Rachel had the buggy rehitched by the time an ambulance pulled into the yard. Ginger spooked at the scream of the siren, prancing in place, her head high, eyes wide.
“Whoa, girl.” She pulled the reins and set the brake. With the horse nervous, she couldn’t leave Ginger alone. She fixed her eyes on the door and waited for a signal from Timothy . . . from anyone. Rachel squeezed her eyes closed and whispered another prayer. “God, please watch over the boppli.”
The screen door creaked and Rachel opened her eyes. Two paramedics wheeled Sadie out on a stretcher. The midwife kept stride, rattling off numbers that meant nothing to Rachel, except when the midwife reported Sadie’s extremely high blood pressure.
The paramedics loaded her sister into the ambulance. Timothy placed one boot on the bumper, ready to board, but a crew member held up his hand and said something Rachel couldn’t hear. Timothy backed away from the closing door.
He ran to the buggy. “Slide over.” He climbed inside and snapped the reins. “God willing, the Thons are home and one of them can drive me into town.”
Rachel opened her mouth to ask why an ambulance was needed but then shut it. Timothy was lost in a pensive stare, praying with his lips moving and eyes open. Something she should be doing. Rachel bowed silently and quoted the Twenty-Third Psalm.
“Denki, God, they’re home,” she said as Timothy pulled into their Englisch friends’ driveway. He stopped Ginger, tossed the reins to Rachel, then jumped out. After a quick rap on the door, it opened.
“Mei fraa—my wife—was taken to the hospital. Can you please drive me there?”
Simon reached into his pocket. Keys jingled in his hand as he started to his truck. “Let’s go.”
Rachel called out, “I’ll bring your mamm and mine.” She doubted Timothy heard her comment as he slammed his door closed.
Mary appeared in the doorway. “Is there an emergency?”
“Jah!” she called. “Sadie was taken to the hospital by an ambulance.”
“I’ll get my keys and drive your family into town.”
Directed to the second-floor waiting room by a hospital staff member, Rachel, Mamm, and Anna King found Timothy alone in the room.
He lifted his head when they entered. “Sadie’s in the operating room.”
Mamm covered her mouth, and Anna placed her arm around Mamm’s shoulder. The two mothers leaned toward each other, pushed together by mutual fear.
Nathaniel unfurled his wings and moved beside Rachel as she eased closer to Timothy.
“What did the dokta say?” Rachel practically held her breath.
“I didn’t understand the fancy words. Something about her blood pressure and toxemia. I didn’t even get to see her before they rushed her to surgery.” He stopped, attempting to get his emotions under control. “They had me filling out paperwork.”
The wait drained all of them. If they spoke at all, it seemed to be more of a mumbling to themselves rather than something important to be heard. Timothy paced, his hand to his bearded chin, eyes cast to the ground, lips still moving in near-silent prayer.
Finally, a white-coated man appeared in the waiting room doorway. “Mr. King?” The doctor stepped into the room and approached Timothy. Everyone froze.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for.” Tangus sprang off the ceiling and landed next to the doctor.
“Jah?”
“You have a daughter,” he pronounced with a grim smile. “Five pounds eleven ounces.”
Tangus spun gleefully. He edged closer to Rachel, but Nathaniel’s protective covering prevented him from sidling up next to her ear.
Mamm and Anna brightened, chattering about the baby being a girl, her weight reasonable for a preemie. “Is she okay?”
Mamm asked. “The boppli. Is she okay?”
“Timothy, didn’t you hear? It’s a girl.” Rachel touched his arm, but he stiffened. She followed his pinned stare. Her breath caught in her chest. The doctor held her sister’s prayer kapp. Why would he have—
Timothy cleared his throat. “And Sadie?”
The doctor paused, pain and sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.”
Mamm gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
Timothy backed up until he nearly stumbled over a steel chair. He sat and dropped his head into his hands, his head wagging in disbelief.
Rachel’s surroundings blurred. In a slow-motion delay, she moved from Mamm, smothered in Anna King’s embrace, over to Timothy—whitewashed and speechless—over to the doctor, still dangling Sadie’s prayer kapp as if he’d pulled it out of a lost-and-found box.
“What happened?” Rachel’s voice cracked. “She kumm to have a boppli. A baby.”
“You only prayed for the baby, remember? Not your sister. Now she’s dead. If you had prayed for her, things might have been different!” Tangus strutted toward Rachel. “Now what do you think of your God?” His chest inflated and he flexed his wings with pride and self-empowerment.
“My job will be easier now,” he said to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel steadied his hand on his sword and waited for word sent from God.
The doctor stepped into the center of the room. “Mrs. King suffered from a syndrome called HELLP. The toxemia caused her liver to rupture; we couldn’t save her.” He paused, allowing Timothy to soak in the news.
“Suffered. Did you hear him?” Tangus closed his eyes to block the glare radiating from Nathaniel’s iridescent form and weaseled through an opening to get closer to Rachel. “Sadie suffered,” Tangus repeated.
Rachel gasped.
The doctor extended Sadie’s kapp to Timothy.
“Would you like to speak with a member of the clergy staff?”
“Nay.”
Rachel opened her eyes as she heard Timothy’s choked reply. He stared at the prayer kapp, his eyes budding with tears.
“If you have any questions, the nurse can page me.” He waited a moment. “I’m sorry about your loss, Mr. King. I did everything I could to save her.”
Rachel swallowed hard. “What about the baby?”
“The pediatrician is still examining her. The neonatal intensive care unit is located on the third floor.”
Rachel’s numbed senses couldn’t distinguish between the hum of the Coke machine and Mamm’s muffled cry. She already struggled to live without James. How could she possibly live without her sister too? Rachel’s knees weakened. The room spun. Suddenly her legs went limp, and she wobbled before a firm hand caught her and supported her weight. For a brief moment she saw someone whom she conceived in her mind as Jordan.
“Rachel, you better sit down.” Timothy guided her into the cold steel chair.
Mamm slid into the seat beside Rachel. They clung together for what seemed like hours, sobbing.
Jordan paused at the restaurant’s entrance. Since the eatery and the truck stop shared the same building, truck drivers made up the majority of patrons. Among the array of different ball caps, dingy T-shirts, and men with the common trademark of an oil rag tied to their belt loop, finding his father might prove difficult.
He scanned the crowd. One person made eye contact with him, but Jordan ruled him out. The man’s polo shirt didn’t fit what he imagined a trucker would wear.
“Take a seat wherever you can find one,” said the waitress pouring coffee at one of the nearby booths.
“Thank you,” Jordan replied.
The nicely dressed man slid out of his seat and approached.
“Jordan?” He extended his hand.
Jordan stared. They were the same height; the man’s eyes were the same shade of green as his. His hair, although strewn with gray, was wavy like he remembered.
“You look how I imagined,” the man said.
Jordan pulled himself from his surreal trance. “And you . . . ,”
Jordan said, unable to complete his thought even in his own mind. He lifted his hand and grasped his father’s with a firm grip.
“I’m Clint—your father.” He motioned to the booth. “Are you hungry? I haven’t ordered yet.”
Jordan nodded, although he doubted he could eat.
Clint stepped aside to allow another patron to pass through the entrance. “Let’s get out of the walkway and sit so we can talk. It’s good to see you.”
Jordan smiled. For someone who hadn’t tried to make contact over the years, his father sounded genuinely pleased to meet him now. Jordan followed him to the booth and slid onto the seat opposite him. He glanced out the window at the rows of parked trucks. A mix of excitement and panic sped through his veins.
“I took you for a ride when you were about five. Do you remember?”
Jordan tried to dredge up the memory but couldn’t.
“You were young.” He leaned to the side and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He flipped open the bifold and smiled as he removed a photograph and passed it to Jordan.
“You carry a picture of me?” Jordan stared at the old photo of him as a child kneeling on the seat holding the steering wheel. He wished he could remember that day. He wished he could remember a lot of things.
His father looked delighted with the memory. “You couldn’t see over the dashboard.”
“Where did we go?” He handed the picture back.
“You rode with me to fuel up, then we ate lunch in a diner something like this.” He seemed warmed by the memory. “It was only ten miles but we had a great time. You pretended you were the truck driver ‘going far, far away.’ ” Before he replaced Jordan’s photo in the wallet, he paused to look at another picture and Jordan caught a glimpse of his mother’s photograph before his father slipped Jordan’s picture over hers.
His father cleared his throat. “Now look at you. You don’t need a booster seat to reach the table.”
“Nope. Haven’t needed one for a couple of years now.” Jordan felt so off balance. He studied the stranger across the table. “What do you want me to call you?”
His father crossed his arms on the tabletop. “Clint is fine with me.” He winked.