Piecing It All Together

by Leslie Gould

  “What did my dad say?” I asked the nurse when I finished the call.

  “Your dad?”

  “My emergency contact.”

  “Hmm.” She glanced at the computer screen. “Is Ryan Woodward your father?”

  I groaned. “That’s my ex. I forgot he was listed as my emergency contact.” I grabbed my phone again and quickly sent him a text. The hospital calling you was a mistake. Ignore it. I’m fine. He didn’t reply right away, but maybe he was busy.

  Then I decided to let the nurse call Dad, since I was afraid I might start crying and alarm him. I didn’t want that. She went to the nursing station to make the call, while I put my phone in my purse and tried to psyche myself up for stitches, X-rays, and a CT scan, because I had a huge goose egg on my head from the airbag and steering wheel, plus the symptoms of a concussion. They wanted to make sure I didn’t have any other head injuries.

  They stitched up a gash on my hairline and one on my wrist and hand from the broken glass. My coat had done a good job protecting the rest of my body. After that, they rolled me off to radiology, taking X-rays of my ribs and ankle. From there, they moved me to a room. When I checked my phone, it was blowing up with calls from Dad and texts from Joy. Both asked me to call them back ASAP. I wished Dad would come, but I couldn’t expect that. He’d never flown in his life, and he hadn’t been back to Indiana in the thirty years since he’d left. I couldn’t expect him to come back for me.

  A text from Ryan popped up before I could stash my phone again. I’m on my way. I groaned again. That was the last thing I needed. I texted him back immediately but didn’t get a reply. Surely he hadn’t purchased a ticket without speaking with me. Surely he wasn’t literally “on his way.”

  I retrieved the card the police officer had slipped into my purse and called to get details about the driver of the semi, so I could let the rental company know. After a couple of rounds of phone tag, the officer called me back.

  He had the information that I needed and also added that the truck driver had a few minor injuries, as did the driver in the sedan in front of me, which I’d plowed into, but both were going to be okay. He said I’d need to fill out an accident report as soon as possible and, of course, report it to the rental car company too. I was thankful to have had the foresight to buy the additional insurance.

  A doctor came in and told me I had two cracked ribs and a fractured fibula. “It’ll take about six weeks for it to heal,” she said. “We’ll splint it in the morning and then you’ll need to get fitted for a boot.”

  “What about the CT scan?”

  “It hasn’t been read yet.” She lifted her eyes from my chart and met my gaze. “We’ll know by the morning. In the meantime, stay off your phone and no TV.”

  After she left, I finally gave in to the pain meds and the low lights and fell asleep.

  The next morning, after a restless drug-induced and dream-filled sleep, I literally felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. The nurse gave me more pain meds around six in the morning, and I dozed again, waking on and off. Ryan hadn’t shown up, and I didn’t have a text from him. I figured he probably wasn’t coming after all.

  But then, just after the nurse brought in my lunch tray, he appeared, sporting dark bags under his gray eyes. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and he wore his Patagonia jacket. He took off the hood, revealing his dark hair, which was the messiest I’d ever seen it.

  “Hi.” He stepped to the edge of my bed.

  “You didn’t need to come.”

  “I wanted to,” he said. “Sorry it took so long. I got stuck in Denver—fog and then mechanical problems.”

  “You must be exhausted.”

  He nodded, not quite looking at me. “How are you?”

  “All right. But I’m sorry you came all this way. You really didn’t need to. I forgot to update my emergency contact person after . . . well . . .” I swallowed hard. “I didn’t give it a thought until the nurse said she’d called you.”

  “I was really glad she did. I’m so sorry you were in an accident.”

  It felt both so normal and so awkward to have him show up. “I’m going to be fine, though. I’m afraid you wasted the trip.” Not to mention the money that could go toward the wedding bills.

  “I had some frequent flier miles.” He lowered his backpack to the floor and pulled up a chair. Then he finally met my eyes. “And I needed to apologize to you. What I did was absolutely horrid. I . . . I lost my mind for a few days.”

  Tears stung my eyes.

  “I’ve felt so out of sorts. Clearly I have some stuff I need to figure out.”

  “With you and Amber?”

  He looked as if he was going to cry as he shook his head. “Amber hung around for a week, but then it hit me what I did to you, what a fool I was.” His voice grew quieter. “Then I got the call about the accident and your text telling me not to come, that it was a mistake. I ignored it because I wanted to apologize in person and realized I might not have another chance if you . . . if you don’t come back to California.”

  I stared at the blank TV in the corner and concentrated on not bawling.

  “I didn’t come to win you back. Obviously, I had second thoughts about getting married, ones I should have talked with you about months ago. I just . . . I hope you can forgive me.”

  I gave a small nod, not trusting myself to form any words.

  “And I wanted to let you know that I got the credit card disaster figured out. While I was stuck in Denver, I called all of the vendors and had them credit your card and charge my new one. It should be all straightened out. If not, let me know.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  He exhaled. This was a hard conversation for him to initiate, but I really appreciated his honesty. “Do you have a ride back to Nappanee?”

  “Yes.” I wasn’t sure who it would be, but I’d find a ride. It was good of Ryan to come, for us to clear the air, but I didn’t want him here.

  “I don’t expect you to ever trust me again,” he said. “But I want to thank you for your friendship, for the time we had together.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded again.

  “I won’t stick around. I have a friend from college who lives in Chicago, who I’m going to hang out with for the week. Then I’ll head home and try to figure out just how messed up I am.” He stood. “It’s good to see that you’re okay, though, to know you’re going to be all right.”

  “Thank you.” Traveling all this way to apologize was decent of him. There was still good in Ryan Woodward, after all.

  I whispered, “Good-bye,” and he left the room with a last glance over his shoulder.

  After he was gone, I realized, even though I was stuck in a hospital bed, that I felt a freedom I hadn’t for months. Coming back to Indiana and spending time with Mammi, even helping Arleta birth her baby, had reminded me of who I’d been, of that girl who had wanted to be a midwife, of that girl who had loved farm life and her family.

  I’d lost myself trying to mold into who I thought Ryan wanted, trying to hide my insecurities and forget my past pain. As much as it hurt—and as untimely as it was—Ryan had done me a favor by calling off the wedding. On Christmas Eve, he’d said breaking up was best for both of us. He’d been right.

  Now, hopefully, I could find a new path where I could be true to myself and to who God had created me to be.

  Just as I’d nestled into the pillows to try to take a nap, I heard a man’s voice outside of my door and feared Ryan had returned. I was too emotionally spent to see him again. But to my surprise, it was Uncle Seth, with Mammi and Jane flanking either side of him.

  “Look who I brought to see you,” he boomed.

  Jane stood back while Uncle Seth and Mammi rushed toward me. Both gave me hugs, and Mammi kept patting the top of my head as she stared at the stitches along my hairline. “Oh, Savannah,” she said over and over.

  “Mammi, I’m fine. Really.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.
“And to think I worried about you flying.”

  Uncle Seth laughed. “I’ve told you the statistics on that a hundred times, Dorothy.”

  “Take off your coats,” I said. “Stay a while. I’m still waiting for a doctor to come in and give me the results of my CT scan.”

  As Mammi and Jane took off their coats and bonnets, Uncle Seth said he was going to go find a cup of coffee. “That drive almost put me to sleep.”

  I winced, thinking of three people I cared dearly about traveling together in that old pickup on icy roads. They shouldn’t have.

  Mammi held up a bag. She’d brought me clothes and one of her warm coats—her nicest one, I was sure.

  “Jane, who’s watching the shop?” I asked.

  “No one,” she said. “I put a sign in the window that it’s closed for the day. Coming here was much more important.”

  “Denki,” I whispered.

  Mammi and Jane pulled up chairs, and then after I’d given all the details about the accident, I finally said, “Enough about me.” I smiled at Jane. “How about more about Emma? I’ve been wanting to hear the rest of her story.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if this is the right place,” she said.

  “What could be a better place? It’s winter and snowy here, and I’m unwell. When you stopped last time, it was wintery and snowy there, and Emma was ill. And Mathilde was missing.”

  Just as Miriam still was.

  Jane gave Mammi a questioning look, and she nodded.

  “All right,” Jane said. “Jah, Mathilde was missing. . . .”

  CHAPTER 24

  Emma

  Judah assured George he’d help him search. “Go back to your house,” Judah said. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I take Emma home. She needs to rest.”

  George didn’t answer Judah, but he rode away toward his farm.

  Before George was out of hearing distance, Emma snarled, “Why would you offer to help him?”

  “Because I don’t want him to find her,” Judah whispered. “And I certainly don’t want him to be alone with her if he does.”

  Emma wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not.

  By the time they reached Phillip’s cabin, Emma was shaking again, but this time from the cold. Judah helped her down and then to the door.

  It swung open, and Isaac stood before them. “When you didn’t come to the service, Mamm sent me to get you,” he said.

  “I can’t go.” She fell into another coughing fit.

  “She’s ill,” Judah said.

  Emma headed for her bed, pulled off her boots, and climbed under her remaining blankets, still in her cloak.

  In the background, Judah told Isaac what had happened. “I’m going to go meet George at his place. I’ll check back later. Take care of your sister. . . .”

  After Judah left, Isaac said he’d brought a letter from Abel.

  “Would you read it to me?”

  Again, it was only a few lines. He was happy to receive her letter. He was doing well. He’d expect her return in the spring.

  It seemed such an odd way to phrase it. Did he look forward to seeing her? Or just to her return? He’d written absolutely nothing of any importance. The long letter she’d sent hadn’t inspired him to reciprocate in kind. What sort of life did he envison for them?

  As Isaac folded Abel’s letter, Emma fell asleep and didn’t awake until several hours later, coughing again. Isaac bent over the fire, stirring something in the big pot, while Phillip, back from Jackson Township, sat at the table, eating a piece of bread. She lifted her head.

  “Are you awake?” Phillip asked.

  She nodded as she coughed some more. Once she stopped, with a raspy voice, she asked, “Has Judah returned?”

  Isaac shook his head.

  “No word about Mathilde?”

  “That’s right,” Isaac answered.

  Phillip shook his head. “You shouldn’t be involved in any of that.”

  Emma fell into another coughing fit. When she recovered, she said, “Mathilde’s a widow. We’re told that pure religion is to care for widows and orphans.”

  “You’re a widow,” Phillip said. “Look after yourself.”

  “I am,” Emma answered. “And so are all of you. Mathilde has no one but herself.”

  Phillip just shook his head. “She has George.” He pushed back his chair and walked to the door. “I’m going out to do the chores. I expect supper to be ready when I return.”

  IT WAS AFTER dark by the time Isaac, Emma, and Phillip sat down at the table. Emma had rallied enough to fix the meal. When a knock fell on the door, Phillip opened it to reveal Judah.

  As he walked into the cabin, Emma said, “I’ll get another bowl of soup.”

  “Denki,” Judah said. “I’m famished.”

  “We’re having three sister soup, with a little ham added.”

  “What?” Phillip asked.

  As she stood, Emma felt light-headed and steadied herself with a hand to the back of the chair. “That’s what Mathilde calls it. Corn, squash, and beans.”

  Phillip frowned. “You’ve been influenced too much by that woman.”

  Emma ignored her brother and filled a bowl of soup for Judah. After Phillip led all of them in a silent prayer, Judah said, “We looked everywhere but didn’t find Mathilde. We tracked her horse through the snow to the creek, but then we had no idea if she went northwest or southeast. We rode both ways but never saw where she came out. Of course she could have backtracked anywhere along the way and brushed over her tracks.” He shrugged. “As long as she’s all right, I hope she’s far away from the Burton place.”

  “Why?” Phillip asked. “She had a place to sleep and a job.”

  “It appears that George Burton beat her.” Emma passed the bread to Judah, fearing George might do worse, in time, with Harriet gone. If only George would move to Chicago too.

  “I’m going to ride to South Bend tomorrow.” Judah passed the bread on to Isaac. “And talk with the priest there, the one who buried Jean-Paul. Perhaps Mathilde spoke with him about leaving this area.”

  Phillip’s irritation seemed to be growing as he said, “You seem awfully interested in the woman. Do you have some ulterior motive?”

  “Of course not.” Judah dipped his bread in the soup. “Her husband was a good friend to me. I know he’d do the same if our roles were reversed.”

  Phillip chortled. “But you’re not even married.”

  “True.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  Judah put down his spoon and sighed. “I don’t have much to offer a wife. The farm is in Walter’s name. We’d hoped to have saved enough to buy another property by now, but with the price of land going up, it doesn’t seem likely.” He shrugged. “The farm we have isn’t enough to support two families.”

  “Other men figure it out,” Phillip said. “I’m sure you could too.”

  Emma cleared her throat.

  Phillip turned toward her. “What?”

  Had Phillip forgotten that his land was paid for by their grandfather? Not everyone had help. Was he that unaware of his blessings?

  “It’s all right,” Judah said. “I know God will take care of me. Perhaps I’ll continue to work for Walter. Or come across another situation.”

  “Shouldn’t you and Walter split his farm? Or sell it and go farther west and buy something cheaper?” Isaac asked.

  “Walter has a family,” Judah said. “All I have is myself. I’d rather he have the farm.”

  Was Judah really so generous? Or was he simply trying to make himself look good?

  He thanked Emma for the meal and then said, “I’m hoping the priest can tell me places Mathilde’s family used to frequent. Perhaps if she’s not heading to the mission, she’s gone to one of them.”

  Emma pursed her lips together as a memory of gathering rocks with Mathilde and Batiste by the creek came to mind. But she wouldn’t say anything out loud, not now. Not when Phillip might overhear her, not when she
wasn’t sure if she could trust Judah. Sarah had said he wasn’t trustworthy. Emma couldn’t take a chance, not with Mathilde and the children’s lives.

  After Judah left, Phillip said, “He seems humble enough, but maybe it’s all for show. What if George offered to pay him to find Mathilde, to force her to return to the Burton farm and keep working there?” He shook his head. “Emma, you don’t have any proof that Judah’s concern is for Mathilde. It’s most likely only for himself.”

  Phillip was right. She didn’t have any proof. All she had were her own doubts about Judah too.

  THE NEXT MORNING, once Phillip and Isaac went to check on the cattle, Emma bundled up and hurried down to the creek, stopping to weather a coughing spell just as she reached it.

  Although it would run high once the snow melted, the creek wasn’t much higher than it had been in the fall, when she and Mathilde had sat along the banks with Baptiste and Agnes. Emma looked for the natural bridge, for the stones Mathilde had mentioned. She grabbed a small branch that had fallen from a willow tree and stripped the switches from it. Then she poked it into the water a few times, finally finding a stone close to the bank. Lifting her skirts with her free hand, she stepped onto it. Then she found the next one. And the next. Quickly, she made her way across. Her boots were wet but not soaked.

  On the other side, a coughing spasm slowed her again, but then she continued on to the bushes. The outline of a fire pit showed through the snow, but she didn’t see any recent signs of people. She made her way through the bushes and then looked to the right and to the left. There was a thicket big enough for someone to hide in. But there was no sign of a horse.

  Emma walked around the thicket until she came to the far side. Both footprints and hoofprints led into the thicket, which towered over Emma’s head. After walking a few more feet, she realized the inside had been hollowed out. Ahead was Mathilde’s horse, and behind it a wigwam. Emma stepped closer and whispered hoarsely, “Mathilde!”

  No one answered.