“So our children shouldn’t enjoy life? Because their futures are...” She almost said bleak, but she didn’t believe that. She thought of Matthew’s smile, his quick wit, his loving personality. She thought of his legs, withered and useless. Like Jacob’s scars, they weren’t who he was; they were only representative of what he had been through.
“They have no future.” Judith yanked especially hard on a potato, again spraying dirt over her apron. “No real future at all.”
“Of course they do. It might be limited. I know that Matthew will never work in a field or build a barn, but that doesn’t mean his life is useless. Gotte still has a purpose for his being born, for his being among us.”
“Your child is what...four?”
“Nearly five.”
“My Rachel is eight. Come back in three years and let’s see if you’re still so optimistic.”
Hannah would have offered a hand of comfort to the woman, because her words seemed to come from a place of deep pain, but Judith was back on her feet moving toward the okra plants at the end of the row. “You can leave the basket by the tools when you’re done.”
* * *
Jacob pushed Rachel’s wheelchair as they gave Hannah a tour of the playhouse.
Hannah seemed quite taken with the child. She would repeatedly squat by the chair and ask Rachel questions about what books she liked, who her favorite princess was, whether she enjoyed school.
“I don’t always go,” the young girl admitted.
Her speech was distorted by the disease, but it was easy enough to make out what she was saying if you listened. Her wheelchair had a special head pad, because she sometimes jerked back and forth. Based on what Tom, the child’s father, had explained to Jacob, Rachel was better off than many of the children with CP. She could speak, could feed herself, although it required a special spoon strapped to her hand, and her intelligence was on the normal scale.
Jacob thought she was a beautiful child with a very special smile.
“School prepares people to work,” Rachel continued. It was obvious she was repeating what she’d been told by someone, probably her mother. “I won’t ever hold a job, so I don’t have to go if I don’t want to.”
“I’m sure you go when you can,” Hannah said.
“Ya, but Mamm says that it doesn’t matter much and that if I’d rather stay home...” Rachel’s right hand jerked to the side, hitting the padded rail that covered every part of the playhouse. “She says that I don’t have to go. I like school, though, and Dat says that the teacher misses me when I’m not there.”
“I’m sure she does.”
Rachel grinned up at both Hannah and Jacob.
“I woke up feeling narrisch, but after I lay around all morning Mamm finally said I could come out here. I always feel better when I’m in my castle.”
“Let’s see this funny mirror that Jacob installed.”
“It’s the best.”
They spent the next five minutes giggling and making silly faces in the mirror which pulled and distorted their images like taffy. Finally they wheeled Rachel back to the front porch, and Judith came out and retrieved her without a word. Rachel waved as they walked away, and Jacob assured her he’d be back the following week to see if any updates needed to be made to the playhouse.
Once they were back in the buggy, he noticed that Hannah was uncharacteristically quiet.
“Something wrong?”
“Nein.”
“Hmmm...because you were laughing with Rachel, but now you seem quite serious.”
Hannah stared down at her hands. “It’s only that I spoke with her mamm, and it left me feeling...uncertain of things.”
Jacob sighed. “I should have warned you about Judith. She has gut days and bad ones. I take it today was a bad one.”
“She’s so bitter and angry.”
“Tom thinks it’s depression. He finally talked her into a seeing a doctor who did prescribe some medication, but many days she doesn’t take it...or so Tom says.”
“Can’t she see how beautiful Rachel is? What a blessing she is? She’s that little girl’s mother. She should be able to look past the child’s disability.”
“I agree with you. All we can do is pray that she’ll have a change of heart, that the medicine will work. We’ll support them however we can.”
“It makes me angry,” Hannah admitted.
“Because you have a big heart. You care about children.”
“I’m sure Judith cares about Rachel. It’s only that...” Tears clogged her voice.
“Don’t cry...”
They were nearly to her house. He reached over and squeezed her hand, directed the gelding down the lane, and parked the buggy a discreet distance from the front porch. “What’s this about? Why the tears?”
“Because...because...” She swallowed, scrubbed both palms against her cheeks and finally spoke the words that tore at her heart. “Because I was like that.”
“You weren’t.”
“I was, Jacob. You don’t know...my thoughts, my anger at Gotte, even at other people...people with normal families.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” He put a hand on each of her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Listen to me, Hannah. You’re a kind, gut person, and you’re a wunderbaar mother. But you’re not perfect. No one expects you to be. I’m sure you have spent plenty of nights consumed by anger...same as me.”
He waited until she met his gaze. “Same as me, same as probably everyone who has endured a tragedy.”
He caressed her arms, clasped her hands in his, reached forward and kissed her softly. “But you came out the other side of that anger. Your faith and your family and your friends saw you through. Judith will find her way too. It’s only taking a little longer.”
Hannah nodded her head as if what he said made sense, but she quickly gathered her purse and lunch box from the floor of the buggy, whispered, “Danki for the ride,” and fled into the house.
* * *
Hannah waited until Jacob had driven away, then she pulled in a deep breath, scrubbed at her cheeks again and squared her shoulders. She honestly didn’t know why meeting Judith had affected her so. The woman was bitter and angry and hurting, but Judith’s life wasn’t her life.
She walked into the kitchen, surprised no one was there. Pulling the envelope with the bonus check out of her bag, she set it in the middle of the table.
Where was everyone?
She peered out the window at the backyard, garden and playhouse, but no one was there either.
Where was her mother?
Where was Matthew?
Then she heard the sound that she spent nights waiting for, the sound that she often heard in her nightmares—a wet, deep, shuddering cough that meant her son was in trouble.
She ran to his room.
Matthew was in his bed, curled on his side, facing toward her with his eyes shut.
Her mother sat beside him in a chair, and on the nightstand next to her was a basin and a cloth that she was wringing out.
“Hannah, it’s gut you’re home. Matthew isn’t feeling so well.”
She hurried to the bed, dropped beside it and reached to feel her son’s brow. He had at least a low-grade fever, maybe more, but what sent a river of fear tumbling through her heart was the cough. He began hacking again, seemed to lose his breath and finally recovered. Opening his eyes, he smiled briefly at her and reached for her hand.
“My chest hurts,” he said in a gravelly voice.
His breath came in short, shallow gasps.
“I know it does, sweetie. We’re going to get you some help. You’ll feel better soon. Deep breaths, okay?”
Matthew nodded and closed his eyes.
He’d fallen asleep early the night before. She should have noticed. She should have p
aid closer attention, but her mind had been on the audit.
“We need to get him to the hospital,” Hannah said.
“It’s only a cough...”
“If you’ll go and get the buggy, I’ll pull together his things.”
She’d left early with her father that morning, left before breakfast. She’d checked on Matthew, but only for a moment and even then she’d been distracted.
Her mother still hadn’t moved, though she’d set the cloth down by the basin. “It started this morning, and by this afternoon he seemed a little worse so I put him to bed. The fever is only ninety-nine.”
“Mamm, listen to me.” She turned to look at her mother and saw the fear and confusion there, so she knelt down in front of her and clasped her hands. “You did nothing wrong, but we need to take him to the hospital. We need to go now.”
Her mother nodded, though she still seemed confused, dazed almost.
Hannah jumped up and began digging through Matthew’s dresser for a change of clothes, the favorite blanket that he kept near him when he was sick and the book they’d been reading.
Her mother moved to her side and said, “Tell me what’s happening.” She reached out and covered Hannah’s hands with her own. “Hannah, look at me and explain to me what is happening.”
Hannah took a deep breath, tried to push down the anger and fear. “Because of the injury, Matthew’s lungs don’t work the same. A small cold can change into pneumonia very quickly.”
“Since this morning?”
“Ya, since this morning.”
Her mother pressed her fingers to her lips and then nodded once, decisively. “Are you sure I should hitch the buggy? Wouldn’t it be quicker to call for an ambulance?”
“Ya, you’re right. That’s a better idea.”
“I’ll go to the phone shack right now.”
She heard her mother running through the house, heard the front screen door open and then slam shut.
Hannah stopped digging through the bureau drawer and sank to the floor next to Matthew’s bed. “It’ll be okay, Matthew. It’ll be okay, darling.”
He tried to smile at her, but fell into a fit of coughing again, and then he began to shake. “I’m so c...co...cold.”
“You’ll feel better soon. I promise.” She pulled the covers up to his chin and pushed the favorite blanket into his hands.
It seemed only a moment before her mother returned and went into Hannah’s room to pull together an overnight bag. “Stay with him. I’ll get you a change of clothes. Will we ride with the ambulance?”
“I will, but you’ll need to bring the buggy.”
Hannah was watching out the window, praying the ambulance would hurry, when her mother walked up beside her and pulled her into her embrace. “I called the bishop too. He’s praying, Hannah. Soon our whole congregation will be praying for Matthew. He’s going to be all right.”
Hannah blinked back hot tears and tried to smile. She needed to be strong now—needed to be strong for Matthew and for her family. They hadn’t experienced this type of emergency before, and it could be upsetting—the ambulance and the doctors and the hospital. Englisch ways could sometimes be overwhelming and disorienting, and she couldn’t begin to guess what the financial cost would be. Her mind darted away from that. There would be time enough to worry over money once Matthew was well, and he would get well.
Her father arrived as the paramedics were loading Matthew into the ambulance. He left the horse untied, still hitched to the buggy and ran toward them.
“Mamm will explain. I have to go.” Hannah kissed him on the cheek and hopped up into the back of the ambulance.
The siren began to blare as the paramedic slammed the doors shut and then they were speeding down the road.
Chapter Thirteen
Jacob stopped by his brother’s place around dinnertime. He wanted to tell his brother about the good news with the IRS audit, and it might have been in the back of his mind that a home-cooked meal would be nice for a change. Emily could work wonders in the kitchen, especially given the fact that she did so with five boys wandering in and out of the room.
But he knew the moment that he arrived that something was wrong.
“Jacob, I was about to send Samuel over.”
Samuel stood at the back door, his straw hat pushed down on his head so far that it almost touched his eyes—which would have been comical except for the somber look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Matthew.”
“Hannah’s Matthew?”
“He’s in the hospital.”
“That’s not possible.” He plopped down onto a kitchen chair. “I was just there, only...only an hour ago.”
“It happened fast according to Sally Lapp, who heard it from the bishop.”
“But—”
“Sally said it’s probably pneumonia.” Emily placed a glass of water in front of him and sat down in the adjacent chair. “He’s at the hospital. Hannah’s parents are there with her. So is our bishop and hers. Sally was planning on going up as soon as she could get there. Apparently she and Hannah have become quite close.”
“I need to go. I need to be with her.”
“Ya, you do.” Emily reached out and covered his hand with hers, and that simple touch almost unnerved him.
He’d taken his family for granted for too long.
He could see that now.
“I’ll...I’ll go straightaway.”
“I want to go too.” Joseph had been sitting at the end of the table reading a book from school. When Jacob looked over at him, he put a homemade bookmark in the book, shut the cover and stood up. “He’s my friend. I should be there.”
Samuel tried to talk his younger brother into going outside with him, but Joseph would have none of it. He crossed his arms and declared, “I’m going.”
Even Emily couldn’t dissuade him.
Finally Jacob said, “I’ll take him and send him home with someone else if I decide to stay.”
“Of course you’ll stay, Jacob. Hannah needs you. Bishop Amos can bring him back. He won’t mind.”
“Gut idea.”
“I would go, but...”
“Stay here, with your family. Hannah will understand.”
His nephew peppered him with questions all the way to the hospital.
“How did Matthew get sick so quickly? We were just playing together last week. Was it because of something we did?” Joseph took a breath, then kept on going.
“I pushed him fast in the chair, Onkle Jacob. Did that cause it?”
And the most pressing question, the one that Jacob couldn’t answer.
“When will he come home?”
They’d traveled for a few moments in silence when Joseph said, still staring out the window, “Matthew is like David.”
“What’s that?”
“Like David...in the Bible.” He made the motion of winding up and letting go a slingshot. “He’s a warrior just like David, only he battles what’s wrong with his body.”
The hospital’s lights broke through the night like a beacon, spilling out into the darkness.
Being situated in the middle of Goshen, where roughly half the population was Amish, there was plenty of buggy parking. Jacob tied Bo to the rail, assured the gelding he’d be back soon. Then he and Joseph practically sprinted into the building, through the automatic doors to the visitor information desk, then down a hall, up an elevator and down another hall.
He heard the murmur of voices before they turned the corner, and he really shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet he was. The room was filled with Amish. Hannah’s parents, the bishop from both her district and Jacob’s, both of Hannah’s sisters and their husbands and their children. Sally Lapp and her husband—Sally seemed to be knitting. Leroy was discussing crops
with Tobias Hochstetler, who was Claire and Alton’s neighbor. So many people, waiting on word of a very special boy.
He thought Joseph would join the other boys playing checkers, but instead he slipped his hand into Jacob’s and walked with him over to Hannah’s parents.
“Any word?”
“No, Jacob. Sit down. We’re all still waiting to hear from the doctor.” Hannah’s father tossed a newspaper onto the coffee table. “Sit. You look as if you’ve been rushing around.”
“Ya, I suppose I have.”
It was Joseph who stepped in front of Hannah’s mamm, eyes wide, his small hat in his hands. “Is Matthew going to be okay?”
“Yes, Joseph. I believe he is going to be fine.”
“But right now he’s sick.”
“Yes, he is.”
“So, I can’t see him.”
“Nein. Only his mamm can be with him now, but I think Matthew would be very happy to know that you’re here.”
Joseph pulled in his bottom lip, blinking rapidly. Finally he said, “Okay. I’ll just wait—over there,” and he walked slowly to where the other boys were. Jacob noticed that he sat beside them, watching the game of checkers, but he didn’t join in. Instead his eyes kept going to the hall, the clock, Jacob and then back to the board, as if he was afraid he might miss something.
Someone had brought a basket of baked goods, and there was coffee in the vending machines. After an hour of waiting, Jacob wandered down the hall to purchase a cup. He must have stood there for five or ten minutes, staring at the options of black, cream, cream and sugar, vanilla cream and sugar. The possibilities seemed endless, but it made no difference how he had his coffee, only that the caffeine worked to push back the fatigue. He needed to be awake and alert when Hannah called for him, and he knew that she would.
“Pretty nasty stuff,” Hannah’s father said, coming up beside him and staring at the machine.
“Ya, I remember.”
“They let you drink it when you were in the hospital?”
“Not really, but occasionally I’d sneak out of my room and purchase a cup. The nurses, they don’t like patients drinking caffeine after dinner. They insisted it wasn’t good for us. Probably they were right, but I also think they didn’t want us restless when things should be quieting down.”
A Widow's Hope (Indiana Amish Brides Book 1) Page 16
