TABITHA CAME AWAKE to a sick sensation of pain and the sound of a hoarse voice hollering her name. The sunlight no longer passed through the trees, and she could tell that it was near dusk and especially dark and cold where she lay.
She tried to answer back, filling her air with lungs to call “Help!” in the strongest voice she knew, but it seemed no match for the waters of the creek. She tried again, this time screaming as if her life depended on it. The cry ricocheted through her, and she sobbed aloud at the echoing pain in her ankle.
“Tabitha!”
She turned her head to see John splashing through the creek, racing to get to her.
“Ach, John.” She couldn’t help crying.
He knelt on the ground beside her and gently took her hand. “Tabitha—oh, praise Derr Herr. Where are you hurt?” She noticed his arms were shaking, and her eyes filled with tears. Ach, he’s so worried for me, perhaps he—
“My right ankle,” she sobbed.
“We’ve got to get you out of this creek or you’ll catch pneumonia for sure. You’re already shaking like a leaf.”
He released her hand and moved back into the creek. She bit her lip as he knelt in the water near her ankle.
He looked up, and she saw both the fear and determination in his dark blue eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m going to have to hurt you to help you.”
Sweetheart? He called me sweetheart—and then he lifted her legs, supporting her ankle, and she fainted once more.
John had thanked the men who had come with Rob, bearing lanterns, to lead him back out of the forest as he carried the still unconscious Tabitha in his arms. He had felt odd holding her with Rob walking by his side, but his friend had made no offer to carry her. John had feared that she might awake and see Rob and then be confused, but she stayed deeply out, so much so that he thought they should take her to the hospital. But once they got to Tabitha’s house, they found Frau Ebersol, the local healer, waiting on the porch.
“Her ankle,” John said to the ancient-looking woman who knew much about herbs and disease, as well as bones and blood. She made no claim to being a doctor and often referred their people to specialists in Lancaster, but now she nodded.
“Take the child into the bedroom downstairs and put her on the bed so I can examine her before she wakes.”
John hastened to obey, not even truly noticing Fram, who hovered on the edge of the bustling movement.
The other community men had gone to their own homes, but Rob went with John and Frau Ebersol into the room.
“I’ll leave,” John said in an undertone to his friend once he’d laid Tabitha on the bed.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Rob whispered back calmly. “It’s your right to be here as the one who loves her. I’ve got to go call Katie. Gut nacht, John.”
“Hey.” John grabbed Rob’s arm. “What about when she wakes up?”
“She has no idea I’m here.” John felt him pull away and was going to stop him when Frau Ebersol called across the room.
“If yer done fiddlin’, I need some help gettin’ her some dry things to wear.”
“I’ll fetch a woman to help you,” he said, shaking his head.
“I jest need ya to run over to her aenti’s auld room and fetch a flannel robe, buwe, not look upon her.”
“Oh—right . . . okay.” He hurried to obey and returned to find Frau Ebersol examining Tabitha’s ankle.
“Not broken . . . badly sprained,” she said finally, looking up at him.
“You’re sure?” John asked.
“Ya.” She gave him a pointed look from her raisin brown eyes. “I be sure.”
John nodded. “I mean no disrespect . . . I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tape up the ankle, then I’ll brew her some tea that’ll ease the pain. I’ve also brought some turmeric capsules for inflammation. You can kumme round tomorrow and pick up a pair of crutches. She’ll be feeling better in a few days, though a bad sprain can often be more painful than a break.”
She lifted what looked like a large flowered carpet bag from a dresser and brought out bandages and medical tape. “Go borrow some dry clothes from Fram, then come back and sit with her. I’ll be about.”
“All right.” John couldn’t help his gaze lingering on Tabitha’s pale face, still beautiful, even in her pain. Then he stalked from the room, determined to be back before she awakened.
Tabitha hovered on the gossamer strands between sleep and consciousness, not really wanting to wake. But then she remembered—John called me sweetheart. She opened her eyes and blinked several times, not quite believing that she saw him sitting next to the bed.
“John?”
He moved with alacrity, sitting up straight and then leaning forward to search her face with his dark blue eyes. “I’ll get Frau Ebersol . . .”
“Nee,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Wait, sei se gut. My ankle—it feels better than when I was in the stream. But how did I get here?”
She watched his dark lashes lower. “I carried you back.”
Tabitha swallowed back sudden tears. “You called me sweetheart.”
He looked at her then, raw emotion and pain darkening his gaze. “I—I wasn’t thinking.”
Some instinct prompted her to not let go of his endearment, even with his reasonable response. “You were thinking . . . I know it, John Miller. You helped me, and you had to think to do that.”
“Tabitha, don’t,” he almost implored.
“But you—”
“Rob’s home.”
“What?” Her voice quavered even to her own ears.
“Rob—he’s back. He helped look for you.”
She was quiet for a long moment, then something occurred to her. She looked directly at him. “Rob searched,” she whispered. “But you—you were the one who carried me?”
“Tabitha, I—” He broke off as Frau Ebersol entered with a cup and spoon, and Tabitha heartily wished the old healer gone for a few moments that she might have heard what John was going to say. But he had moved from the side of the bed and appeared distant once more.
But Tabitha felt a growing confidence inside, a wash of flame and purpose that seemed to come from Derr Herr Himself that told her John had more truth to speak to her—perhaps much more.
She swallowed obediently what Frau Ebersol offered and closed her eyes to pray, then sleep.
John left Tabitha sleeping and was preparing to relax on the couch in the Beilers’ living room when Fram suddenly came down from upstairs. The old man hovered on the edge of the room like some curious specter until John was forced to abandon the idea of rest. He sat up straighter. “You’d like me to be gone, perhaps, sir?” he asked, preparing to do verbal battle to at least stay a few more hours.
But Fram waved away his words. “What? Nee, buwe. . . stay as you like. I—uh—how is she?”
John frowned, remembering that it was Fram’s talk of a hired girl that had driven Tabitha to her knees in the forest. “As well as can be expected—given the circumstances,” he said coldly.
Fram came forward and perched on a chair, almost as if a stranger to the room. “It was my fault,” he admitted after a moment. “Bishop Esch come over and we had a talk. The auld man is wise. A mite wiser than I’ll ever be. He made me see that I owe—uh—Tabby an apology like . . . and that I don’t need this haus or the land.”
“What?” John blinked in surprise.
Fram sighed, rubbing his gnarled hands together. “You see, I got a fine haus and land back in Ohio, but it always rubbed me wrong that Lizzie got to live here first—I talked to her wrong too, Derr Herr have mercy on my soul . . . my own big sister even.”
John was amazed when he heard what sounded like a half sob come from the old man. “So—what are you going to do?”
“Something right, for once.” Fram took out a hankie and blew hard. “I’m leavin’ this haus and land to Tabby and you, to build a fine home on together and raise kinner.”
John shook his head. “But I’m not even—”
“Now, now, no lyin’, buwe. I know the heart you have for my niece. You treat her well in the future, like a woman of honor and spirit—not like some—some hired girl.” Fram got to his feet slowly, as if his admittance had aged his frame further. John rose also, extending his hand in gratitude, even though he knew that he would not share in the house himself.
“I’ll be leavin’ tomorrow, after I’ve told my niece the same as what I’ve said here . . . I—I wish you well, buwe. Pray for me if you think on it.”
“I will,” John promised then watched Fram leave the room for the stairs, his steps slow and ponderous.
John sat back on the couch and ran a tender hand over Rough. “There’s no telling what God can do,” he whispered to the puppy. “No telling.”