rasped.
“Jah, we guys were playing volleyball before the fish fry. You went to get a Frisbee off the roof of the shed, and when the corner gave way, you fell into Floyd when he tried to catch you,” Truman explained. “You both hit the ground, and then you took a ride in an ambulance. But you might not remember any of that.”
“Nope.” Amos closed his eyes again, exhausted. It felt good to have Mattie’s hand in his, so he concentrated on her presence . . . willed himself to become more cognizant so he could hold up his end of the conversation.
“Mr. Troyer, I’m Dr. Townsend,” the other fellow said as he came to the opposite side of the bed. “The scans we ran last night show that you have a concussion, which means you have some bleeding on your brain. Even though Mr. Lehman broke your fall, you hit the ground at an angle that jarred your head and your body. Nothing’s broken, but you’re going to be very sore for a while—and limited as to what you can do until your internal bruises heal.”
Bleeding on your brain . . . limited as to what you can do. Amos exhaled, trying to rid himself of the fear the doctor’s words had inspired. Surely if he rested for a few days he’d be back to work, wouldn’t he? The last time he’d slipped off a roof, he’d gotten up and walked away—but then, that had been twenty years ago. When Amos squeezed Mattie’s hand, she squeezed back.
“The doctor says we’ll have to keep you in a dark room with the curtains shut,” she told him. “The part about not watching any screens doesn’t mean a whole lot to us Plain folks, but you’re to rest in total darkness while you get your strength back.”
“So don’t get yourself all geared up to finish the Kurtz house, or Roman’s place,” Truman continued gently. “It might be a while before you swing a hammer or climb a ladder again, Amos. And I know that’ll be a real tough adjustment for you.”
Images of the large home he and the neighbor men had recently roofed, as well as the rising walls of the home he was building for Mattie’s older son made Amos suck in his breath. “But—but we need to get Roman’s house enclosed before it snows,” he protested. His throat was so dry he could barely speak, but this was an urgent topic, so he kept on talking. “And even if I can’t climb a ladder or run the nail gun, I can surely tack on baseboard or—”
As the doctor leaned closer, Amos watched him grow a second head—and then the heads went back together into one again. “That’s what Mattie told me you’d say,” he remarked kindly. “But if you don’t rest in a dark room for the next several weeks, Mr. Troyer, your concussion won’t heal. I’m going to set up some physical therapy sessions, to be sure your muscles get back into sync. It could easily be Christmas before you feel up to moving around much, and you might have some lingering symptoms as late as next spring.”
Christmas? Spring? What month is it now, for Pete’s sake?
Amos tried to recall which page his kitchen calendar showed. He didn’t want to ask what day it was, for fear they’d keep him here longer if they realized he was so disoriented. When Amos glanced away from Mattie’s earnest face, he noticed the date on the bulletin board: Friday, November thirteenth. Beside the calendar was a page that said HOW IS YOUR PAIN TODAY? A row of circles showed various facial expressions that were numbered zero through ten, with the last one appearing nearly as miserable as Amos felt.
“Twelve,” he muttered before the circles went out of focus.
Mattie’s brow puckered. “Twelve what, Amos? Twelve months in the year? Jesus’s twelve disciples?”
Amos sighed, wishing this conversation were over so he could take a nap. Maybe after that he’d wake up and this nightmare would be over—or he could chase it away with hard physical labor, as he usually did. “Headache,” he muttered. “It’s at a twelve.”
The doctor nodded. “I’
ve written you prescriptions for a pain reliever and an antidepressant. Even so, you really must rest and remain in a dark room,” he repeated earnestly. “I suspect daylight will make your head hurt so badly that you’ll want to stay in the dark anyway, but the inactivity is going to be difficult for a man who’s used to being on the go. Your friends have assured me they’ll keep an eye on you so you won’t overdo it.”
Amos watched both of Mattie’s heads nod solemnly.
Well, I know how to talk around her—how to send her off to do me a favor, so I can slip out to one of those houses and get some work done. That’s my job, building houses, and in a few days I’ll be back at it.
“I’ll let Gary remove your IV now, Mr. Troyer,” the doctor went on in a more chipper voice. “You can go home as soon as you feel like getting dressed.” He signed a couple of forms and handed them to Mattie before he left.
Mattie released Amos’s hand to make room for the nurse on that side of the bed. “We’ll be right here when you’re ready to get up, Amos,” she assured him. “Somebody’s supposed to stay with you for a while, to help you when you want to walk a bit or go to the bathroom. We can’t have you falling and making your head injury worse.”
Help him to the bathroom? Was Mattie out of her mind, thinking he’d allow her to hang around while he was on the toilet?
Amos winced when the nurse removed the tape that held the IV contraption to his hand. Looking at the purple bruise that had spread up past his wrist made him feel woozy, so he gulped air and looked away. I will not throw up . . . I will not throw up. Can’t have Mattie thinking I’m an invalid.
But then, what would Mattie and the rest of them at Promise Lodge think about him holing up at home like a mole? Maybe he’d humor her for a day or two, but then it was back to business as usual. He had houses to build . . . leaves to rake . . .
Mattie reached for his hand. “Shall I call your kids and let them know—”
Christmas at Promise Lodge Page 10