18

Jesse sat by his dad’s hospital bed in the emergency room, feeling rather shaken up. It was disturbing to see tubes and wires connected to his dad, to see him lying in a bed wearing a flimsy hospital gown. He never thought of his father as . . . a mere mortal. It never occurred to him that he could die. Jesse had already lost his mother. What if something happened to his dad? His father was the rock of their family. Jesse wasn’t ready to be the rock. He couldn’t even take care of a puppy. How would he be able to take care of his sisters?

Jesse felt the wind knocked out of him, as if someone had punched him in the stomach, really hard. There’s a word for this, he thought: despair. It happened to everyone, but you felt it alone. Disconsolate. Wretched. Despondent. A shocking loss that couldn’t be shared.

He thought of others who had faced this kind of terrible grief—Yardstick Yoder, for one. Maybe, he looked up at the ceiling, if God would heal his father, Jesse would spend a little time getting to know Yardstick and turn him from his life of crime. Take him hunting, for example, or teach him something about buggy repair. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. “What do you think? Would that be a fair deal?”

His father stirred as he spoke that prayer aloud, his eyes fluttered open, then closed again.

What would his father think about trying to make a bargain with God? Probably, he wouldn’t be in favor of it. But Jesse had always loved bargains, deal making, gambling. He hoped God would be a little understanding, given the dire circumstances. There were examples in the Bible of men brashly striking a bargain with God—Abraham, for one, when he tried to negotiate God’s peace for Sodom, a corrupt city where his nephew Lot lived. Barren Hannah, who pleaded with God for a son and promised to give him to God’s service. There were others too.

Wouldn’t his father be pleased to know that Jesse actually listened to his sermons?

The curtain pulled back and in came Birdy. She bent down to wrap an arm around Jesse’s shoulder and give him a squeeze, awkward but tender, then sat in the chair next to him. “Has the doctor told you what the problem is?”

Jesse shook his head. “Not yet. They’ve run some tests. Nurses keep coming in and out to check on him.”

“So all you know is that he collapsed at the ministers’ meeting?”

“That, and he’s in a lot of pain, so they gave him something to knock him out.” He glanced up at her. “How’d you get in here?”

Birdy grinned. “There’s a very large amount of people in the waiting room. Your grandmother and your cousin Abigail made a few suggestions to the nurses about how to improve the efficiency of the waiting room, which made the nurses rather upset, voices were raised, and I found the hullaballoo created an ideal diversion to slip in.”

Jesse lifted his thumb in the air. “Smart move, Birdy.” He looked down at his dad. In a whispered voice that shamed him with its cracking, he said, “Birdy, is he going to die?”

Birdy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, almost amusement, but she answered him in all seriousness. “Goodness, no. Look at how strong and steady his heartbeat is on the monitor. And notice how normal his color is, how steady and regular his breathing. Those machines are a little frightening, but we don’t need them to see for ourselves that he’s going to be all right.” She patted Jesse’s knee. “Your father has had a lot of stress in the last few months. I suspect his body is trying to tell him he’s had enough.”

His father shifted in bed, woken by their voices. His eyes fluttered open. “Birdy? Jesse?” His gaze covered the room, then he made a vague upward gesture with one hand and slowly lifted himself up on one elbow. “Help me get out of here.”

Birdy laughed. “Not quite yet, David.” She leaned toward Jesse. “See? His stubborn streak is already up and going. He’ll be fine.”

A doctor came in, a woman in a white coat, her strawberry blonde hair held tightly in a bun, reading through his chart. “The test results from the scope came back in. Looks like you’ve got yourself a peptic ulcer, Mr. Stoltzfus. We’re going to give you some medicine that should help and put you on a very bland diet. Very bland. If you cooperate, you’ll be just fine.”

An ulcer! That wasn’t the ticket to a fast death that Jesse had feared. He turned to his father, expecting to see great relief on his face. An ulcer . . . not great but manageable. His father didn’t seem to be absorbing the good news. He was staring at the doctor with a stricken look on his face.

“Ruth?”

The doctor looked up from the chart, then inhaled a tight gasp of air. “David?”

Again, the curtain was yanked back and Mammi burst into the room. “Will someone please explain what is wrong with my son? David, you’re finally awake.” She noticed Birdy. “Birdy Glick! How in the world did you get in here? I was told family only!”

Birdy jumped to her feet. In her haste, her elbow knocked over David’s breakfast tray. Jesse felt as if he was watching everything in slow motion: Utensils clattered to the ground, a cup of water splattered on the wall.

All eyes moved to Mammi. And lingered there. Everyone’s back seemed to stand a little straighter.

The doctor broke the silence. “Hello, Mother.”

It had been a long day. Uncle David could be released from the hospital as soon as the pharmacist filled the prescriptions, and most everyone who had arrived to stand vigil, with the exception of Abigail, Jesse, and Mammi, had to get home to care for children or livestock. Impatient, Abigail took it upon herself to retrieve the drugs rather than wait for them to be delivered, and was appalled at the inefficiency of the pharmacist. An elderly, bespectacled man, he moved as if his feet were bogged in quicksand. She found it helpful to stand at the counter rather than sit in a plastic chair and watch every move the pharmacist made—he seemed to move faster under her keen observation, though it was alarming to see his hands tremble.

By ten o’clock, they were in a taxi and on their way home. At last! Uncle David was weak with relief, grateful but subdued, exhausted by the day. He went straight to bed when they arrived home. Mammi and Abigail followed suit.

Abigail wore socks to bed because the night seemed unusually cold, and was almost asleep when she heard an odd sound—ping!—like hail hitting the window. She listened for a moment but only heard Laura’s whiffling snore, so she rolled over to try to go back to sleep.

Ping!

She got out of bed and went to the window to look at the sky. Clouds covered the stars, but there was no hail.

Ping!

A pebble hit the window. She looked down and saw Ruthie flapping her arms. She waved to her and Ruthie flapped twice as fast. Something was wrong. She grabbed her robe and hurried down the stairs to open the door. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you having a seizure? Shall I call for an ambulance?” The thought of two hospital visits in one day was horrifying, but . . . she was here to help her uncle’s family. And sweet molasses!, did they ever need help. It was one problem after another.

“A seizure? What are you talking about?”

“Your arms were flapping uncontrollably.”

“I was trying to get Laura to come downstairs. I didn’t know you were home yet. Someone locked me out.”

“But how could that have happened? You should have gone to bed hours ago. And why were you outside all alone on a cold night?”

Standing rigid, eyes on the ground in front of her, she leaned slightly in her direction. And when she spoke, it was in a whisper. “I wasn’t alone, Gabby.”

She looked outside and saw the Juvenile Delinquent walking down the hill. Oh. Oh!

Ruthie gave her a look. “You won’t tell Mammi or Dad, will you?”

“No.” If Ruthie wanted to keep company with a Juvenile Delinquent, that was her business. “You’d better get upstairs and get to bed.”

“Laura said Dad has an ulcer. That he’ll be okay.”

No wonder Uncle David had an ulcer. Ruthie was a pain in the gut. “Yes. He’s upstairs in bed, sound asleep.” Where I should be. And you.

Relief covered Ruthie’s face, and for a brief moment, she looked like the girl she was. She started up the stairs, then stopped halfway up and turned back. “Thanks, Gabby.”

“Abigail,” she corrected, but Ruthie had already crested the last step and was tiptoeing down the hall to her bedroom.

After several attempts at reading, David finally sighed and returned the book to its place. Simply wanting this day to end, he reached over to turn down the oil lamp . . . and paused.

His thoughts jumbled and raced. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. The ministers’ meeting, the announcement of Freeman’s deception, then . . . the ulcer—an ulcer! What a pathetically weak example he was of a minister.

But God was at work, even in David’s weakness. How else would he have ever known that his sister Ruth was working at the Stoney Ridge Hospital? He laid his head on the pillow. What a remarkable discovery. A memory stone moment, Gabby called it.

And then his mind took another turn: Birdy. It was heartwarming to find her at his side when he woke up in the hospital. It was different from the way he felt with anyone else.

But after he had been released and everyone who had come to keep vigil had left to head home, all except Gabby and his mother, and after Gabby had volunteered to go hurry along the pharmacist to fill the drug prescriptions, his mother read aloud the material the hospital had given him about managing a peptic ulcer. The list of forbidden foods left very little to eat, he noted with dismay. He had a feeling that his future would be filled with beige food: oatmeal, grits, rice. When she came to the last page, his mother let the papers drop in her lap and turned to him. “David, at the next opportunity, you must turn Birdy away. She’s all wrong for you.”

As he had looked at her, his mother’s expression seemed to soften. “It would be the kind thing to do.”

He had no response to give her. Nothing that would be polite.

How could his love life be on the top of her mind on the evening that she had seen her youngest daughter for the first time in years?

It was a pity that his mother had no husband. If she had, then maybe she would be spending her concern on his behalf instead of trying to manage her son.

David let out a long sigh, turned out the light, and then settled farther into bed. Still, sleep refused to come. Needing a lift in his spirits, he turned to an unfailing remedy. Aloud, in the pitch black of the night, he repeated Psalm 23 over and over, his mind focusing on each phrase of the beloved psalm, until sleep finally overcame him: “The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”

Abigail woke early, bundled into her coat, and stepped out on the porch. Snow! Uncle David’s hillside looked like it had been dusted with powdered sugar by a heavy-handed baker. Each of her breaths did a smoky dance before her. All was so quiet she could hear the soft whisk of a sparrow hawk as it circled overhead. The kitchen window threw a soft light onto the frosty lawn. This house, she realized, didn’t feel unfriendly anymore.

Ruthie came outside to join her. She slurped loudly on her cup of tea. “Have you always been the way you are?”

“Yes. How?”

“Bold. Audacious. Impudent.”

“I’m not trying to be bold or audacious or impudent.” But she was impressed with Ruthie’s vocabulary. She sat down in the chair and rubbed her elbows.

“Then . . . let’s call it . . . confident. Sure of yourself.”

Curious. “I don’t think of myself as all that confident.”

“You sound confident when you talk back to Mammi.”

“I don’t talk back to her.”

“Sure you do. Like the other night, when she asked if you might be growing fond of Ora Nisley and you said that would be impossible.”

“I was simply answering her question.” Abigail looked out at the snow. “Is that so wrong?”

“I was raised so you don’t talk back to elders.” She frowned. “Sometimes I ache to talk back to Mammi.”

“Maybe it’s not about talking back. Just talking honestly.” Recently, Laura had observed that Ruthie was coy, sneaky, indirect. Unlike Molly, who was willing to tell everybody everything, Ruthie was more circumspect. Laura said Ruthie had more on her mind than she would say. That was an example of Laura’s insights about people. Abigail had just assumed Ruthie was permanently sulky.

Ruthie swirled the rest of the tea in her mug. “Has it ever occurred to you that your dad might be depressed because Mammi wore him down?”

This woke Abigail up. “Wore him down?”

“Yes. Think about it. He was the oldest when his father died, but just a boy himself. Imagine how much Mammi expected out of him! Work at the store, mind the younger children, behave himself, be an example to others. Why, I wonder if he ever had a childhood. Work, work, work. No fun, no joy. Just endless expectations.”

Like Thistle, the first horse Dane Glick trained. He had told Abigail that Thistle’s first master was too hard on her, and the horse finally gave up. She had never understood why her father was the way he was, but maybe Ruthie’s perspicacious assessment was correct. He just gave up. That, Abigail thought, explained a lot.

“Did you know we have another aunt? She’s not Amish, so she’s never spoken of.”

Abigail did know. “She was at the hospital last night.”

“What?!”

“Yes. Apparently, she’s an emergency room doctor.”

“Did you talk to her? Has she been in Stoney Ridge all this time? She hasn’t tried to find us?”

“There wasn’t time for much of a conversation. She was called away to another patient.”

“What did she look like?”

“It was a motorcycle accident.” Abigail shuddered. “Very bloody. Very grisly.”

“Not the patient! Dad’s sister.”

“Oh. She looks like . . . well, like a female version of your father.” And mine.

“Did you find out anything about her? Anything at all?”

“Let me think. She’s new to Stoney Ridge. Took the job just last month, in fact. She said she’s still living in boxes, but she didn’t happen to say where those boxes resided.” Abigail rubbed her elbows, feeling chilled. “I suspect your father will make an effort to contact her once he’s back on his feet.”

“Her name is Ruth,” she said softly.

“Like you.”

Ruthie nodded. “I can’t imagine anything would ever have stopped my mom or dad from acknowledging me. Even if I didn’t get baptized. But Mammi would shun me like that.” She snapped her fingers. “She’s sure she’s right about everything. She might have been a preacher if the job was open to women. Instead she just preaches at me and anybody else who will stand still five minutes.”

Abigail could not disagree with that assessment of their grandmother. Mammi never used five words when she could use thirty. “She does like to parcel out advice.”

“Everything sounds like a lecture, not advice. I can never usually make out the point of what she tries to say.”

You learn. Abigail got up slowly, legs a little numb from being motionless so long.

“Gabby, I don’t think I want to be Amish.”

Ruthie never ceased to surprise her. “Is that something you need to decide this morning?”

“I guess not. It’s just that . . . I want to do something with my life. Something big, like Aunt Ruth did. I want my life to start.”

Mammi rapped on the kitchen window and motioned for them to come inside, impatience writ large on her face.

“I guess it’s time to get ready for church.” Ruthie tossed the tea out onto the snow and it made a mark. The first mark on the powdered sugar landscape. “Thanks again for last night’s rescue, Gabby.”

“Call me Abigail, please,” but Ruthie was already inside by the time she finished the last word of her sentence.

During the night, several inches of snow had fallen. David knew that Birdy would be out walking on this morning, the first true and lasting snowfall of the year. She liked to make the first tracks through the top crust, to fully appreciate the stark beauty of this annual event.

Emily, Lydie, and Molly peeked into his room to see if he was awake. He motioned to them, and they lunged toward him in a fierce, possessive hug. He looped his arms around them. “I’m fine, girls. Just fine.”

Ruthie came into his room with a cup of something steaming from it. “You girls go and get ready for church.” As they clambered off his bed, she handed him the cup. “This is from Mammi.”

Ah, coffee! David took a sip and nearly spit it out. “What is it?” It tasted like fresh-cut grass.

“Chamomile tea. It’s the first day of your new diet.”

David set it down. “No coffee?”

“Never again.”

David cringed. This new diet was going to take getting used to. He felt a vague sense of deprivation, then chided himself for such thoughts. Had he kept going through his wife’s passing, his church’s corruption, and all that happened in between, only to be felled by a bleeding ulcer?

“So how are you feeling?”

“Not so bad.”

“You gave Molly and the twins a scare last night.”

And you, David thought. He could see relief ease over her face. “Merely an overreaction.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.” She ran a finger along the night table by his bedside. “I forgot to tell you that Birdy’s strategy seemed to work.”

“What strategy is that?”

“Making cookies for the boy who teased Molly. Each day, Molly has left cookies on his desk.” She snapped her fingers. “Voilà. It worked. They’re not even calling her names any longer.”

“Luke Schrock didn’t have anything to do with it, did he?”

“Nope. I decided to take your advice and give Birdy a chance to solve the problem her way.” She rose to her feet. “Mammi is making you some kind of pasty-looking food. I can bring it up to you before we leave for church.”

“No. I’ll come down.”

“Mammi said you are not to leave this bed.”

He gave her a weak smile. “I’m feeling fine today. Truly I am.”

Ruthie hesitated at the doorjamb. “Gabby said that my aunt Ruth was working in the emergency room.”

“Yes.” David watched his daughter for a long moment, knowing she had been working up to this. “It was quite a surprise to wake up and find her at the foot of my bed. Then she was called away and I didn’t see her after that. But I’ll follow up.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely. Nothing happens by chance. There’s a reason I was in the emergency room last night.” He looked at the weak, watery tea. If God used a stomach ulcer to get him into the hospital at just the right moment to cross paths with his missing sister, then he had found something to be thankful for over it.