18
The next morning, rain pelted the window of my bedroom as I dressed for church. When a weather alert on my phone chimed, I suspected it was a flash flood. I was wrong. It was a tornado in Chester County. I wondered if David had gone home last night. Most likely so.
Shortly before Stephen was going to pick me up, a woman from Mennonites Serve called, asking if I could be at the Mennonite church in north Lancaster, where we’d had the orientation, in half an hour. “We have a van leaving for Chester County,” she said. “There have been casualties, including in the Amish community.”
“Of course,” I said, although I suspected any seriously injured people would have already been taken to the hospital by the time we got there. However, I also knew that stress-related illness increased after a tragedy, particularly panic attacks and heart attacks, plus there were always related accidents.
I called Stephen and told him not to pick me up for church.
“What about dinner?” he asked.
“We’ll have to reschedule,” I said, wriggling out of my dress. I’d wear jeans, a sweatshirt, and my hiking boots. “I may be back tonight but at least by tomorrow. I’ll call and let you know.”
I went ahead and put a change of clothes in my backpack, along with a few apples and oranges, granola bars, and a couple bottles of water. I’d taken the next day off work to unpack, so that meant I could stay overnight, if needed. I added my stethoscope to my bag and tied my sleeping bag to the bottom. Then I hurried to my car and drove north toward the church.
As I parked, an older Amish woman climbed out of a car in front of me. As she turned, I realized it was Aenti Suz.
I grabbed my backpack, jumped out of my car, pulled the hood of my coat over my head, and ran toward her as the rain pelted us both. “What in the world are you doing here?”
She smiled when she saw me. “I’ve been wanting to do something more to help others. I signed up about a year ago, but this is the first time I’ve gotten a call. Milton heard the phone while he was finishing up the milking. I hadn’t left for church yet, so I called a driver to bring me here.”
We climbed into the back of the nearly full van. The others quickly introduced themselves to us. There was a paramedic, a carpenter, a psychologist, another nurse, and a retired doctor, all of whom were Mennonite. There was also an Amish farmer and an Amish man who did small engine repair. The leader of our group was the woman who did my orientation. As the driver started up the van, our leader explained that we would be headquartered at a Mennonite church near Coatesville and would be joining a team from that area in serving those affected by the tornado.
I asked Aenti Suz if David went home the night before.
She nodded. “He hired a driver to take him back to his farm.”
“Where exactly does he live?”
“In the heart of Chester County, so near where we’re headed. Hopefully the tornado didn’t tear through his farm.”
I nodded in agreement.
When we arrived at the Mennonite church, located on the edge of town, it was abuzz with activity. Several buses were parked in the lot, and people milled around, many of them disheveled and clearly traumatized. We quickly helped unload the supplies into the fellowship hall and then met with the facilitator for assignments. Aenti Suz would stay at the church to feed those who were arriving in the buses—mostly women, children, and the elderly, a mix of Plain and Englisch. The other nurse, the doctor, the psychologist, and I would all go to a location along the swath of the tornado.
Hundreds of houses had been damaged and destroyed, along with schools, businesses, and vehicles. Thankfully the tornado had hit before both Plain and Englisch families left for church, so there weren’t many people on the road. Unfortunately, some people were still in bed when it hit and had missed the warning. Incredibly, only one death had been reported so far, and all of those seriously injured had been transported to the hospital. But there were people with minor injuries and those who were feeling shaky who needed to be examined.
The rain had completely stopped and rays of sunlight were coming through the clouds as we left the church. The nurse next to me asked if I was nervous. I told her I wasn’t, and for a moment I felt my old confidence returning. But then I remembered the man in the diner. What if someone had chest pains?
At least there would be other medical professionals to help.
It was obvious when we’d reached the swath of the tornado. First we saw a car on its side in a field. Then a fence that had been ripped in two. Paper was scattered everywhere. Tree after tree after tree was uprooted. A house was missing its roof and one exterior wall. We could see right inside where the rain-soaked belongings were in a chaotic display for everyone to view.
I’d seen photos and videos of the aftermath of tornadoes and the training I took covered the topic, but nothing prepared me for the destruction all around. I felt a tightness in my chest at the sights and couldn’t imagine what the people who’d actually gone through it were feeling. My confidence waned more as adrenaline surged through my system.
We reached a sheriff’s blockade. After the driver explained our mission, we were allowed to proceed. Ahead, firefighters used chainsaws to cut a tree that was lying halfway across the road. They paused as our driver steered the van over to the narrow shoulder and around the tree.
We passed a house with several Amish men out front, one who carried a large blue tarp in his hands. A corner of the house had been torn away, and the roof was collapsing. Clothes, food, books, furniture, and toys, along with chunks of window frames and glass, were strewn across the yard. A girl stood at the edge of the house, holding a little boy’s hand.
Just past that property, we pulled up to an Amish school. Amazingly, the tornado hadn’t touched it. We quickly climbed out and unloaded our supplies, including the bottles of water, brown-bag lunches, fruit, and snacks that had been packed at the church. The door was open, and we could see people inside. Outside, on the edge of the building, a canopy had been set up. We took the food and water there, where others would distribute them, and then headed inside.
Desks had been pushed to the front, along the chalkboard, and chairs were grouped around the open space of the schoolroom. There were several elderly people in the very front, where a man and a woman in Red Cross vests were assisting them. To the side was an Amish woman with a boy and a girl with no one attending them. As I stepped toward them, the man in the Red Cross vest at the front of the school turned toward me. I froze.
It was Nick, the last person in the world I expected to see in Chester County.
I concentrated on the Amish kids, chatting with them in Pennsylvania Dutch, totally ignoring Nick. He’d seen me. And it was obvious he was just as surprised as I was.
The children and their mother lived in the house next to the school, the one with the collapsing roof. The family had gotten into the basement before the tornado hit, but afterward the oldest boy had been scraped by a branch on the side of his face, and the little girl had tripped and skinned her knee. I asked about the girl and boy back at the house.
“Jah,” the woman said. “That’s our oldest and youngest.”
The woman was worried about her husband, afraid he’d go into the house and try to salvage as many belongings as possible. I assured her that all of the men, as well as her other daughter and son, were away from the house when we drove by.
“We’ll need to stay somewhere else,” she said. “Perhaps with my in-laws.”
I nodded. In the Plain community, there wouldn’t be much need for assistance with housing.
The woman nodded toward the elderly man who Nick was attending to. “That’s our neighbor. He doesn’t have any children around, or other relatives. Where will he stay?”
I assured her that the Red Cross would make sure he was housed, perhaps in a hotel.
She sighed. “That’s too bad. If our house wasn’t so damaged, we’d have him stay with us.”
I patted her hand and then cleaned up her son’s scraped face first and then her daughter’s skinned knee. As I worked, I tried to get them to talk more about what the tornado was like for them.
“I’d heard before that it sounds like a roaring freight train,” the woman said. “That’s exactly right. We could hear it even though we were in the basement. We only went down there because our neighbor warned us.” The woman nodded toward the older man again.
“He came with us,” the little boy added.
That warmed my heart, thinking of all of them huddled together.
After I was done, I checked with our van driver to see if he could take the woman and children to her in-laws, along with the two other kids, if the roads were passable.
The psychologist who was with us spoke with the elderly man once Nick was finished with him. I moved on to another Amish group who’d just come in—a middle-aged woman and her elderly parents. The father was having chest pains, which had started about an hour ago.
Nick must have overheard because he said an ambulance was on its way back to the school. “But call 9-1-1 and tell them what’s going on so they can inform the paramedics before they arrive.”
I thanked him and made the call. Then I took the man’s blood pressure. 165/110. Definitely high. His pulse was rapid too. I opened the collar of his shirt and asked him if he had a history of heart disease. He said he had periodic angina and took nitroglycerin for it, but he didn’t have any with him. It was in his house, which was unsafe to enter. I assured him the paramedics would have nitroglycerin tablets or spray with them.
The paramedics arrived ten minutes later and transported the man to the hospital as a precaution. I sighed in relief. I moved on to an Englisch woman who’d been driving through the area when the tornado touched down. She had a couple of cuts on her face and hands from when the windows of her car broke.
The day continued with all of us doing triage. I felt shaky on the inside as I helped person after person, but I also felt stronger. Houses and barns could be replaced. These lives were precious—I thanked God for each one.
When Nick was attempting to treat an Amish woman who was quite upset, he asked for my help. “I think maybe she’ll feel more comfortable talking with you.”
I found out the woman was a widow without any children and had been staying at her sister’s house when the tornado struck. Her sister and brother-in-law were both injured and taken to the hospital. She was concerned about them and didn’t know what to do.
I called the hospital, got her through to her sister, and they spoke on the phone. She started to cry. After she finished the conversation, I asked if she had a place to stay for the night. She said that the Dawdi Haus on the property hadn’t been damaged, and she’d go back there so she could do the chores and tend to the animals. I then sent her out to the canopy to get a brown-bag lunch and told her we’d arrange for a ride for her.
After the woman left, Nick asked me how I was doing. “Fine,” I said. “How about you?”
His root-beer-colored eyes grew large. “This is wild. I’ve never done anything like it. I’m so sorry for the circumstances, but I feel privileged to be able to help.”
I totally agreed.
“We’ve been invited to step into one of the worst days of these people’s lives,” he said, his eyes growing even more intense. “Just like with nursing.”
Not the nursing I did, I thought. I only stepped into viruses, infections, scrapes and bruises, and every once in a while, a broken bone. I changed the topic. “How’d you get up here so fast?”
“I’m home for a couple of days and left as soon as I got a call this morning. I signed up with the Red Cross last year.”
“How was officer training?” I asked.
“Good,” he answered. “I think it’s a good fit. I’ll apply for more schooling soon—probably next year.”
“Do you plan to make a career out it?”
He shrugged. “It’s too soon to know. Right now, I’m focused on getting my loans paid off and giving back enough to make it worth it to the Air Force to invest in me.”
I tried to smile.
“How about you?” he asked. “Autumn and Paisley told me you passed your boards. Where are you working?”
I sighed before I could stop myself. I smiled to try to make up for it and then told him about the clinic.
“That’s great,” he said. “What are your long-term plans?”
I shrugged.
“Are you going to apply at a hospital? Go back to school?”
I shook my head.
“Leisel.” He reached out to me, but I stepped back. His arm fell to his side. “What’s wrong?”
I managed to smile. “Nothing,” I answered. “Everything’s fine.”
An Amish woman with a baby in her arms and a toddler by her side approached us, giving me the perfect excuse to step away from Nick—again.
Nick left before I did, without saying good-bye. I thought my broken heart had healed, but maybe not. But knowing Stephen was waiting for me made me feel a little better.
As I rode with the others in the van back to the church, I figured Nick had headed back to Lancaster County. But when our group returned to the Mennonite Church, his old Chevy pickup was parked out front.
I groaned, imagining Aenti Suz had been thrilled to see him. Perhaps she was serving him dinner and asking about everything he’d been doing since she last saw him. I considered waiting in the van until he left, but then our leader opened the door and instructed us all to go inside.
“The driver will be taking a group back to Lancaster in an hour, but if anyone can spend the night and work tomorrow we’d really appreciate it.”
“I can,” I said.
“Great!” she said. “Your aunt said she’d stay too.”
We followed her into the church and back to the fellowship hall, where both volunteers and displaced people were seated at the tables. Sure enough, Aenti Suz was sitting across from Nick. I could have ignored Nick—but not my Aenti.
As I approached, she appeared weary but smiled and pointed at Nick. “Look who’s here!”
I nodded. “We saw each other out in the field.”
She smiled even wider. “What a surprise!”
I agreed. “How are things going here?”
“Good. We arranged rides for all of the Plain people who needed to get to relatives’ houses and worked with the Red Cross to find lodging for others who are displaced. Plus, we fed everyone who came through.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “And now I need to feed the two of you.”
I started to follow her.
She quickly put a hand on my shoulder. “No, you stay here. I’ll be right back with two plates of spaghetti.”
Nick and I stared at each other for a moment after she left. Then we both spoke at the same time.
I shook my head. “You go ahead.” There wasn’t really anything I wanted to say to him. I just felt uncomfortable with the silence, which was unlike how I used to feel around him.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I just wanted to say that it’s really nice to see you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I have to admit I was shocked to see you.”
We stared at each other again, and then, thankfully, Aenti Suz arrived with our food.
The smell made my mouth water. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Spaghetti with meat sauce, salad, and garlic bread hit the spot. Nick and I both bowed our heads to pray silently, and then a couple of minutes later, Aenti Suz returned with a plate for herself and three bottles of water.
As we all dug into our food, my phone dinged. Stephen. I quickly texted him that I’d call in a few minutes.
Aenti Suz asked Nick where he was headed next.
“Dover Air Force Base,” he answered. “I’ll be working at a hospital, in the ICU.”
“Do you plan to travel while you’re there?”
He nodded. “Washington, DC. New York City. I might take the train up to Boston. Maybe even Maine. My family didn’t travel when I was growing up, so I’m looking forward to seeing as much as I can now.”
I tried to hide a wince. When we were dating, we used to talk about traveling together.
“Will you serve overseas?” Aenti Suz asked.
He smiled. “I hope so. I know of people who have served in Italy and, of course, in the Middle East too.”
I felt shaky inside again. Would he be close to any of the major conflicts?
“Well,” Aenti Suz said, “it sounds as if you are at the beginning of a great adventure.”
He nodded, although his expression fell a little and he grew quiet.
“Are you staying tonight?” Aenti Suz asked. “Or heading back to your folks?”
“I’m going to stay the night. How about the two of you?”
“I am,” Aenti Suz said.
I wished with all of my heart I hadn’t committed to staying. “I am too,” I answered as I stood. “Excuse me. I need to make a phone call.”
After dumping my plate in the garbage and putting my empty bottle in the recycling, I slipped out the side door of the fellowship hall. I dialed Stephen’s number and turned west toward the setting sun. He was home, just hanging out. I explained what I’d done all day.
“Are you headed back tonight?”
“No,” I answered. “Tomorrow. Probably in the evening.”
“There’s that big of a need?”
“Yes,” I answered. “The damage is really bad. Besides the loss of homes and outbuildings, we had people coming in with minor injuries and stress-related complaints all day.”
“But all pretty insignificant complaints?”
“Well, not to them,” I answered. Nor to me either.
“All right,” he said. “Text me tomorrow and let me know what time you think you’ll be back.”
I assured him I would.
When I returned to the fellowship hall, both Nick and Aenti Suz were gone. I found her in the kitchen washing pots and pans, and I stepped in to help.
“It’s so nice to see Nick,” she said. “What a coincidence that he’s here.”
“He seems to be doing well.”
I nodded again. He did, and I was happy about that. But my heart hurt. Even though I was pleased to be helping people, I would have never chosen to be around Nick, especially not in this sort of setting. It brought out the best in him, and it was hard to be reminded of the relationship we had.
After we finished the dishes, Aenti Suz and I stepped back into the fellowship hall. Nick was back, deep in conversation with a middle-aged Englisch man wearing overalls and a baseball hat. Nick was listening and nodding his head from time to time.
Another stab of pain sliced my heart.
“Want to go for a walk?” Aenti Suz asked, following my gaze. “Before we settle down for the night?”
“I would,” I answered. “If you feel up to it.”
“I do. I feel both weary and wired at the same time. I think a walk will do me good.”
I knew exactly how she felt. “You can tell me the rest of Dawdi Joe’s story.”
She shook her head. “There’s not much left to tell.”
“What do you mean? I don’t even know which Martha was my grandmother—the nurse or the young widow.”
“Oh goodness,” Aenti Suz said. “I did leave you in the lurch, didn’t I?”
“And there’s more after that. I want to hear about you and Dat as children and your growing-up years. And your relationship with Jake. I want to hear everything you’re willing to tell me.”
Aenti Suz sighed and opened the door, and we stepped out into the warm evening. I turned on the flashlight app on my phone and led the way down a side street.
After a long moment, Aenti Suz said, “I can tell you what I remember. I’m not sure if it’s what you want to hear or not.”
I couldn’t imagine there was anything I wouldn’t want to hear. “Please, just tell me the rest of the story, as it happened.” I shone the light on the sidewalk ahead of us and matched my stride to my aunt’s as I said, “Faith had just greeted Joe on the porch, exclaiming that God had answered their prayers to bring him home, and telling him that their Dat was close to the end.”