The suspense became too great. Emma pulled Ben off the sofa and over to the window. Even if he was too scrupulous to spy on his sister, Emma had to have a look. Ben could cover his eyes if he felt he must. He simply grinned at her and shrugged.
Emma giggled as Ben made a great show of sneaking up to the window, stooping low enough not to be seen. With Anna they peered over the sill, taking great pains to watch without being discovered.
Ben gasped.
Mahlon had his arms clamped around Lizzie’s waist, and their lips seemed to be attached so firmly that only a crowbar could separate them.
“Jalapeño banana bread,” Anna said. “It works every time.”
The corners of Emma’s lips curled upward. “You’ve done this before?”
Quite pleased with herself, Anna sighed, stood up straight, and smoothed her apron. “Once. It completely cleared out Sarah Beachy’s nasal congestion.”
Ben straightened to his full, impressive height and pounded his fist on the glass. The sudden noise made Emma jump. In surprise, Mahlon and Lizzie jerked away from each other and snapped their gazes to the window.
“What?” Mahlon said, looking excessively irritated and sufficiently flustered after kissing Ben’s sister.
Lizzie’s face glowed bright red and surely not because of the jalapeño banana bread.
Ben, grinning like a chubby cat, yelled so Mahlon could hear him. “The bishop would not approve.”
Mahlon frowned as he stared at Ben through the window. Then he burst into a radiant smile. “The bishop need never know,” he said, loudly enough to be heard through the window.
He took Lizzie’s hand and pulled her away from the window, out of view of curious eyes from inside the house. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what went on on the far end of the porch.
Felty came up behind Anna. “A little kissing never hurt nobody,” he said, wrapping his arms around his wife of sixty-four years. Anna stood on her tippy-toes and laid a kiss squarely on his mouth.
Emma wondered if she should turn away. Did Anna and Felty care if other people watched them kiss?
Before she had time to decide, she felt Ben’s arms around her. She turned to face him and her eyes met his.
“I won’t be left out of the fun,” he said.
Emma reached her arms around his neck as he tugged her toward him. Their lips met and electricity pulsed down her spine to her toes. The pain of losing him in the near future only intensified her love for him today. The urgency she felt to keep him close overwhelmed her.
She loved Ben Helmuth with her whole soul. She would hold as tightly as she could until death forced her to let go.
Breathlessly, they parted and turned to see Anna and Felty staring at them looking as cheery as two spring daisies.
Felty shook his head. “It’s contagious, Annie.”
“I’m delighted,” Anna said. “Two grandchildren in one day. Felty, we should start a matchmaking business. We’d get rich.”
“I refuse to let them take my gallbladder, Annie. You’ll have to come up with another strategy.” He stroked his beard. “And you never know about Lizzie and Mahlon. I wouldn’t count those eggs until those two actually take marriage vows. Mahlon might get a bee in his bonnet and call the whole thing off tomorrow.”
Anna patted his hand. “Not to worry, dear. I can always make more jalapeño banana bread.”
Chapter 18
Felty stood at the kitchen counter reading his paper while Anna put the finishing touches on her pudding on the stove.
“What do you know,” Felty said, his paper rustling as he turned the pages. “There’s a young couple in Loganville that just welcomed triplets. Rosetta, Loretta, and Floyd. And Vernon and Lori Shrock butchered their hog.”
“Felty, dear. I know you said you’d never sit in that recliner again, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable reading your paper over there?”
“I’m afraid if I sit down, you’ll call an ambulance and have them yank out my appendix.”
“Well, you don’t really need your appendix.”
Felty didn’t stop reading. “William Graber had a blood clot in his leg. Doing better now, though.”
Anna stirred her pudding, with both hands since it had turned out extra thick. “I got a letter from our granddaughter Mandy this morning. She wants to come for a visit.”
“Does she? She never could resist her old dawdi.”
“It seems one of her friends here in Bonduel got her heart broken in a bad way yet, and Mandy wants to be with her. To give her support, she says.”
“Mandy always had a gute heart,” Felty said, letting his eyes scan over the recipes in the “Cookin’ with Maudie” section of the paper.
Anna heard a crack and looked down. Her wooden spoon had broken off in her pudding. She bustled to the drawer and pulled out a sturdy metal stirrer. No pudding could stand against such a spoon.
“What are you making, Banannie?”
“Jalapeño banana bread pudding. With the leftover jalapeño banana bread.”
Felty smiled. “It sounds delicious. I ain’t never had it before.”
“Emma forgot to take a loaf home to her family, and I had a whole other loaf in the fridge. I adapted my bread pudding recipe, and it’s turning out very well.”
“Waste not, want not,” Felty said, burying his head in the paper again.
Anna took a tiny taste of her pudding and smacked her lips. “The bishop is going to love this. He’s been feeling poorly with the divertickle-itis.” She took her concoction off the stove and pried it out of the saucepan. “You know, Mandy hasn’t asked for our help, but I think we should match her up with someone while she’s staying on Huckleberry Hill. Her parents would have a nice surprise if she brought a boy back to Ohio with her.”
“Uh-huh,” Felty mumbled, thoroughly engrossed in reading about Paul Lapp’s hunting trip.
Anna’s eyes twinkled merrily as she scooped half of the pudding into a plastic dish. “Then it’s settled. She’s coming next week. We’ll have to get cracking if we want to find her a fiancé. For once, no particular boy is coming to mind. It won’t be easy tracking someone down on such short notice.”
Felty lost his hold and half of the paper slid to the floor. “Wait a minute, Annie. What did you say about Mandy?”
“Just that we are going to find her a husband.”
Felty looked at his wife and sighed. “All this courting is going to give me a heart attack.”
Anna smiled reassuringly at her husband. “Now, Felty. There’s no need to get huffy. At least your appendix is safe.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Chapter 19
Ben slipped his hand into Emma’s as they waited in the doctor’s office. They sat on one side of the large wooden desk in deep green wingback chairs and perused the degrees on the wall.
Emma’s arm still needed the sling. Mammi had knitted a cheery yellow covering for it so it wouldn’t look so fearsome. At least Emma wouldn’t be run over by a car while she wore it. The neon yellow could be seen from several miles away.
Ben couldn’t relax. His jaw ached with tension and his neck felt so stiff he thought it might snap like a twig if he tried to bend it. His only comforts were the beautiful girl sitting next to him and his assurance that God would not abandon him. How could he fall when Emma and God were on his side?
Nevertheless, at times his doubts warred with his faith, and the fight grew harsh and intense. He prayed for the strength to keep fighting.
Dr. Canali entered the room wearing a white lab coat and stylish amber glasses. He was young, probably fresh out of medical school, and looked permanently grumpy, as if being cheerful took too much work.
He laid down his clipboard and sat behind his desk. “How is your head, Ben? Dr. Burningham said you ended up with seven stitches.”
Ben fingered the scar on his head. “Getting better.”
“There are hundreds of abandoned wells in Wisconsin. Why people do
n’t clean up their own messes is beyond me. They ought to be fined for tearing up the landscape like that. Abandoned wells can contaminate other wells.”
“My friend Jethro just bought the property. He’s going to seal the well as soon as he gets the money,” Ben said. At least Emma would not fall in that particular well ever again.
“Good to know,” said the doctor. He picked up his clipboard and leafed through the pages, frowning and grunting when he read something he must have found interesting. “I know you didn’t want to go through all those tests last week, especially since you don’t have insurance. It’s expensive.”
“I already know what’s wrong with me,” Ben said. “All the tests in the world won’t make the bad news any easier to take.”
“But they can help us give you better treatment options and”—he glued his gaze to Ben’s face and came precariously close to scowling—“sometimes correct a misdiagnosis.”
Ben knew all that. To him it merely seemed like a way to part a poor sick man from his money.
“How many times have you seen a doctor since your initial diagnosis of ALS?” Dr. Canali asked.
“I haven’t been back. The doctor gave me a prescription and said nothing could be done for me. Why burden the church with more medical bills?”
The doctor referred to his clipboard once more. “I requested your records from your old doctor.” He huffed in irritation. “His brand of hasty medicine should have gotten his license revoked. Luckily, he’s since retired and moved to California, where he won’t be able to afflict any more unsuspecting Amish people.” The lines deepened around his mouth, and he looked like a much older man as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Mr. Helmuth, he sent you home with a death sentence you didn’t deserve.”
Ben’s head hurt trying to make sense of what the doctor was telling him.
Get on with what you have to say, and let me alone to spend the time I have left with the girl I love. I’ve wasted so much already.
“I have good news and bad news,” Dr. Canali said, cracking a smile that looked as rare as if he only smiled two or three times a year. “Although in your case, the bad news can probably be considered good news.”
Ben held his breath. He refused to let even a wisp of optimism seep into his mind. He couldn’t bear to have his hopes crushed again.
The doctor picked up a pen and made a note on one of the papers. “ALS is a serious degenerative disease. People diagnosed with ALS usually have between three to five years to live. I can imagine that you have been quite anxious about this diagnosis.”
“Jah. It’s been very hard.”
Dr. Canali leaned toward them. “Ben, you do not have ALS, and you are not going to die anytime soon.”
Ben felt as if someone suddenly sucked all the air out of his lungs. What did the doctor mean?
Emma’s piercing gaze could have cut a hole in the wall. “It’s cruel to joke about such things.”
Dr. Canali shook his head. “I never joke. Ben does not have amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. The doctor who told you so jumped to about five conclusions with his diagnosis.”
“But I have all the symptoms,” Ben said, not daring to believe it.
“Early-stage ALS mimics other diseases. Doctors aren’t always careful diagnosing it.”
Ben shook his head. “What about the tingling and the trouble swallowing?”
The doctor referred to his notes. “The swallowing problems are a severe case of reflux, which can often be treated with a combination of medications. But we do need to talk about the other symptoms.”
Emma covered her hand to her mouth. “I’m not going to lose him?”
Dr. Canali’s lips curled, and he grunted softly. “You’re stuck with him. For a long time.”
Ben leaped to his feet and gathered Emma in his arms, being careful not to bump her injured arm. He twirled her around the room, singing one of Dawdi’s livelier songs, holding her tightly so she didn’t trip over her feet. She laughed as he stopped dancing and kissed her on the mouth, drinking his fill of those sweet lips, savoring this moment of pure joy with Emma Nelson.
“Okay,” said the doctor, stuffing his pen into his lab coat pocket. “Don’t get carried away. You haven’t heard the bad news.”
Bad news. Ben had forgotten there was bad news.
Emma wiped the tears from her face, straightened her kapp, and planted a kiss on Ben’s cheek. “It wonders me what bad news there could be after news like that.”
“There’s always bad news,” said the doctor. He looked like a person who always expected the worst.
Ben grabbed her hand, in plain sight of the doctor, and they sat down together.
She gave his fingers a squeeze.
“I’m ready for the bad news,” he said.
The doctor nodded. “There is a reason for the symptoms you’ve been having. I’m ninety percent certain you have multiple sclerosis.”
“Oh,” Emma said, losing the light in her eyes. “I see.”
Ben had furrowed his brow so much in the last hour that his forehead ached. “I thought you said I wasn’t going to die.”
“MS is a disease that attacks the central nervous system. That’s why you’ve been experiencing numbness and tingling, stiffness in the arms and legs. It can be mild or severe, but from what you’ve described and from the results of the tests, you most likely have relapsing/remitting MS, meaning you’ll have only a few episodes a year. It’s degenerative but treatable. Treatment will allow you to have an excellent quality of life.”
“Expensive treatment?” Ben asked.
Dr. Canali waved his hand dismissively. “The medications are expensive. But there are dozens of aid programs to help people like you.”
Ben looked at Emma. “I don’t know. If I take the medication, the church will help, but money will always be tight.”
She gave him that goofy smile she always got when she thought he was acting like an idiot. “Of course you’ll begin treatment. Five minutes ago we thought you were dying. Who cares if we have to live on rice and fried pumpkin the rest of our lives? I don’t care what it costs if it lets us be together longer.”
“Much longer,” said the doctor.
His heart felt as if it would leap out of his chest when he thought about all the extra time they’d been given.
God is good.
“We’ll grow acres and acres of pumpkins to bring in extra money,” she said. “Each with its own knitted shade cover from your mammi.”
He reached over, took her face in his hands, and kissed her with all the joy of anticipating a lifetime together with her. Was any man ever so richly blessed?
“I thought you Amish people weren’t allowed to kiss,” said the doctor. He cocked his eyebrow and twisted his lips into what almost looked like a grin.
“Not so,” Ben said, laughing with the pure gratitude. “Why do you think we have such big families?”
Emma cuffed him on the shoulder. “Really, Ben? In front of a stranger?”
The doctor did that grunting thing again. “No need to apologize. I’ve heard things that would curdle your Amish milk.” He swiveled around in his chair and pulled several sheets of paper from one of his files. “Now, are you ready to talk about treatment?”
“Before we do that,” Ben said, “would you pray with us? I can’t go one more minute without thanking God.”
Dr. Canali cleared his throat and stood up. “Um, I’ll wait outside while you do whatever it is you need to do.”
“Nonsense,” Emma said. She stood, pulled Ben with her, and reached out her good hand to the doctor. “Cum, hold hands with us.”
Acting as if she’d offered to chop his hand off, Dr. Canali reluctantly took Ben’s hand, and Ben held Emma’s.
“Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for bringing Dr. Canali into our lives. Thank You that he insisted that I get tests. I am grateful most of all that You have blessed me with more time. I am so grateful to have MS. And thank You for letting
me fall into that well and bringing Emma back to me. Amen.”
The doctor lifted his head with a sheepish expression on his face. At least he wasn’t frowning. “I’ve never been an answer to someone’s prayer before. But don’t tell anybody. They’ll be coming for miles for a miracle. I’m not a miracle worker. I’m just ornery.”
Emma and Ben walked hand in hand out of the doctor’s office into the bright late-summer sunshine. The air was fresh with the smell of recent rain. Emma had never been so deliriously happy.
“I know we barely have time to get ready for the wedding as it is, but I wish we could marry tomorrow,” Emma said.
Ben shook his head. “Mahlon would accuse me of trying to sabotage his wedding. Lizzie has her heart set on a double wedding, and as eager as I am to marry you, I couldn’t disappoint my little sister.”
“I know. Lizzie and I have planned to have a double wedding since seventh grade.”
“Mahlon’s fiery temper and Lizzie’s stubborn determination seem to mix like oil and water. Do you think they’ll suit?” Ben said.
Emma smiled to herself. Mahlon would walk across fire for Lizzie. He’d grumble about it first, but he’d do it all the same. “Mahlon adores Lizzie. They might butt heads now and then, but they’d get bored if it were otherwise.”
“Lizzie always did like getting under Mahlon’s skin.”
“And Mahlon loves it when Lizzie needles him, even though he’d never admit it.”
They crossed the parking lot to Ben’s buggy before Emma stopped walking, lifted her chin, and smiled, inviting him to kiss her. He didn’t need to be asked twice. With a gentle embrace, he took her into his arms and kissed her as if they were the only two people in the world.
“Mmm,” he said, without letting go. “It doesn’t matter how long I live. I’ll never get enough of that.” He tightened his solid arms around her as apprehension darkened his features. “It will be a hard life, Emma.”
“Nothing worth having ever comes easy. Heartache and struggle will only make our love stronger. And we’ll be together.”
Huckleberry Spring Page 24
