For the first time, the evening seemed to drag for Clara. It shouldn’t have, because the kinder had had an exciting day. The boys shared every detail of visiting the school with Isaiah. When they paused to take a breath, the girls jumped in with their impressions of the school, Neva, the scholars and everything else they’d seen. Each of the kinder had a different favorite memory. Andrew liked playing ball. Nettie Mae was delighted with the artwork hanging on the school’s walls, and Nancy asked when they could return to play on the swings and have Isaiah swing her high again. Ammon didn’t say much until Isaiah asked him, point-blank, what he’d liked best. He considered for a moment and then announced he’d liked the food.
Clara tried not to show her impatience as she prepared a quick supper of ham sandwiches while Isaiah did the barn chores. She was tempted to skip one night of writing a letter with the kinder, but they’d insisted. They wanted to tell Aenti Debra about their visit to the school.
“Let her know we’re big enough to go to school in the fall,” Andrew said at least a dozen times. “Me and Ammon.”
“I will,” she replied each time, but made the letter shorter than usual. She was glad when the twins didn’t seem to notice, and she folded the page and put it in its envelope, sealing it.
After persuading the twins to go to sleep after an extra story was read in the hope of calming them, Clara came downstairs. Isaiah had left the twins’ bedroom right after their prayers, and she saw the door to the dawdi haus was closed.
She paused long enough to check the letter from Debra was in her pocket before she went to the connecting door. She rapped and called, “Isaiah?” When she didn’t get an answer, she knocked again. “Isaiah, may I speak with you about the kinder?”
She heard the lock slide on the other side. Was he using it for propriety’s sake or to shut the rest of them out? No, that made no sense because she’d seen the faint shadows of loneliness in his eyes when he spoke of the twins going with their family.
“What is it, Clara?” he asked.
At his abrupt tone, she considered waiting until the morning. No, she couldn’t. Too much was at stake.
“May I come in and speak to you about a couple of things with the twins?” she asked.
“Ja.” He pushed the door open wider, then backed away so she could enter.
As she went in, he vanished into the bedroom. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled out a chair at the table in the center of the main room. She folded her hands on the table and waited.
Isaiah was wiping his hands on a towel as he came out of the bedroom. Without a word, she held out the letter from Debra. He took it and opened the envelope. He read the page before he folded it again and handed it to her.
“She didn’t ask anything about the kinder,” he said as he sat facing Clara. “Nothing about her coming for them.”
“I noticed that, too, but the date on the letter is almost three weeks ago. She probably hadn’t received a letter from the twins when she wrote this one.”
“But you’d have thought she’d ask about future arrangements for them.”
“I’ve been wondering if she’s waiting to hear from their grandparents first.”
He gave her a dim smile. “You may be right, Clara. The two sides of the family have to agree. I’m sure more letters are on their way.”
“I hope so.” She gripped the edge of the table as she went on to the real reason she’d intruded on his privacy. “We need to talk about Ammon. I think there’s something wrong.”
“Is he sick?”
“No. Ja.”
“Which is it?”
“I don’t know.” She began to relate what had happened that afternoon.
His face became grim as he listened, and, though she could see questions in his eyes, he waited until she was finished before he asked, “And you think he’s having trouble hearing?”
“Ja. Do you know if he’s had a lot of ear infections or allergies? Some kids when I was growing up had one or the other, and sometimes they had trouble hearing when their ears were stopped up.”
“With four young kids, it seems like one or another is sick all winter. I can’t remember anything specific.”
“Do you know if Esta kept any medical records for them?”
“I know she had their immunization records, but I don’t know about anything else. If she did keep a record, it would be in the top drawer of the dresser in their bedroom.”
“Oh.” She had closed the bedroom door the morning after her arrival, and it hadn’t been opened since...as far as she knew. Maybe Isaiah had gone inside, but she hadn’t, and none of the kinder had either. “I’ll go and check.”
“No, I will.” He squared his shoulders. “Wait here. It won’t take long.”
She watched him leave. It would be heart-wrenching for him to enter the room that had been the private retreat of his best friend and his wife. She folded her hands in front of her and bent her head until her forehead was against her clasped thumbs. Her wordless request was for God to be with Isaiah during his search. She didn’t raise her head or stop repeating the request until she heard his footsteps in the kitchen.
Making sure that her kapp was in place and she revealed no sign of her despair, she gave him a slight smile when he returned to the dawdi haus. She didn’t say anything about the lines of tension cutting into his face as if he’d aged years while he was gone.
“This was all I could find.” As he sat at the table again, he held out four small bright orange booklets that were folded in the center. “Their shot records. You look at these two.” He tossed them in front of her. “I’ll go through the other two, and we’ll see which one is Ammon’s. Maybe Esta wrote something in there to help us understand why he seems to be having trouble hearing.”
The first booklet she opened was Nettie Mae’s, and Clara’s hopes rose when she saw a note about the little girl needing to have her eyes checked. Closing it, she opened the other. It belonged to Andrew and contained only the dates of his immunizations.
Looking at Isaiah, she said, “You must have Ammon’s.”
“I do, but there’s nothing in it to help.” He handed it to her, and she saw it was identical to Andrew’s. A shot record. Nothing else.
Showing him the words in Nettie Mae’s, she asked, “Do you think Esta hadn’t realized Ammon might be having trouble hearing?”
“I hadn’t noticed until you said something.”
She hesitated, then said, “I’d like him to see a doktor. If there’s a problem, it’s something we need to know before he starts school in the fall.”
“I agree.”
She breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Gut.”
His brows lowered. “Did you think I would say no to taking Ammon to have his hearing tested?”
“No.”
“At least you sound certain.”
“I am.” She looked at the orange booklets. “I wish I could be sure we’re doing the right thing.”
“How can it be the wrong thing? If his hearing is okay, we’ll work with Dr. Montgomery to discover what might be the problem.”
“Let’s take it one step at a time.”
He stroked her fingers as he said, “A gut idea.”
As she smiled, she wondered if he was talking about the boy or if the subject had shifted to the two of them.
* * *
Once Ammon had seen Dr. Montgomery at the medical clinic in Paradise Springs, an appointment with an audiologist was set up for three days later. It was in Lititz, too far away to go by buggy. Clara called Gerry, the Englisch van driver Wanda suggested.
The twins enjoyed the short ride in the van to the Stoltzfus farm. Andrew was fascinated by the elderly driver who was as much a baseball fan as the boy was. Soon Gerry and Andrew were chatting like old friends about the Philadelphia team and Andrew’s favorite, the Pittsburgh Pirates.
At the familiar white farmhouse, Wanda and Leah along with Mandy were waiting for the twins. Ammon looked uncertain when the other kinder got out and then Isaiah climbed in the van, closing the door.
Clara had explained to the boy, as Dr. Montgomery had, why he was going for the testing and that there wouldn’t be any needles or bad-tasting medicine involved. Even so, the little boy sat stiffly during the half-hour drive northwest to Lititz.
Beyond the center of the pretty village, Gerry flipped on his turn signal and pulled into a long, low shopping plaza. For a moment, Isaiah thought the Englischer had made a wrong turn; then he saw the name of the audiology company on one of the storefronts. When Isaiah noted a nearby pizza parlor, he asked Ammon if he wanted to get pizza and take it home for his siblings. The little boy nodded so hard Isaiah had to struggle not to laugh.
When they got out of the van, Ammon gripped Isaiah’s hand as hard as he could. Clara opened the door to a space that resembled the medical clinic in Paradise Springs. She went to the desk to sign Ammon in and collected a clipboard with several pages on it.
Isaiah filled in what information he knew about the boy’s health history as well as his parents’. Carrying it to the desk and paying for the office visit, he rejoined Clara and Ammon by a water dispenser that fascinated the little boy each time a bubble rose to the top.
An inner door opened, and a young woman in a pale yellow broadcloth shirt and jeans stepped out. She was almost as tall as Clara, but her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, was matte black. Walking to them, she said, “I am Trudy Littleton, one of the audiologists here.” She spoke slowly and enunciated each word with care. “Are you Ammon?”
The little boy stared, then nodded.
She smiled and motioned for them to follow. Dr. Montgomery must have explained Ammon had lost his parents, because Trudy addressed Isaiah as “Uncle Isaiah.” He’d have to thank the doktorfraa the next time he saw her.
First, Trudy led them to an examination room. She listened to Ammon’s heart before peering into his ears and his throat.
“Everything looks normal,” she said. “No signs of scarring or other injury in his ears. Let’s see what else we can learn.”
Again Ammon clutched his hand as Isaiah followed Clara and Trudy along a hallway. When Trudy opened a door at the far end of the hall, he saw the room beyond had a huge square cube to one side. The walls were covered with carpet. The single door had a tiny window, and another large window was at the far end by a simple table and chair.
“This is our testing facility,” Trudy said. “It’s soundproof so we can measure what Ammon is hearing.” She picked up a set of headphones and asked slightly more loudly and distinctly, “Do you know what these are, Ammon?”
He shook his head.
Trudy’s smile returned. “A silly question for a plain boy, isn’t it?” She set the headphones on her head, adjusting the earphones over her ears. “You wear them like this.” Taking them off, she said, “When you go inside and wear these, I’ll play music for you. When you hear it, I want you to raise your hand like this.” She put up her right hand. “Then we’ll play other games. Okay?”
Ammon glanced at Isaiah, abrupt fear in his eyes.
“Can I go in with him?” Isaiah asked.
“You may, but please don’t give him any cues. We must determine what he can hear.” She opened the door and motioned them to go in.
He heard her ask Clara to take a seat to one side before the door closed and sound cut off. The cube was lined inside with odd protrusions and more carpet. A pair of chairs was placed so the occupants could look out the window.
Trudy moved into sight, and a click resonated in the room. “If you want to sit and put on the headphones, Ammon, we’ll get started.”
Isaiah guided the little boy to a chair. Sitting him there, he put the smaller set of headphones hanging from hooks on the wall on Ammon. He took the chair next to the boy as Trudy explained over the loudspeaker that they’d start with tones.
Isaiah was amazed how tense he was as he watched the little boy raise and lower his hand. He saw Trudy’s encouraging smile while Ammon didn’t move; then the kind began saying words he must be hearing through the headphones. The words were random. Some came in quick succession while others seemed to have long breaks between them. He wondered what Ammon was hearing.
The speaker’s click sounded again, and Trudy asked them to come out. She left Ammon with an aide in a nearby room filled with toys before, holding a manila folder, she led Isaiah and Clara to another door partway along the hall. Clara glanced at him, and Isaiah had to shrug. He had no idea what the tests had revealed.
The room had a desk and several chairs. The mini blinds at its single window were closed. The audiologist gestured for them to sit in two chairs by the desk. She went around to the desk and sat facing them. Opening the top drawer, she drew out a piece of paper. Graph blocks created a small rectangle on one side of the page. No marks had been made on it.
“This is the tool we use. It’s called an audiogram,” Trudy said, pointing to the graph. “When a patient is tested, the audiologist makes an X for the level of hearing in the left ear. We make a small circle for the level of hearing in the right ear. The numbers along the left side are for the horizontal lines and represent loudness. Quiet at the top and louder as the lines go down. We make the mark at the softest sound the patient hears at each note. The numbers along the top are for the nine vertical lines and have to do with the pitch of the sound. Each line from left to right goes higher in pitch. Think of it as a piano keyboard. The low notes are on the left, and the notes go higher as we go along the keyboard.”
“What are the important numbers for Ammon to be able to hear?” Clara asked.
Trudy drew a box near the top of the audiogram and colored it in. “This is what’s called the critical speech area. Pitches between 500 and 4000. For children, we like to see the loudness marks between 0 and 15. Anything in that box is considered good hearing. Do you have any other questions?”
Isaiah shook his head, not wanting his voice to crack with anxiety.
Beside him, Clara said, “I don’t have any more questions.”
“Good.” Trudy opened the file folder and drew out a single sheet. She put it on the table between him and Clara. “Here are the results of Ammon’s test. As you can see, your concerns about his hearing are justified.”
He stared at the graph. A single X was drawn in the critical speech area. The circles ran across the bottom of the audiogram, and the other Xs were scattered between, though most were closer to the bottom than the top.
“Does this mean,” Clara asked in a strained voice, “he can’t hear much in his right ear?”
“If he can hear anything with his right ear,” Trudy replied, “I’d be surprised. His hearing in his left ear is diminished. That he speaks so well is a blessing, but his speech will regress if his hearing isn’t augmented. My suggestion is you have Ammon fitted for a hearing aid in his left ear as soon as possible. It’ll allow the sounds he can hear to be amplified, especially in the critical speech area.”
“What about his right ear?” Isaiah asked.
She sighed. “From the physical examination and the audio test, it’s clear the nerves in his right ear are damaged. He can’t hear vibrations in it. A hearing aid won’t help. In fact, it might be detrimental because earwax can build up behind a hearing aid, and that could lead to ear infections.”
“Do you think that’s what caused the hearing loss?” He couldn’t stop staring at the graph and the row of circles at the bottom.
“It’s possible, though, as I said, I saw no signs of scars from multiple ear infections or any other damage caused by an injury. He may have been born with the nerves already defective.” She gave them a sad smile. “There’s no way to know without being able to talk to his parents. We need to work with what is and forget about what might have been.”
“What do we need to do?” Clara asked.
“The first thing is to have him measured for a mold to make the hearing aid’s insert for his ear. With your permission, I’ll have my assistant do that.”
The audiologist rose and left the room after Isaiah nodded, again not trusting his voice. Thank the gut Lord for Clara! She hadn’t failed the boy.
Trudy returned and held out typed pages to him. “Here’s basic information on the care and maintenance of a hearing aid. However, with a child Ammon’s age, the most important thing is to get him accustomed to wearing it whenever he’s awake. Be prepared. Some children resist because they hate having something in their ear or being teased. Others are bothered by the abrupt increase in what they can hear.”
“His little sister has started wearing glasses.” Clara chuckled. “She wasn’t too happy, but Isaiah convinced her they were the very thing she needed. He can do that for Ammon, too, ain’t so?”
He forced a smile as grief surged from his heart. He had no idea how to convince a five-year-old that wearing a hearing aid was no big deal. Glancing at Clara, who was asking more questions—ones he hadn’t thought of—he knew he could depend on her to help him. Again he thanked God for sending her.
It’s more than I deserve, he added, but keep the twins in Your hands. They need You more because of my failures.
He lowered his head, missing the closeness he’d once had with God. It was as if his prayers were having to rise to a very distant heaven instead of being heard by a loving parent who was never far away. He wished he could find his way to the relationship he’d had with God before Rose’s death.
Trudy’s voice intruded into his thoughts, and he looked up to see her holding out more papers, these folded into three parts. “These pamphlets will help you with making arrangements for him in the classroom as well as in other public places. The bottom one explains our payment plan for hearing aids. If you have any questions after you read them, please contact the office.”
Isaiah took the pages numbly and was glad when Clara thanked the audiologist after Trudy asked them to return to the waiting room while they made the mold for Ammon’s left ear. That way, she assured them, the hearing aid would fit when it arrived in a few weeks.
A few weeks? What if Melvin’s parents or Esta’s sister got to Paradise Springs before the hearing aid arrived? Would they be able to stay long enough for Ammon to get it, or would it have to be forwarded to where they lived?
Enough! He was worrying about inconsequential things. The family would want to help the kinder.
“Are you all right?” Clara asked as they sat on the chairs they’d used before.
“No.”
“Me neither.” She gave him a fleeting smile before lapsing into silence.
And there was nothing more to say other than how glad he was she was there with him. Those words he must keep to himself.