by Ruth Reid
“I’ll have the crop planted by the end of the day.” Caleb half shrugged, belying his confident response.
Edna tapped Jonica’s arm. “What do we have for dessert, dear?”
“I, um . . .” Jonica stood. “I’ll see what’s in the kichlin jar.”
“It’s empty,” Stephen said. “Remember, Aenti Edna? We looked for kichlin. There is none.”
The redhead pushed back from the table and stood. “Edna, once again your meal was delicious. Thank you for your kindness.”
Stephen had gotten down from his chair and was now tugging on Jonica’s apron while she was trying hard to eavesdrop on Edna’s conversation.
“Mamm, will you make some kichlin?” Stephen asked. “Please.”
“Later.” She looked down at Stephen, holding her index finger over her lips. “Adults are talking, nau shush.” But it was too late. She’d missed her aunt and Mr. Jordan’s conversation, and now they, as well as Caleb, were headed to the front door. Maybe Caleb was listening.
Stephen tugged her apron again. “Then can I have another piece of cornbread?”
“Jah, you may. Stay here.” She pulled off her apron. “I’ll be right back.” She draped the apron over the back of the chair and left the room. She rounded the corner and saw Edna and Caleb talking in the foyer, the Englischer gone.
“I’m so glad you were able to have lunch with us,” Aenti told Caleb.
Caleb glanced at Jonica and smiled, then continued the conversation with Edna. “A hot meal is nice on a kalt day like today.”
“Jah, it is kalt.” Aenti rubbed her arms. “It’s supposed to snow. At least that’s what Mr. Jordon said earlier.”
“I don’t like to hear that.” Caleb donned his hat. “I better get back out in the field.” He turned to Jonica. “Danki for inviting me.”
His line of vision shot to something beyond her just as she felt a tug on her dress. Stephen peeked around her backside, then ducked back.
Caleb leaned slightly. “I see you, Stephen.”
The hair on Jonica’s arms stood on end recalling how surprised Caleb was to learn her son’s age. “Stephen, stay with Aenti. I’m going to walk Caleb out.” She grabbed her cloak from the wall hook and tugged it on. She followed him out the door but held her tongue until they were alone. “You seemed surprised by Stephen’s age.”
“I thought he was younger. Three, maybe four.” He shrugged. “I’m nett any gut at guessing ages. Although most three- and four-year-olds don’t know any Englisch, and he’s doing well.”
Bile rose to the back of her throat and she tried to swallow it down. “He has the Muller name.” Don’t ask about Stephen’s daed.
“I know.” He took a few steps toward the barn and turned back. “Why are you confessing this to me?”
Jonica froze. “For the life of me, I don’t know.” But she did. She wanted to beg him to keep the information to himself. She wasn’t ready to face gossip, and Stephen did know enough Englisch that blabbermouths could destroy his innocence.
Jonica lowered her head to compose her words, then steeled herself and lifted her gaze. “Did you recognize the Englischer?”
“Nay.”
“So, you’ve never seen him around here before?”
“Nay, but he seems nice.” He tugged on his coat collar, bringing it up higher on his neck. “I need to get back to work. Danki for lunch.” He turned and headed toward the barn.
“Jah, I agree.” She caught up with Caleb. “The man did seem nice.”
“But . . . ?”
“But that isn’t any reason to blindly trust him. He’s an Englischer—a stranger.” She reached for Caleb’s arm and stopped him from going inside the barn. “He’s either homeless, or wants something, or both. Why else would he be hanging around mei aenti’s farm? For weeks, I might add. And at the same time he formed a friendship with Aenti, he’s also managed to keep himself hidden from you. Why is that?”
“That’s a gut point.” Caleb glanced down at her hand gripping his arm. “I know you’re worried about Edna and, trust me, I am too. But right nau, I need to get back in the field so I can beat the rain. With the temperature dropping, the rain will turn to sleet.”
He smiled, but that did little to reassure Jonica. She had Stephen to think about. It wasn’t until he looked again at his arm that she realized she hadn’t let go. “Sorry. I uh . . .”
“I’m glad you had the forethought to come get me when you did. I’ll definitely talk with the other members of the district. A man with his bright-red hair is bound to stand out. Maybe someone in town knows about him.”
Jonica nodded though she didn’t hold out much hope. Mr. Jordan might stand out in a crowd, but something told her he was more a loner—a recluse—which was why Caleb had never noticed him before today.
A gust of wind shook the branches, creating a free fall of leaves fluttering to the ground. She pulled her cloak tighter around her neck. “I can’t help but think that Aenti befriending the stranger has something to do with her sudden decision to sell the farm.”
Color drained from Caleb’s face. “Why do you think that?”
“Jonica!” Aenti shouted from the front door. “Kumm quick! It’s Stephen.”
Chapter 8
The momentary delay it took Caleb to register why Edna was waving frantically calling for help put him several steps behind Jonica who had bolted immediately. Something was wrong with Stephen, which was enough to propel him faster. He reached the porch steps at the same time as Jonica.
“Hurry. Inside.” Edna held the door open.
“Stephen!” Jonica bellowed loud enough to carry throughout the house.
“I’ll check the kitchen,” Caleb said as Jonica poked her head into the sitting room. He rounded the corner and found the boy crouched next to the kitchen sink, holding a bloody dish towel over his hand and tears streaming down his face. “Jonica, in here.”
“I’m sorry,” Stephen cried. “Ich wanted another piece of cornbread.”
“It’s okay.” Caleb knelt beside him and gingerly lifted the towel. Blood surged from the gash on his palm. He reapplied pressure. “Let’s take a better gander at it while we’re washing it off.”
“Stephen!” Jonica rushed to her son’s side, her eyes widening. “What happened?”
“He said he wanted another piece of cornbread.” Caleb hoisted Stephen up on the counter next to the sink, then turned on the tap. “Kalt water might help stop the bleeding.”
“Let me take a peek.” She unraveled the towel and gasped.
Stephen yelped when the cold water struck his hand. Rinsing didn’t help. Blood gushed in such a way Caleb couldn’t see the extent of the wound well enough. He reapplied pressure, then leaned closer to Jonica and lowered his voice so he didn’t alarm Stephen. “I think he needs stitches.”
“Let’s try dipping his hand in flour.” Jonica removed a tin canister from the top shelf of the cupboard, then used the measuring cup inside to scoop out the flour. She dumped some on a plate, then held it while Caleb helped Stephen coat his hand with the white powder.
“It stings—stop.” Stephen cried harder.
“We have to stop the bleeding, sweetie.” Teary-eyed, she gazed up at Caleb. “It’s nett working.”
Edna bustled into the room, her arms loaded with what appeared to be a white sheet cut into strips. “I brought you some clean rags and peroxide.” Edna set the supplies on the table, then leaned in closer between Jonica and Caleb. “Ach! He’s still bleeding. It must be deep.”
“Should we try kaffi?” Jonica asked.
Flour hadn’t slowed the bleeding. Caleb doubted another home remedy would do anything, but locking eyes with Jonica’s desperate gaze, he had to do something. He grabbed the jar of ground coffee and sprinkled some over the boy’s open palm.
Stephen jerked his hand away and pressed it against his chest, marring his white shirt with bright-red bloodstains mixed with flour gore.
Stephen cried harder.
With further inspection Caleb determined the cut was probably not going to stop bleeding on its own. “We need to take him into town.” He wiped his wet hands on the side of his pants.
Jonica nodded, then pressed the sobbing child to her chest and kissed the top of his head. “It’s going to be all right, sweetie.”
“I’ll get the buggy ready. Keep pressure on the cut.” He showed Jonica how to hold Stephen’s hand to slow the bleeding, then dashed out of the house and sprinted to the barn. He had Nutmeg harnessed within minutes. As he pulled the buggy up next to the porch, Edna held the door open and Jonica came out of the house carrying Stephen.
Caleb climbed out of the buggy. “Let me hold him while you get in.”
Surprisingly, Stephen didn’t object when his mother passed him to Caleb. Once Jonica was situated on the seat, he lowered the boy onto her lap.
“Danki,” she said, her voice quivering. “Do you think Sadie might be able to stop the bleeding?”
“We’ll stop at her place first.” The midwife handled most of the first-aid emergencies in the district, but she wasn’t often home, with so many expectant mothers. He tapped the reins, pushing Nutmeg faster. “Still bleeding?”
“I think so.”
Caleb slowed the mare as they approached the junction of Leer and Mud Lake Roads. Hitting an unavoidable pothole jostled them on the bench and he winged out his arm to help steady Stephen. When they turned into Sadie’s driveway, the wheels sank into soft ground. His gaze combed the pasture, keenly in search of the midwife’s horse, but disappointment settled like a tossed rock in the river when he didn’t find the trotter grazing in the field. Caleb stopped the buggy and set the brake. “I’ll see if Sadie is home before you get out.”
In a couple of quick strides, Caleb was at the door and knocking. Meanwhile, he scanned the area for any sign of activity. This time of year, people were usually busy raking in their yards or getting everything put up for winter. But Sadie’s buggy wasn’t parked under the lean-to. She was probably out on a visitation. He looked back at Jonica, who was gently rocking the child in her lap.
Come on, Sadie. Be home. Caleb knocked again, this time harder. No answer. He waited a few more minutes. The midwife kept odd hours, so maybe she was taking a nap. But he finally gave up and returned to the buggy.
Caleb noticed Stephen had bled through the second layer of bandages. “It’s probably best if he’s looked over by a doktah anyway.”
Jonica nodded and continued to soothe Stephen by rubbing his back. She rested her cheek on top of her son’s head and closed her eyes, no doubt praying.
Leaving Sadie’s driveway, Caleb turned the mare and tapped the reins. As they neared the outskirts of town, Stephen’s sobs had turned into soft whimpers. Resting in his mother’s arms, the boy appeared smaller and more fragile than ever. Shadows inside the buggy gave the child’s complexion a grayish cast.
When they reached the clinic, Caleb tied the horse to a low-hanging tree branch on the side of the building, then went around the passenger side and took Stephen into his arms. He carried the lethargic boy into the office.
“Mei sohn cut his hand,” Jonica informed the receptionist. “He needs to see the doktah.”
The young woman at the desk poised her fingers over the keyboard. “What’s his name and date of birth?”
“Stephen—Stephen Muller.”
She typed a few keys. “Stephen’s date of birth?”
“Is that necessary?” Jonica motioned to Caleb who stood beside her holding Stephen asleep in his arms. “Mei sohn’s hand is bleeding.”
The woman looked up from the computer. “I need to register him for treatment. Besides, the doctor and nurse are both with other patients.” She pinned Jonica with a slanted-brow stare. “Can we continue?”
“January eleventh,” Jonica said barely above a whisper. Then, prompted by the woman’s nod and hands paused over the keyboard, Jonica repeated the date to include the year.
“Your name and relationship?”
“Jonica Muller. I’m his mother.”
“Father’s name?”
Jonica’s hands trembled as she pushed a few stray hairs under her kapp. “I’m a single mother.”
Although her voice remained calm, her feet shifted awkwardly as if trying to stand up in a rowboat. Now wasn’t the time to prod for personal information about the boy’s father. Caleb leaned forward. “They’re from out of town. Stephen won’t be in your computer system.”
Jonica’s shame-filled gaze flicked to Caleb, but she lowered her head immediately. He wanted to reach for her hand and somehow encourage her to be strong. She didn’t need to hide in shame—not around him. He understood too well how it felt to disappoint the people around him, to live ashamed.
“Gotcha,” the woman behind the desk said. She handed Jonica a clipboard and pen. “Fill out these forms and return them to me. Also, I’ll need a copy of your driver’s license.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Sorry.” She thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Duh. You’re Amish. You don’t need a driver’s license to operate a horse and buggy.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m new here.”
“Dr. Mallory usually works out a payment plan with members from our district.” Caleb hoped the charge wouldn’t be enormously different for someone out of the area.
The woman’s brows rose. “I take it you don’t have health insurance.”
“Nay, I don’t.”
“I’ll find out about the fee while you’re filling out the paperwork.”
Caleb placed his hand on Jonica’s shoulder and directed her to a section of vacant chairs lined up against the wall.
“We probably should have waited for Sadie,” Jonica muttered before she started to write on the forms.
“Don’t worry about the money. Dr. Mallory is very reasonable.” He gently shifted Stephen to his other arm without waking him. “I’m sorry the woman put you on the spot with so many . . . personal questions.”
Jonica stopped writing. “You mean about me being a single mother? Nett that it’s any of your business, but there is someone in Cedar Ridge who wants to marry me.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.” Now he was the one putting her on the spot. He clamped his mouth closed. Anything more he said would only make things worse.
True, an Amish woman having a child out of wedlock was considered disgraceful. But even that indiscretion shouldn’t mar someone’s reputation for life. From what he’d seen, she was a gut mother. Raising a child alone was no easy task, but the boy seemed well balanced and bright. Stephen hadn’t suffered—yet. Hopefully the members of the district would look beyond Jonica’s past and embrace her and Stephen while they were in town.
Caleb gazed down at the child sleeping in his arms, a sense of protectiveness rising within him. I’m going to watch over you—and your mamm.
She finished filling out the forms and walked the clipboard back to the receptionist.
“Thank you. Have a seat in the lobby. I’ve already let the nurse know you’re here. It shouldn’t be long before she calls you back.”
The moment Jonica sat down, Stephen opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, then peered up at Caleb, his lips trembling as though he was about to cry.
“I’m right here, sweetie,” Jonica said.
Stephen climbed onto his mother’s lap and, wrapping his bandaged arm around her neck, laid his head on her shoulder and stared at Caleb. The boy’s eyelids closed, then opened again as if fighting to stay awake. His complexion hadn’t changed. He still had a grayish hue under the fluorescent ceiling lights. Caleb had never seen someone this sickly for just having a cut on his hand.
Caleb rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his chin into his cupped hands. The office had been redecorated since he’d last been in to the doctor a few years back for pneumonia. The blue-flower-wallpapered walls were now covered with pine paneling, and the old indoor-outdoor carpeting
had been replaced with wood-like laminate, which didn’t look anything like real wood but did offer a timely distraction to find the repeating wood-grain pattern.
When he grew bored staring at the floor, he studied the paintings on the walls, each depicting a different season. The tree-lined landscape offered a peaceful escape from the real reason it was necessary to see the doctor. At least Stephen’s condition wasn’t serious. He would probably need a tetanus shot and antibiotics to ward off infection, but once the doctor stitched him up, the boy would be fine.
The door leading to the back hallway opened, and a woman dressed in blue scrubs called Stephen’s name.
Caleb hesitated to stand, unsure if Jonica would want him to wait in the lobby or go with them to the examination room. He cleared his throat. “Do you want me to geh with you or should I stay—?”
“Nay, I mean, jah.”
Puzzlement must have shown in his expression because she motioned with a nod toward the nurse standing in the doorway, her eyes pleading with his. “Kumm with us, Caleb. Please.” She waited for him to stand, then muttered, “I’m nett sure how things will geh when the doktah . . .” She wiggled her brows and glanced at her son.
Caleb nodded, understanding that he might be needed to help hold Stephen down when it came time to stitch his hand.
“My name is Tammy. I’m Dr. Mallory’s nurse,” the woman said as she led them down the hall.
Another patient door opened on Caleb’s right, and Hazel Lantz, Darleen’s best friend, nearly plowed into him. Her face flushed. “Caleb, what are you doing here?” She looked beyond him, her brows arching in puzzlement. “Jonica Muller, is that you?”
Jonica stiffened like someone had stabbed a pitchfork in her back. She turned and faced Hazel. “Hello, Hazel.”
“I’m Hazel Lantz nau, Jacob’s fraa. You remember Jacob Lantz, don’t you?” Hazel didn’t give Jonica a chance to respond before redirecting her attention to Caleb. “I hope you didn’t forget it’s Darleen’s birthday today.”
“I didn’t forget.” He stepped aside to allow a worker to pass by. “We shouldn’t crowd the hallway.”
