Saloma glanced at the clock on the wall for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. What was taking Mamm and Dat so long? They should have been home over an hour ago. Perhaps they’d been held up by traffic. Jah, that was it. She was sure of it.
Nobody had been expecting Dat to fall out of his chair this morning. Not her, not Mamm, and certainly not Dat himself. Saloma and Mamm had been in the kitchen, preparing scrapple and eggs for breakfast, when they heard a loud thump on the hardwood floor. Both of the women rushed into the living room the moment they’d heard the noise, knowing that Dat wouldn’t have allowed the kinner to horseplay inside. There had to be something wrong.
Unfortunately, their instincts had been correct. Saloma attempted to fathom the scene playing out before her eyes. Dat lay on the floor helpless, like a brand new kid wrapped in its mother’s sac, waiting to be rescued from impending death. He clenched his arm and his disillusioned eyes met Mamm’s. Saloma recognized fear in Dat’s solemn gaze, something she’d never experienced in all her growing up years. Dat had always been strong and confident – a leader of his meager tribe of eight maed. Dat had never been blessed with sons, and Saloma often wondered whether he regretted that fact. Had tending the farm alone been too much of a burden for him?
Another five minutes passed and still no word from Mamm. Was Dat still breathing, or had he passed on to Glory? Sometimes, the unknown almost seemed worse than the actual knowing of a matter. If Dat were to pass on, she’d be the one Mamm would rely on for strength, but she was unsure she could provide it. Her own heart would need mending if she were to be of help to anybody.
But she wouldn’t think of that now. No, Dat was still alive. He had to be.
Pray. Pray hard.