23

Following the April twenty-fifth fellowship meal at church, Ellie wandered down a row of apple trees at home, breathing in the sweet fragrance and embracing the fluffy white beauty around her. She thanked God for it. In another few days, the apple blossoms would disappear, and the miniature fruitlets would start to develop.

She’d gone there alone, since Dawdi had fallen asleep in his willow rocker on his back porch, not far from the firewood bin. He firmly believed that the Good Lord had made Sunday afternoons for napping. Dat and Mamm, however, had taken the team over to Hunsecker Mill Road to visit Onkel Amos and Aendi Emma Lapp—Mamm’s next-younger brother and his wife. It was the perfect time to slip away for a nice long walk.

She thought about Leah’s most recent letter, describing Reuben Miller and even his family, including his nine siblings and quite a few nephews and nieces. Leah hadn’t spelled it out, but it sounded like she was quite attracted to him and Reuben to her.

Ellie had replied with several questions about Reuben and asked how Carolyn’s children were doing, then mentioned meeting Cheryl Herr at the fabric shop. Did Lisa and Kimberly like the animal pillows she made for their birthday? Ellie had written.

She pondered Leah’s moving away from Bird-in-Hand and the People here, making a new life for herself in Chambersburg and finding a potential beau among the Amish. “I wonder how Leah’s family feels ’bout that,” she whispered. “’Specially Sol.” At least Leah hadn’t abandoned the Plain life altogether. After all, she’d been living with fancy folk all this time.

Suddenly, in the midst of the flowering branches and the solitude, Ellie heard shouts of “Coward!” and “Draft dodger!” and then curses from the direction of the road. Never in her life had she heard so much hatred and anger in people’s voices, and she felt sorry for whoever was their target. After a few nerve-racking minutes, an engine roared to life, and she heard the sound of tires spinning against gravel as a vehicle raced away.

Part of her didn’t want to get anywhere near whatever had just taken place, but the other part felt compelled forward, though she took care to remain close to the apple trees as she went. A moment later she heard a deep moan. Hurrying to look, she saw Sol in his church clothes, struggling to sit up on the shoulder of the road, his black coat crumpled on the ground nearby, his left hand covering his left ear. He was breathing hard, rocking slowly. A nasty gash on the left side of his head had already stained his long-sleeved white shirt with blood.

“Sol!” she cried, her heart in her throat as she rushed across the road and knelt beside him. Several rocks lay scattered on the ground. “What happened?” Quickly, she removed her bandanna and pressed it against the gash to try to stop the flow of blood.

Sol gave her a dazed look. “Ellie,” he mumbled, then glanced in confusion toward the road as if looking for whoever had attacked him.

“Can ya put your hand where mine is?” she asked, moving his left hand there. “Try an’ keep a firm pressure on it, okay?”

He nodded slowly but winced at the motion.

“I can help you up,” she said, lifting his coat from the ground and tucking it over an elbow. “If you can walk, I’ll get ya to Dawdi’s.”

Slowly, he struggled to stand with her help, staggering some before she steadied him by slipping herself under his right arm and wrapping her arm around his waist. Sol leaned against her, his arm heavy around her shoulders as he groaned again, then gasped as if in terrible pain. “My right hand’s throbbing,” he murmured as it hung limp over Ellie’s shoulder.

Gently, she guided him down from the road and into the paths of the orchard, praying for the strength to get him to Dawdi’s, aware of his weight against her.

She remembered the vicious shouting minutes earlier. Had Sol been directly targeted? Or had his attackers been random passersby? But he was in no condition to answer the questions running through her mind, so she put all her energy into supporting him as they moved down the path between the rows of trees, sometimes stopping for Sol to catch his breath.

Surely Dawdi will know how to help him, she thought, hoping he would be within earshot once they reached the backyard. O Lord, be with poor Sol, she prayed, aware of his increasing unsteadiness and fearful he might faint.

They trudged across the orchard, struggling to stay upright as she led him slowly, step by step.

The minute the backyard came into view, she called, “Dawdi, I need your help! Kumme schnell!”

“Ellie?” Dawdi came around the porch, moving quickly. Then, laying eyes on Sol, he asked, “What’s happened?” The bandanna was red with blood, yet what she could see of Sol’s face was ghastly pale.

“Someone attacked him,” she replied.

“Let’s get him to mei Haus.” Rushing into the yard to meet them, Dawdi took Ellie’s place to Sol’s right, and Ellie stepped to the other side, where Sol was still holding the bandanna against his head.

“His right hand is hurt, too,” she said.

Sol leaned on Dawdi, coughing and heaving now as if he might retch.

“Chust a little farther,” Dawdi said, encouraging Sol with a tone ever so kind.

The three of them plodded across the yard, past the two purple martin birdhouses to Dawdi’s small porch. Ellie placed Sol’s black suit coat on the banister and held the door open as Dawdi helped Sol into the spare bedroom not far from the sitting room. He helped Sol sit down on the bed, where Sol handed her the blood-soaked bandanna. Ellie could see a large goose egg on his head, directly above his battered left ear and the bloody gash. Dawdi elevated his bruised right hand on a pillow—there was some swelling there, too.

Ellie quickly stepped to the small closet near the spare room and found several clean cloths. Then in the kitchen, she dropped the soaked bandanna into the sink before removing a small basin from beneath the sink and filling it partway with cool water. She carried the basin to the spare room and set it on a small wooden table not far from the rocking chair. “This’ll be cold,” she told Sol, immersing one of the cloths and wringing out the excess water before handing it to him.

Gingerly, with his left hand, he placed the cloth over his injured ear, and when he did, Ellie could see a fresh bruise on his neck below.

“Somethin’ must’ve struck ya,” she said.

“Stones,” he said, speaking ever so slowly. “Three Yankee fellas jumped out of their car. Didn’t recognize any of ’em.” He went on to murmur that he’d been walking home from visiting his older brother’s family.

Removing the bloody cloth from his ear, he stared at it, and Ellie dropped it into the water basin.

Meanwhile, Dawdi was examining the wound on Sol’s head. “The bleeding’s slowin’.”

“Des gut,” Ellie said, horrified to think that anyone would attack her friend.

“I pray they don’t hurt anyone else,” Sol said sadly.

“Let’s have a look at your eyes . . . see if the pupils are dilated.” Dawdi leaned over and gently placed his thumb on one eyelid, tugging it up. Then he made a small sound and said, “Looks like they are.”

Ellie had guessed that Dawdi would be able to tell if Sol had a concussion. She was thankful that Sol’s speech wasn’t slurred, and he seemed to be making sense, but it wasn’t a good sign that his eyes were dilated.

She carried the basin back to the kitchen, where she poured the water down the sink’s drain and left both the bloodied bandanna and cloth in the sink for now. After she’d cleaned out the basin, she poured more cold water into it and carried it back to Sol. “Here’s some fresh water,” she said, but Sol was leaning over now, his head between his knees.

“Sol’s mir iwwel,” Dawdi told her, worry lines between his gray eyebrows.

He’s nauseated, she thought, hurrying outside to toss the fresh water over the banister, then returning to place the empty basin in Sol’s good hand, just in case.

Dawdi asked for another clean, wet cloth, and Ellie rushed to the kitchen for another basin with some cold water. When she returned, Dawdi wet the cloth, rolled it, and placed it at the base of Sol’s neck. “Lean back against this, if ya can,” he said. Mamm always did this when Ellie felt queasy.

Moving carefully, Sol followed Dawdi’s advice.

“That’s right,” Dawdi said quietly. “You’re gonna be chust fine, son.”

Mamm had always said the same thing to her when she was nauseated or light-headed. To keep your mind off the suffering, she thought.

After a few minutes, Sol reached to touch his left ear. “Ooh,” he groaned, then said he felt dizzy again and put his head down once more. Dawdi placed the cold, wet cloth on Sol’s neck as before.

“I’ll get some ice,” Ellie said, wishing there was more she could do.

When she returned with a bag of ice, Sol was telling Dawdi that he must get home to look after the herd of cattle and feed their dogs. “My family’s . . . out of town.”

“Son, you’re in no condition for that. How about I go tend to your animals? Maybe I’ll ask one of the other neighbors to help, too.” Dawdi glanced at Ellie. “You’ll stay here with him, ain’t?”

Ellie nodded. “Of course.”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on him for the next twelve hours.” Then he said directly to Sol, “As a precaution, don’t let yourself go to sleep.”

Ellie was so glad Dawdi knew what to do.

“Oh, an’ Ellie, his church clothes’ll need a gut soakin’ in cold water—just put them in the kitchen sink for now.” He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “Might be in shock, so if he starts shivering, put more quilts on him. And keep him awake, no matter what.”

“You want me to sit with him?”

Dawdi nodded. “Pull the cane-back chair up close to the bed.”

Ellie agreed, but she felt so inadequate, as if she wasn’t up to the task. Still, Dawdi needed to take care of the livestock for Sol—knowing that was being done would certainly help give him some peace of mind.

Please, Lord, let Mamm and Dat return soon!