Rebekah closed the space between the crumpled figure and herself quickly. Cold stones fell into her gut when she realized she had found Joseph, lying with his back to her. A halo of thick, scarlet blood circled his head in sickening contrast to the opaque ice on which he fell.
She fell to her knees beside him. Before she could turn him over, a tiny voice in the back of her head gave her pause.
Do not move him! Check his head and his neck before you make him worse!
She could not be certain, but the voice sounded strangely like Katie Knepp’s Her childhood nemesis had married her brother and become her sister-in-law. She also worked in a medical clinic in Old Amarillo, so as much as Rebekah hated to admit it, Katie would know best about these matters.
Rebekah shook her head to clear Katie’s voice from her mind, her black covering strings flouncing wildly about. She touched her husband’s shoulder gently. “Joseph? Can you hear me?”
No answer. Not even a groan.
“Joseph? Oh, please God, no.”
Carefully, Rebekah lay one shaky hand on Joseph’s chest and waited. Hand, do not shake. We need to see if Joseph is breathing, and I cannot tell if you are shaking—
Her hand rose and fell with the shallow rising of Joseph’s chest.
Thank you, God, he is alive.
“What happened to you?” Rebekah asked, mostly to herself. Ever slow, she turned him toward her. She was not prepared for what she saw.
Joseph’s handsome face; the one belonging to her childhood crush, her best friend, her protector, her husband; was unrecognizable. Blood had soaked his face so thoroughly; she could not be certain that he had a face left at all.
“Rebekah, the bopplin is still asleep. I got that clean quilt with no glass on it and put him in the kitchen. He is perfectly—”
Without warning, Thomas appeared behind her.
“Thomas, please do not look.” Rebekah attempted to shield Joseph’s injury from her little brother.
“I already did, Sissy.” Thomas laid a hand on her shoulder. “And I know that this is bad.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
Thomas kept his voice quiet. “Well, have you figured out what is wrong yet so you can tell me what to do?”
She glanced up at her little brudder, suddenly supremely grateful for his sudden appearance. “You are right. First things first. We need to find out where all this blood is coming from.”
“Here.” Thomas sat down and commenced to remove his shoe.
“Thomas?” Rebekah stared at her little brudder. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Trust me.” He peeled off his sock. “It is still wet from jumping in puddles earlier. And from just a little sweat, too.”
He handed the soggy sock to Rebekah, who took it with a tiny smile.
She touched the sock to Joseph’s cheek and began to wipe away the blood. “I know how much this will mean to Joseph when we tell him someday, that we cleaned his face with your wet, dirty sock.”
Thomas ignored the jest. “Look, Sissy.” Thomas peered intently. “Clean there. On his forehead.” Thomas reached over and touched Joseph’s forehead. He jerked his hand back as though he had been bitten by a snake.
“What’s wrong?”
Thomas’s face, normally pink beneath his freckles, suddenly went stark white as the blood drained from his cheeks. “Oh no, Sissy. That is not right. Joseph’s forehead feels…” Thomas hiccupped. “Mushy.”
Rebekah forced a swallow. “Thomas, would you go see to Pepper, please? He is probably spooked from the storm.”
“Jah. I will.”
With Thomas gone, Rebekah steeled her jaw and continued to clean the blood from her husband’s mangled face. “Oh Joseph, what happened to you?”
“Sissy! Come quick!”
Rebekah kept her eyes on Joseph, careful to be gentle in her cleaning. “I cannot right now. What is it?”
“Pepper’s back hoof.”
Rebekah finished cleaning one side of Joseph’s face and started on the other. “What about it?”
“It is bloody.” Thomas’s voice sounded meek. “I think Pepper kicked Joseph.”
Rebekah closed her eyes. When she was a girl, Johann Schmaltz, one of their neighbors had been horse-kicked in the head. She remembered her mother, Elnora, working alongside Mrs. Schmaltz to try and save his life. Mr. Schmaltz suffered shaking spells before vomiting through the night. When the morning’s light came, they discovered he had died sometime in the night. Rebekah had waited for her mother outside the bedroom door, having made herself a little pallet on the floor. Mrs. Schmaltz’s scream when they discovered that her husband had passed haunted Rebekah for many, many nights afterward.
It was still there, somewhere, in the back of her mind, and she heard it as she cleaned her unconscious husband. She tried to disremember it. You have to remain positive. No matter what.
“Thomas?”
“Yes?”
“Did you get Pepper taken care of?”
“I did.”
Finally, Joseph’s face was clean, but Thomas’s sock would never be the same. Sure enough, a hoofprint had sunken in part of his forehead. And worse yet, Thomas was right. It was mushy to the touch.
“Good,” Rebekah managed. “I need you to do something for me.” She sat back on her heels. “I need you to run to Mater and Fater’s house. God willing, Mr. Fogarty Johnson will be there with his leeches for Fater. I need you to get him and fetch him back here. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Sissy.”
Rebekah smiled wanly up at her brother. “Thank you. And do check on Ma and Pa, that they did not get hurt by the twister.”
“Sissy, look out!”
Rebekah turned to see what he was talking about. Joseph seemed to be choking. Thinking quickly, she rolled him toward her just as he began to vomit. Still, he was unconscious. “It is okay, Joseph,” she cooed, in the off chance he could hear her. “I need to get you inside so we can work on getting you well.” She sounded so convincing, that she was shocked when a tear slid down her cheek. “It will be okay, you will see. You are going to be just fine.”
“Do you want me to help you get him inside before I go to Mater and Fater’s?”
“No, you go ahead. I can manage.” Rebekah stood. Vomit streaked her legs. “And Thomas?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” He hesitated as though he wanted to say more. However, he only shifted his weight and ground his hat down on his head. “Remember Sissy, you do not worry. I will be back soon. And when he wakes up, tell Dawson not to worry, either.”
***
As soon as Thomas was out of sight, Rebekah sprang to her feet. “I have to get you inside,” she told Joseph. “With this weather, there is no telling what else is coming. Inside is not perfect right now, but it is certainly safer than out here.”
She swiped her arm across her brow and took in the scene around them. The twister had been close, so close she could hear it and feel it. It had blown out all her downstairs windows, too.
How about the upstairs? It is probably a mess, too, but I will deal with that later. If it was so terrible, how do we still have a standing barn? And fence that is still intact?
She thought back to her prayer. How it flew around in her mind then off her lips, moments before the raging wind simply disappeared. Was that you, God, simply answering a prayer and saving your humble, helpless servant?
A wave of gratitude, so pure and so serene, washed over her with an almost frightful power. You have saved us from that storm, God, so I know we shall weather this storm with Joseph, as well. Danke.
All around her, debris of various sorts that she had not noticed before cluttered the land. Wood, buckets, tree limbs, a wayward wheel. A shriek from inside the house snapped her out of her reverie. My bopplin!
Rebekah remembered vaguely Thomas talking about where he had put him, but she could not call to mind rightly where that was now.
Oh, I hope Thomas put you somewhere safe from all the glass.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she took in the vast expanse of land between where Joseph lay in the corral to the front porch. I did not think this through. But if I do not get Joseph inside before the next storm hits…and out of the ice now… She shivered, partially from her charged nerves and partially from the damp coldness that enveloped her.
“Wait one second, Joseph, I will be right back.” I do not know if he can hear me, but what if he can?
She dashed inside and tried to ignore the mess. First, I must find Dawson. She glanced around and followed the angry cries of her upset bopplin. Sure enough, Thomas had tucked him into a nest of quilts in the kitchen. Thankfully it had not occurred to him to crawl out of the blankets, only to sit and screech.
At seven months, Dawson could expertly roll from front to back and back to front. He could even crawl when he really needed to, but there was only one time he was especially happy. That was when he could find his toes and hang onto them. He had the most musical laugh, too, something straight from heaven, but right now he was alone in a strange room, and even grasping his toes could not make it better. Dawson’s little face was beet red, and his cries were high-pitched and furious.
Rebekah scooped him up and spoke calmly, despite her shaking hands. “Sweet bopplin, shush your cries, you are safe. You are loved,” she cooed. “Your Mater and Fater are here. You are so strong and brave.”
She bounced baby Dawson on her hip and carried him upstairs into his nursery room. “You are going to be angry for a moment, but Mater must sit you in your crib.” Rebekah took care to keep her voice calm and low. Dawson did not need any more excitement to upset him further.
Samuel and Joseph had worked together for three days to build Dawson’s crib, and the craftsmanship was superb. No splinters and the rails were wide enough to allow Dawson to peek through, but not poke any of his body parts through, including his head. Also, the sides were tall, so even when he began pulling up, which should be any day now, he would be safe inside with no fear of falling out.
They had chosen tulip tree wood, which retained its sweet, soft aroma even after it had been molded and worked from a tree into a crib. Rebekah prayed Dawson would remember it always, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, so that the scent of tulip trees and the feel of the smooth wood against his hands would always bring him peace and remind him of home. And of how incredibly loved he had always been, and always would be.
“Into your crib you go, sweet bopplin,” Rebekah cooed. Thankfully, she had left the upstairs windows open this morning. Strangely, none of them were blown out by the sudden, ferocious twister. Interesting. I will remember that from now on. If only I had cracked the downstairs windows, I might still have windows downstairs with no glassy mess to clean.
She haphazardly filed that piece of information away in her mind for use another day as she installed Dawson into his crib. He began to hiccup and “tune up” as she and Joseph called it, the threatening little cries that bespoke a bigger, unhappy cry yet to come, but Rebekah thought fast. She picked up his little family of dolls, all sewn by his grossmammi Elnora, and scattered them around him. He was sitting up, so patting the dolls and picking them up shifted his tune from wanting to be held to wanting to explore the dolls.
Elnora had made the little family of dolls for Dawson when he was a tiny bopplin. Sewn from the cloth of outgrown clothes and dressed like each family member, she had expertly crafted a grossmammi Elnora doll, a grossdaddi Samuel doll, a mater Rebekah doll, a fater Joseph doll, and even an oncle Thomas doll. Each one sewn with prayers and love, each one sporting a covering or hat, and each one faceless, lest they be made a graven image. Rebekah smiled down at the family of dolls that had captured her sohn’s attention.
There now, you are safe, she thought as she opened the window wide before tiptoeing from the room. I can hear you if you cry, and even call up to you. Perhaps hearing my voice will calm you until I can get your fater safely inside.
Once downstairs, Rebekah grabbed the quilt that had moments before held her bopplin and carried it outside.
For one brief, hopeful moment, she hoped it had only been a bad dream. And that Joseph was there, healthy and fine, working in the barn. But it was not so. Joseph still lay in the corral, unconscious. Rebekah had never seen him look so helpless and small before. His skin had paled, and beads of sweat dotted his face. The ring of blood around his head had darkened to an ominous black.
Rebekah swallowed her fear and ignored her thundering heart. “There now, I told you that I would be right back, did I not? And here I am. Your sohn needed attention and I needed to tell him how much his fater loves him.” She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. “Of course,” she continued, “that quieted him down. I still think that it is you who is his favorite parent. What do you think?”
As she talked, she rolled half of the quilt, praying she was doing it correctly and that she would not hurt her husband more than she would help him. She tucked the long roll of quilt against the length of his body. “Now,” she explained, “I am going to roll you away from me and tuck this quilt beneath you so I can pull you into the house without hurting you.”
She did so, and still, Joseph remained eerily quiet. He would have seemed lifeless, if not for the occasional rise and fall of his chest.
Rebekah was well aware of her own heavy breathing once she got the roll of quilt tucked beneath him on the freezing ground, which was turning quickly from glistening ice from the heavens into a muddy, wet mush. On trembling legs, she stepped to the other side of him.
“Alright, mann,” she began, attempting to keep the tone light. “Now, I will carefully roll you the other direction so that I can pull the quilt under you completely. Get ready now.”
Get ready Rebekah.
“Are you ready?”
Carefully as promised, she rolled Joseph once again, this time in the opposite direction, and worked with deft and nimble fingers to pull taut the quilt roll beneath him. When she was satisfied that it was wrinkle-free and he was as centered atop it as she could make him, she stood up and studied what she had done.
Through squinted eyes, she studied his head, which was still bleeding.
Rebekah, why did you fail to put something on that to staunch the bleeding? No wonder he is so pale!
Searching her pockets, she found nothing, and searching the ground, she found even more nothing of use. Thinking quickly, she removed her covering from over her blonde hair and placed it on Joseph’s head.
Oh, my darling mann, how comical this could be if under any other circumstances. However now, it is not comical. It is a matter of life and death. Your life or your death.
Careful not to press too hard on his mushy forehead, she installed the black covering worn by married Amish women over his head. She tightened the covering strings just enough so that it was tight across his forehead, but not too tight, lest she do more injury.
She straightened her back and began to study Joseph again.
Head wound, covered. Thankfully, with black cloth, so I cannot see how much he is bleeding. I pray it stops the bleeding and does not hurt him more.
Her gaze drifted down his body to his shoulders and arms. They seemed unhurt, however, they needed to be tucked up, so he did not fall off when she began to drag him across the yard and into the house.
Kneeling, she crossed his arms across his chest.
That dreadful death pose. She shuddered and let go.
At once, his arms fell back to his sides.
Rebekah furrowed her brow and recrossed his arms across his chest. She unbuttoned the wrist button of each sleeve and slid the button of the left sleeve through the right sleeve’s buttonhole. Then, she did the same for the right sleeve’s button. Now, when she let go of his arms, they relaxed but did not fall from his chest. She nodded at her ingenuity.
His body, she studied his torso. Appears fine with no blood seeping through his clothes that I can see, though I will need to look for bruising to make sure Pepper did not stomp on him after he had fallen. That will have to wait until we are inside. She shivered in the wet coldness. He may freeze to death before I can get him moved inside if I do not hurry along.
She straightened her back again. Hips, legs, feet. Wait… Something on Joseph’s legs caught her eye. From under his calves, a red ring had spread onto the quilt. I did not notice any bleeding here before, or did I even bother to look?
Rebekah leaned to investigate. She slid one hand under Joseph’s leg and tried to lift it, but it would not budge.
What is going on?
She bent lower and it was only then she saw the wayward hunk of wagon wheel that had impaled her husband’s legs through his calves, pinning them together.
Cold stones fell in her stomach as an air of hopelessness mixed with urgency swirled around her. The tremble tried to return to her hands, but she shook it off. Anger at her slowness heated her blood and spurred her on.
“No, this is not happening out here,” she said. “I am taking my husband inside!”
She wiped her hands on her filthy apron, streaked with an equal mixture of blood and mud and rainwater, and hurried to the head of the quilt. Grasping it in both hands, she began to pull.
Thankfully, the ground was still icy enough that Joseph slid rather easily, despite being dead weight, over the ground. Rebekah tried not to think of how difficult pulling him through the soppy mud would be and put the thought out of her mind immediately.
Positive thoughts, Rebekah. Positive thoughts only.
After a few feet, her arched back and taut arms screamed for a break. A break which she refused her burning muscles.
If I stop now, I may not start again. I will take a break when I get to the corral gate, long enough to get it open.
From the barn door, Pepper peered out with wide, worried eyes. She was a sweet old mare that had come to them from an Englischer family who had bought some of Samuel’s wheels. They had been unable to pay, so they paid with their old mare, instead.
She and Buttermilk, Rebekah’s beloved milk cow, had gotten along famously and were quite inseparable, except during storms. Whenever the weather turned sour, Buttermilk receded to her stall, nestled down into the hay, and fell promptly asleep. She was probably still sleeping now, unlike Pepper who became nervous and agitated during storms.
Buttermilk’s calf, Cream, had found a wonderful home with Rebekah’s parents as a gift for baby Beanie, whom Rebekah had helped bring into the world. In part of her mind, Rebekah prayed Cream and all the Stoll family at her childhood homestead were okay and had survived the storm without injury.
“I wish you could understand me, Pepper,” Rebekah puffed as she pulled Joseph along on the quilt. “I would ask you to help me pull Joseph across the yard and into the house. The look on your face says you want to help.”
If ever an animal could look ashamed, Pepper wore that look now.
“Do not fret, Pepper. This was not your fault.”
She pulled a little more, then spoke again. “Both Joseph and I know that you do not like storms, isn’t that right Joseph?” She paused. “See Pepper, did you hear him? He said he knows.”
Pepper whoofed from the safety of the barn, as though she really understood what Rebekah was saying to her.
“We know,” Rebekah continued, “that you are a sweet old girl who would not hurt a fruit fly. At least, you would not mean to. Joseph knows it, too.”
Pepper, of course, did not answer.
“I suppose,” she mused aloud, “if anyone is to be blamed for this incident, it is me. It was me who broke the gate by playing silly games. So, it was my fault that you got out in the first place.”
The muscles in her arms and her legs screamed, almost as much as her guilty conscience, as she pulled her husband along the icy ground, careful to keep his head off the ground, toward the corral gate. After what was probably minutes, but felt more like a special brand of eternity, her foot hit the wood of the gate.
“Thank you, God,” she said. Straightening her cramped back once again, which was a mixture of agony and bliss, she turned to open the corral door. Sure enough, the latch was still broken, thanks to her shoulder. Her conscience writhed within her. I did this.
As if on cue, her shoulder began to throb with a righteous ache. She had not had the opportunity to pay it any attention until now and now was still not a good time.
Opening the gate wide, she pulled Joseph through just as Dawson’s wail wafted down from the second-story window.
A wave of hopelessness swept over her as she looked at the broad swath of yard that still stood between her and Joseph and the house. She bent and pulled Joseph through the gate. As she turned to close it, she glanced down at the ground. A snake, beaten to death by the hail, lay lifeless where she just stood. Rebekah jumped, tweaking something in her back in the process. Tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill over, but if they did, she ignored them. She had more important work to do that did not involve any sort of fear or any semblance of crying.