by Ruth Reid
Dr. Mallory had mistaken him for Stephen’s father before when he’d brought Jonica and the boy into the clinic, and Caleb never corrected him then. But this was altogether different. He and Stephen couldn’t share the same disease unless . . .
“You said siblings could have the same issues? So mei bruder could’ve had von Willebrand disease too?”
“Yes, the mutated gene is passed from parent to child.”
Peter. A knot formed in his stomach. He recalled Jonica’s words. “Do you know anyone with blood cancer? What about hemophilia or leukemia?” She seemed desperate to know if he knew anyone.
Peter was Stephen’s father.
Caleb tasted bile in the back of his throat, but he held it down. In the background of his ruminating, the doctor droned on. It wasn’t until the doctor said something about referring him to a specialist that Caleb snapped back to the present. “You want me to do what?”
“Only a surgeon can determine if you need surgery.”
He still tried to piece things together. “How common is von Willebrand? Do you have a lot of Amish patients with clotting problems?”
“Stephen was my first, which was why I wanted to wait for the blood test results before saying anything. We’ll run the blood tests on you as well, but I’m 99 percent sure you have the same disorder. You’re probably the one who passed the mutated gene to your son. And as I told your wife, if you have other children, they should be tested. Have you been taking anything for the pain?”
“A few ibuprofen tablets is all. The pain is somewhat tolerable.”
“If your leg keeps swelling, it won’t stay that way. But taking ibuprofen can worsen your bleeding. You need to stop.”
A knock sounded on the door, and the nurse poked her head in the room. “Dr. Yarbrough doesn’t have an opening available until after Thanksgiving, and the surgery center is closed today. I can try again tomorrow to make Caleb an appointment.”
“Yes, please do.” Dr. Mallory sighed.
“Why do I need to see a surgeon if it’s a bleeding problem?”
“Only a surgeon will be able to determine if your muscle tear will heal without surgery. Also, there’s a possibility you’ll need a drain.”
“Isn’t that something you can do here?” This medical care was going to cost him more than building a few flower boxes.
Dr. Mallory removed a paper tape measure from a drawer. “I’m going to need you to measure your leg at least four times a day. Record the measurements on a piece of paper and make sure you bring it with you each day.”
“Each day?”
“Caleb, this could be serious. If you have an active bleed and the swelling continues, you could lose your leg. So until we get you in to see a specialist, I’ll monitor you. Each day.”
His medical care would cost a fortune. “There’s no other way?”
“We can’t risk it.”
Caleb sighed. “Okay.”
“It’s important that your leg feels warm like the uninjured one. If it becomes hot or cold, you must go to the emergency room immediately.” The doctor placed two fingers on the top of Caleb’s foot, then directed him to do the same. “Do you feel the pulse?”
“Jah.”
“It’s important that you check your foot pulse every day. If it becomes hard to find or feels faint, you must go to the emergency room.” Dr. Mallory paused. “Will you be able to do all these things?”
Caleb nodded.
“I’m going to write you a prescription for an antibiotic, and you can take Tylenol for pain. If your pain increases, it will most likely mean the swelling has increased. Make sure you measure your leg. If swelling happens—”
“I know. Go to the emergency room,” Caleb said.
“Immediately.”
Caleb nodded. “I will.”
“Don’t forget to bring your measurement log when you come in tomorrow. We will discuss the next step after we get in touch with the surgical center.”
“Okay.”
“Any questions?”
None for the doctor—only Jonica. “I can’t think of anything at the moment.”
Dr. Mallory jotted some numbers on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “This is my personal cell number. Call me if you have any problems, and stay away from cattle until you’re healed.”
“Thank you.” Caleb went to the desk, made an appointment for the next day, then joined his father in the lobby.
“What did the doktah say about your heart?” Caleb asked as they left the office.
“Everything is gut.” Daed ambled toward the buggy, huffing with every step. “You get everything taken care of in town?”
“Everything I needed to do.” Caleb helped his father onto the bench.
Daed talked very little on the ride home, exhausted from the outing and the energy it required getting in and out of the buggy. Caleb had a mound of questions—all about his and Stephen’s disease. And why Jonica withheld the truth.
* * *
Jonica spread a freshly laundered dress over the back of the kitchen chair, then pushed the chair closer to the cookstove so the wet garment would dry. She pulled a pair of Stephen’s pants out of the basket and hung them over another chair.
A knock sounded on the door.
After her unexpected visit from Deborah Schulmann, Jonica wasn’t in the mood for more visitors.
The visitor knocked again, this time harder.
Jonica hurried to the door, so the rapping didn’t wake Stephen up. Caleb stood with his hat in his hands. A strange expression masked his usually kind features. “Caleb. What are you doing—?”
“We need to talk.” He moved past her and entered the house but didn’t leave the foyer. “Where’s Stephen?”
“He’s taking a nap.”
“Edna?”
“In the sitting room. What’s this about?” Her heart dropped in her chest. Was he finally going to tell her about his plans to marry Darleen? Oh, Lord, could she bear the heartbreak again?
He shifted his stance as though favoring his right leg. “Maybe we should talk outside.” He grabbed her cloak off the wall hook and handed it to her. “I’ll meet you on the porch.” Without giving her a chance to agree or object, he exited the house.
Guilt had him rattled. It was the only logical explanation she could come up with for his on-edge behavior. It’d been a while since she’d seen Caleb, since they kissed, and he was overwhelmed with remorse. He’d probably already confessed to Darleen, which most likely had something to do with his mother’s sudden involvement.
Jonica took her time putting on her cloak, her boots, then her winter bonnet. She had half a notion to leave him on the porch and go back to hanging clothes. She’d already spent too much time sobbing on and off as she took her anger and frustration out scrubbing dirty clothes against the washboard.
She glanced out the window in the door. He was pacing and favoring his right leg as he limped back and forth. She had to put him out of his misery. And finally set herself straight that she and Caleb had no future together.
Jonica opened the door and stepped outside. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I forgive you.”
“Me?” His brows furrowed. “You forgive me?”
She winced at the harshness in his tone. “I figured you came over to apologize for kissing me—but obviously, I was wrong.”
He turned and held on to the porch banister.
The silence between them was suffocating. “It’s okay.” She came up beside him. “The kiss just happened. I’ll be gone soon, and you can . . . go on with your life.”
Facing her, anger flared his nostrils. “Is that what you told Peter?”
Jonica stared, the breath in her chest frozen like the wind blowing her cape. “What I told Peter when?”
“He’s Stephen’s daed, isn’t he? I’m Stephen’s onkel?”
He was standing so close, every word he spoke grazed her ear. “I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you,” she whispered.
&
nbsp; “When?”
Mustering every iota of courage within her, Jonica turned and faced him nose-to-nose. “When you were interested enough to ask. And by the way.” She stiffened her spine, standing to her full height. “You’re nett much different than your bruder. You took advantage of mei vulnerability and you . . .” Were in love with someone else.
Feeling herself start to wither, she flipped around and, facing the house, leaned her forehead against the door. She’d gone through Peter’s rejection and survived. She would get over Caleb too—once she left town.
“Did Peter know?”
“Jah, I told him when I found out and I told him when Stephen was born. We wanted different things. He made that clear.” This was exactly why she had wanted to keep her secret.
Judgment.
“Caleb, please geh.” She reached for the doorknob.
He held the door closed with his hand for several seconds, then dropped it. His footfalls paced across the porch again. “He knew?”
“Jah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me—or my family?”
She turned to him as he paced by. “For just this reason, Caleb.” A tear ran cold down her cheek. “I will not have Stephen known as your bruder’s bastard sohn. His birth was not his choice; it was mine.”
“But I deserved to know. A part of Peter lives on in Stephen. I should have been told.”
“Nay, Caleb. Don’t put this on me. Nett only did Peter decide nett to tell you or your family, he made the choice to abandon us.”
He stopped his pacing, his face downcast. “You should have told me.” He turned and walked away, his back stiff with anger.
Jonica went into the house, ran up the stairs, and fell onto her mattress. She sobbed into her pillow. Her life had once again been destroyed by a Schulmann.
Chapter 29
Leg pain had kept Caleb immobile and thoughts of Jonica kept him awake at nights. He hadn’t seen her in four days—four miserable days.
Today when the women started arriving for the sewing frolic, he hurried out of the house. He didn’t like misleading his mother, but every day that he had gone into town to see the doctor, she assumed he was going into town to see Darleen. Mamm didn’t come right out and ask, and he didn’t make a point to correct any wrong thinking on her part.
He tapped the reins to increase Nutmeg’s pace as he passed Edna’s farm. His gut was telling him to stop, but he’d stopped listening to his gut. Without clear thought as to where he was headed, he continued down the road several miles. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but he felt compelled to turn down the narrow dirt road leading to the old Victorian house he’d been working on when Peter died.
He stopped the buggy in the driveway and sat for several minutes staring at the place. His once-big dream was now boarded up and abandoned. He climbed out of the buggy and walked the perimeter of the house, trying to gather up the nerve to go inside. After finding Peter’s body on the ground, Caleb wanted nothing to do with finishing the house—even driving down the road. Gideon believed that, with time, Caleb would work through his grief and want to complete the project, so taking it upon himself, his friend boarded up the opening to protect the house from weather damage or vandalism.
Caleb came to the spot where he’d found Peter and stopped. He lifted his gaze to the dormer addition jutting out from the second story. The boarded-up window, a horrid reminder of the last day he’d spent with his brother, released a well of tears down Caleb’s face. The last conversation he had—would ever have—with Peter played over in his mind as it had a thousand times.
“You messed up the framing, Peter. Nau I have to order a different size window.” Caleb gritted his teeth to the point his jaw started to throb. The desire to throw his brother off the job overwhelmed his senses.
“You sound like Daed.” Peter’s nonchalance added to the welling pressure in Caleb’s chest about to explode like a fiery volcano.
“You’ve cost me extra time and money. It’s another mistake that’s going to set me back.” Caleb measured the opening again. “This size is a special order. It’ll cost twice the amount.”
“It was a mistake. Take it easy.”
“Because you weren’t paying attention? You can’t even swing a hammer or measure a hole. What can you do right, Peter?”
“I guess nothing, so I might as well jump off the roof and end mei life nau.” His brother stood.
“Maybe you should. But do it after you clean up the mess you’ve made. Someone’s going to trip over these tools, and I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” Caleb jotted down the new measurement on a notepad, then shoved the pencil behind his ear and the paper in his pocket. “I have to go into town to order the window. Don’t do anything else except your cleanup. I can’t afford your help. I’ll see you at home.”
Caleb rubbed his hand over his face, struggling to get the image out of his mind. His cruel words had pushed Peter to do the unthinkable. As Caleb fell to his knees, pain shot up his injured leg and settled in his hip joint. But that pain didn’t compare to the agony of losing his little brother.
“Why did he do it, God? I didn’t think he would actually jump.” Caleb fell forward, his face in the snow. “Why didn’t You stop him? Why didn’t You stop me from going into town? Why, God?”
“He didn’t die alone,” a man from behind Caleb said.
Caleb whirled around to find Mr. Jordan. He scrambled to his feet. “What did you say?”
The Englischer looked up toward the roof. “He didn’t jump.”
“He didn’t jump? How do you know?”
Mr. Jordan smiled kindly. “I believe you have an idea of who I am, don’t you, Caleb?” He pointed to the dormer. “Peter was stapling a sheet of plastic to the opening in order to protect the house’s interior from rain. He got twisted around and lost his balance.”
The hair on Caleb’s arms stood on end. He’d been the person to find Peter lying in a pool of blood, body twisted and bones exposed.
“If you saw him fall, why didn’t you get help?” He pointed toward the road. “The Englisch neighbor on the corner has a phone. You could have called an ambulance.”
“It is not by my power, but by the will of God, who determines the number of days a man is given. It was Peter’s hour to leave this earth. I could not change that.”
“I don’t understand. If you’ve known this all along, why didn’t you tell me? We’ve been together multiple times at Edna’s house. You even planted my winter wheat. Why am I just nau learning this about Peter?”
“Again, it is for God alone to know the reason. Don’t concern yourself with discerning why. Trust God. He hasn’t left you nor forsaken you. Just the opposite, He’s held you in His hand.”
“My last conversation with Peter was unforgivable.” Caleb spun around and wept, wishing he could take back the harsh words he’d spoken to his brother.
Mr. Jordan placed his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “‘The lord bless you and keep you; the lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.’”
Heat penetrated from the top of Caleb’s head to his toes. He stood enthralled by the stillness surrounding him, the peace that passed all understanding filling him.
“God is working in ways you cannot see, and things hidden will come to light. But you must trust Him. He loves and cares for you, Caleb. Therefore, do not be troubled or dismayed. God, who formed you in your mother’s womb, knows your deepest thoughts, your deepest pain, your deepest desires. And just as you have received forgiveness, you also must forgive.”
Caleb remained in a peace-filled state, soaking in the unseen presence of the Holy Spirit for several minutes. When he looked up, the redheaded man was gone.
He bowed his head. “Lord, thank You for Your forgiveness. I pray that You will soften Jonica’s heart so she can accept mei apology. Help me to know what to say to Daed so he can begin to heal, and Father, guide me to be what Stephen n
eeds—an onkel, a friend, or a daed. I also ask that You direct mei steps. Give me wisdom to know what to do about this haus. Open mei eyes that I might see You. Open mei ears that I might hear Your voice. I want to follow You the rest of mei days. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Caleb eyed the house, spotting new potential. With inner strength he could only obtain from God, he went inside. He walked through the darkened house making a mental list of things that still needed to be done. When he got to the room with the dormer, he cried again.
Peter’s tools were still stacked in one corner.
As Caleb bent to pick up his brother’s hammer, he noticed a small notebook sticking out of the pocket of the tool belt. Flipping through the pages, he came to the beginnings of a letter—to Jonica.
* * *
Caleb urged Nutmeg into a faster trot. He couldn’t wait another minute to make amends with Jonica. He’d been wrong to say what he did. And probably wrong to read the letter Peter had started, but hopefully, she would accept his apology.
He turned into Edna’s driveway and stopped the buggy next to the house. As he climbed out of the buggy, Stephen ran up to him.
“Caleb, I missed you.” Stephen wrapped his arms around Caleb’s bad leg and squeezed.
“I missed you too, buddy. Are you playing in the snow?”
“Kumm see what I made.” Stephen grasped Caleb’s hand with his snowy mitten and gave it a tug.
Caleb went with Stephen around the side of the house and stopped in front of three snow angels.
“They’re a family.” He pointed to each one. “That one is the daed, that one is the mamm, and that one is me!”
Caleb smiled. “Did you make them all by yourself?”
“Nay, Mr. Jordan helped.”
A car pulled into the driveway and stopped. Caleb walked toward the car as the man was asking the driver to wait until he found out if this was the right house.
“Can I help you?”
The Amish man turned. “Is this Edna Muller’s house?”
