Seventeen

Luke stood at the bottom of the stairwell that led into the kitchen, watching Izzy as she grated carrots into a bowl. He enjoyed watching her whittle those poor carrots down to a nub, and was almost sorry when she caught him doing it.

She looked up at him and flashed him a smile, before swiveling around to set the bowl on the counter. “I’m making your birthday cake.”

When he’d first laid eyes on her, his first thought was that she was gorgeous. But lately? She seemed stunning, almost glowing. He took a few steps closer to her, wrapping his arms around her. “We haven’t had much time alone lately,” he said softly, pausing to breathe in the distant shampoo fragrance of her hair.

“Tonight,” she said. “We’ll celebrate your birthday dinner, and then I have a special surprise for you later tonight.”

He bent his head to kiss her neck. “How about a birthday gift now?” The house was quiet. Fern had taken Katy Ann on an errand to the Bent N’ Dent. Why not now?

“Can’t,” she said. “I have too much to do for your birthday dinner.” She wiggled out of his arms. “Did I tell you that my mother is coming?”

He groaned.

Just as Luke left the house, Izzy slipped the cake into the oven. She had his birthday supper all planned out. Silly, probably, to make such a fuss over a man’s birthday, but she had missed out on so many birthday celebrations in her childhood that she felt a bone-deep need to make each one special, to not waste a single one. She was making Luke’s favorite carrot cake, just the way he liked it, with cream cheese frosting. And later tonight, after they’d put Katy Ann to bed, she planned to tell him about the baby. She’d been greatly tempted to tell him so many times over the last week, but she held off, wanting it to be a perfect moment. She ran through different scripts in her mind, trying to settle on just the right words, said in just the right way. It still astounded her, still seemed like a dream, to think she was pregnant. There were signs, though, that even she couldn’t deny. Her breasts were tender, her stomach twisted and turned at certain smells. She used to love the scent of brewing coffee in the morning. Now, it made her gag. Yesterday, she ran for the door to gulp in fresh air. Fern noticed and watched her curiously. She must know. Fern must know. She knew everything. But she didn’t say anything, and Izzy was grateful.

She didn’t mind the discomfort. In fact, she welcomed it. It was a sign that something was happening, deep within her, in the secret places, just like King David had written in that psalm. Psalm 139. “My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret.” It was the first Bible verse that Izzy had memorized. It spoke to the miracle that was going on within her.

And then, around noon, she’d felt an odd stitch on the left side of her abdomen. First one, then another. Sharp pinpricks. She ignored them, reassured herself that it was something she ate, or maybe she’d tweaked a muscle. By midafternoon, she noticed a swelling start in her belly. Oh no. No, she prayed. Please, God. Let this be nothing. Please let the baby be all right. Please, please, please.

She’d had no bleeding. Jenny had miscarried once and told her that the bleeding and cramping were the first signs of a miscarriage. Fern was at a quilting, and Luke had gone to see the fire chief about installing the baby box. The buggy was gone, the horse was gone. Katy Ann was napping upstairs.

The sharp pinpricks disappeared, but the swelling increased. She could put a hand on her stomach and move it around like Jell-O, the way Jenny’s stomach jiggled after delivering a baby. Something wasn’t right, but Izzy kept hoping and praying that whatever it was, it didn’t involve the baby. Please let me keep this baby, she prayed, over and over and over. Let this be nothing. Let this be nothing, Lord.

By four o’clock, she knew she had to get help. She bundled Katy Ann up and they went down to the phone shanty. With shaking hands, she dialed the doctor’s office. When she heard Ruthie, one of David’s daughters, answer the phone, she started to choke up and could barely get the words out. “I need help.”

“Who is this?”

“Izzy. Luke’s wife. I’m in the phone shanty at Windmill Farm and I need help.”

“What’s happened? Is it Katy Ann? Was there an accident?”

“No,” Izzy said. “It’s just that . . . I think I’m miscarrying. And I’m alone at the house. Down in the phone shanty.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Izzy heard her say something to Dok.

Ruthie came back on the line. “Dok wants to know what symptoms you’re having. She wants to know if you need an ambulance.”

“My stomach. It’s . . . it’s filling up like a balloon.”

“Stay right there, Izzy,” Ruthie said calmly, but firmly. “Stay right in the shanty. Don’t go anywhere. Keep Katy Ann with you. Close the door to the phone shanty so she can’t get out to the road, and sit down on the floor. Help is on the way.”

Hands shaking, Izzy hung up the phone, closed the door to the shanty, and slid carefully down to the floor, her back against the wall. She pulled Katy Ann into her lap to sing to her, trying to make a game of this moment, when it was no game. Jesus Loves Me, This I Know. That was the song Izzy sang, voice trembling. That was the last thing she remembered.

Luke was in Juan Miranda’s office, discussing plans for the baby box to get installed, when the call came in for an ambulance to get to Windmill Farm. He listened to the loudspeaker, stunned, as if he were hearing it underwater. Garbled and slow. Windmill Farm? A woman, aged twenty-three, experiencing a possible hemorrhage.

He watched dumbly as the paramedics went into action. As the garage door opened for the ambulance, something clicked in his head. “That’s my home! My farm.”

Juan Miranda grabbed his helmet off the wall and turned to look at Luke. “Your place? Could that be your wife?”

Running through Luke’s mind were all kinds of possibilities: A customer at the yarn shop? But the tourist buses weren’t running in winter, and today was Tuesday. Izzy didn’t teach any classes today. Could something have happened to Fern? No, couldn’t be. He heard the dispatcher say the woman was aged twenty-three. He looked at the fire chief. “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

“Well, get in the truck. You can get the horse and buggy later.”

Luke’s heart pounded as the ambulance sped down the quiet country lane with the siren blaring. The truck came to a stop at the phone shanty and as soon as the siren stopped, Luke heard Katy Ann’s cries. The firemen jumped out of the truck and opened the door to the phone shanty. Izzy was unconscious on the ground, and Katy Ann was curled in her arms, crying for her mama. One fireman lifted Katy Ann and handed her to Luke as two more surrounded Izzy.

Oh God, he prayed, heart pounding, hugging his hysterical little girl tightly against his chest, trying to calm her down. Oh God, please help. Katy Ann was so cold. How long had she been there? Was Izzy alive? Was she dead? Oh God, oh God, oh God. It was all his mind could manage.

Luke waited with Katy Ann in the emergency waiting room of the hospital, a cold, sterile room with hard plastic yellow chairs and a huge television screen.

Juan Miranda joined him after a while, bringing a cup of vending machine coffee for Luke and a candy bar for Katy Ann. “I sent the ambulance back, and one of my men at the fire station will take your horse and buggy to Windmill Farm. Is there anyone who can help with the baby?”

Luke took the candy bar and unwrapped it for Katy Ann. She took one bite of the candy bar and looked like she had just tasted heaven. Luke tried to take it from her and she squealed. Fine, he thought. Take it. Never before had he given her a candy bar, but for now, his normal rules were thrown out. This was no normal moment. “Fern Lapp. She lives at Windmill Farm. She’s kind of Katy Ann’s grandmother.”

“I could have one of the men bring her here. Assuming she’s at the farm when the horse is returned.”

“Thank you,” Luke said, nodding. “I appreciate your help.”

“Well, sure. That’s what we do.”

But it was more than that. Juan Miranda cared. Luke could see it in his eyes. He was a good man, this fire chief.

Dok came through the door with a grim look on her face. “Hi, Luke.” She nodded to the fire chief, as if she either knew him or recognized him. “I have some news. Izzy has had a miscarriage.”

A miscarriage. Izzy was pregnant? Pregnant? Luke flopped down on the chair, Katy Ann in his arms, grasping on to her candy bar. He swallowed, expelled a ragged breath, and sputtered, “But she’ll be all right, won’t she?”

There was a troubled look in Dok’s eyes that sent a chill down Luke’s spine.

“Unfortunately, it wasn’t a typical pregnancy. It was something called an ectopic pregnancy. The fertilized egg rooted in the fallopian tubes, and as it grew, it burst the tube. Izzy has been hemorrhaging for the last few hours, quite severely. She’s going to need a transfusion.”

“But then she’ll be OK, right?” Please God, please God, please God.

“There’s another problem we’re facing. It turns out she’s a rare blood type. The hospital doesn’t have a compatible blood for her.”

“What do you mean? You’re out of her blood?”

Dok sighed. “We’ve called the blood bank, but there’s a severe shortage of this particular blood type.”

Luke bolted to his feet, jostling Katy Ann, who kept a tight hold on her candy bar. “Our church. I can make some calls. Get everyone here to donate blood. Someone must have her blood type. I know they’d do anything for Izzy.”

“I wish it were that easy, Luke. It’s a very rare blood type. I doubt you’d find this blood in the entire state of Pennsylvania. We’re going to have to go ahead with the surgery. She’s getting prepped now.”

“Surgery?” Luke’s knees gave out and Juan helped him back to a seat before he dropped Katy Ann. He looked up at Dok. “Can I see her?”

“She’s drifting in and out of consciousness.”

“I need to see her.”

Dok nodded. “And after that, you get on the phone with your people and tell them to pray. I don’t mean to scare you, but the next twenty-four hours will be critical.”

Juan Miranda looked at Dok. “Hold up one minute. Just what blood type does Izzy need? I donate blood a lot.”

“Unfortunately, Izzy can’t accept blood from any other type but the one she has.” Preoccupied, Dok glanced at her pager.

“Any chance it’s called golden blood?” Juan said, eyebrows raised, a smile forming on his lips.

Dok’s head snapped up. “Yes, that’s right. Rhnull.” She tipped her head. “How did you know?”

“The universal blood donor,” Juan said.

Dok fixed her eyes on Juan. “There are no positive or negative antigens on it, so anyone can receive it, whatever their blood type. It’s a blood in extremely high demand, but the flip side is disastrous. When a person with Rhnull needs a transfusion, it’s nearly impossible. Less than fifty known people in the world have golden blood. In the world.”

“And one of those fifty is standing right here.” Juan pulled a card out of his wallet. “Card-carrying member of the Golden Blood Club.”

Dok blinked, stunned. “You’re . . . Rhnull? You’ve got to be kidding.” She examined the card, front and back.

“Not kidding,” Juan said. “A bona fide member. In this line of work, your medical background is pretty thorough. Once they found out I had golden blood, I’ve been part of all kinds of studies. Blood banks, medical schools, scientists . . . they’re always after my blood. I donate as often as I can.” His eyes flicked from Dok to Luke and back to Dok. “I want to help. I want to do what I can to help Izzy.”

The troubled look left Dok’s face and was replaced with surprised relief. “Well, first let’s get you tested,” she said, caution in her voice. “If you really are a match for Izzy, you might just save her life.”

When Luke heard those last few words of Dok, he passed Katy Ann to Dok, swooped his head down between his knees as the room swirled around him. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, he told himself, sucking in big gulps of air. Breathe in, breathe out, slow and steady.

How could life change so fast? Just a few hours ago, Izzy was in the kitchen at Windmill Farm, grating carrots to put in a cake, telling him her mother was coming to dinner. Just an ordinary moment in an ordinary day.

How in the world could life change so fast?

Grace. Luke had completely forgotten to call Izzy’s mother until Fern showed up at the hospital to take Katy Ann home and asked if Grace was on her way. He whacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. Not again! He was always forgetting about Grace. That wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. She’d made progress over this last year, and he, of all people, should be acknowledging and encouraging her. As soon as Fern left, he found a pay phone and started to dial, then paused. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal phone, eyes stinging.

As a deacon, he’d delivered some very difficult messages to families. Being the bearer of bad tidings was part of the job, but it wasn’t easy for him. He could never sleep well after he brought someone a death message, or some other sorrowful news. Participating in a family’s grief, or walking through their anxiety about the unknown future—it was gut wrenching. And afterward, he never failed to wish he had a more graceful way to deliver bad news. David had reassured him, had told him that there was no ideal way to say what had to be said, or if there was, he had yet to find it.

Still. How do you tell a mother that her daughter was in surgery? That her life might be in danger? It wasn’t like Grace had been much of a mother to Izzy, but she was making amends. Grace was clean and sober, and she was a doting grandmother to Katy Ann. She and Izzy were more comfortable with each other than they’d ever been. But there was no evidence of faith in her life, and as Luke sucked in a deep breath, he realized that even in this situation, he needed to be a deacon. A servant of the Lord. Even to Grace Mitchell Miller.

Oh God, please give me the words, he prayed. Control my tongue. Let me say just enough, but not too much. Let me be strong, let my voice not wobble, let me be a light to Grace.

He dialed again, and waited for her to answer. “Grace,” he said, “it’s Luke. Something has happened this afternoon. To Izzy.”

He heard her gasp. “What do you mean? What’s happened? Is it the baby?”

Luke paused, winced. Izzy had told Grace she was having a baby? But not him. That stung. That really stung. Not now, he felt the Lord instruct. Be the deacon. “She’s had a miscarriage. I’m down at the hospital. Could you come down? Tonight?” He paused. This was hard to say. “I’m sure she’d like her mother with her.”

For a long moment, he heard nothing, and then he realized she was crying. Finally, through a voice choked with tears, Grace said, “Tell my baby girl I’ll be right there.”

“Grace.”

“What? What else?”

“Pray.”

“I will.” The words were barely a whisper.

As Luke turned the corner in the hospital, he saw orderlies wheel Izzy’s gurney down the hall and ran to catch up with her. As he walked alongside the gurney toward the doors that led to the surgical center, he held her hand and squeezed. Izzy’s eyes flickered open, then focused on his face.

“It was going to be your birthday surprise,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. She swallowed, once, twice, before saying, “But I lost the baby.”

“But our baby isn’t lost,” Luke whispered to her, eyes filling up. “Not lost at all. Our baby is safely in God’s presence.”

And then he had to let her go as she was wheeled into surgery.