What was he doing in their home?
Why was she sitting next to him?
How late was it?
What day was it?
None of those questions made it to his lips. He slipped back into a deeper darkness.
* * *
“You found him yesterday?” The person speaking placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and shook him gently. “Can you open your eyes, son?”
He did and flinched away from the bright light.
“One more time.”
He didn’t want to, but he did want this man to go away. He needed to sleep, needed to burrow down in the blankets and find some warmth.
“Now your throat.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he complied.
A tongue depressor was stuck in his mouth, and then someone swabbed his nose. He jerked his head away.
“I’m sure it is influenza. We have a particularly nasty strain going around this year. Everyone else in the house had their flu shots this year?”
“Ya.” The voice was Becca’s mamm’s, but it seemed to be coming to Daniel from across the pasture. “Bishop Saul is adamant about everyone having their vaccinations.”
“Not all Plain people do. Tell Saul I appreciate his help.” The man sighed and moved away from Daniel. “Here’s a bottle of Tamiflu.”
“We can’t—”
“Pay for it? This one’s on me. I’d suggest putting him in the hospital, but I suspect I know what your answer to that will be. Just follow the directions on the label, try to get fluids down him, and be sure to wash your hands after touching him or anything he’s used.”
“But the vaccinations...”
“They help, Sarah. An exposed person who has been vaccinated can still contract the flu, but they will have a lighter case. I’d rather there be no more cases coming from this household, so keep the kids at a distance and you and Becca wash your hands often.”
Daniel wanted to open his eyes and see Becca.
He wanted to ask her to look after Constance.
He wanted to thank her for finding him, but he couldn’t do any of those things. Maybe after he rested...
* * *
“He’s coming around.” Becca rinsed the washcloth in the basin of water and wrung it dry. When she placed it back on Daniel’s head, his eyes popped open. “Welcome back, sleepyhead.”
He attempted to struggle off the couch, but Becca put a hand to his chest and gently pushed him back. When had she become so strong?
“Not so fast.”
At that point, Sarah bustled into the room, followed by Hannah and Isabelle.
“Is he awake?”
“Can he play with us now?”
“Why does his hair look like that?”
Both girls flung themselves into a chair on the far side of the room, staring at their guest.
“We can’t sit closer,” Hannah explained.
“Cause you’re sick.”
“Bad sick.”
“And we could catch it.”
Daniel offered a small wave. Hannah and Isabelle giggled and waved back. Before Daniel could say anything, Sarah stuck a thermometer in his mouth.
“Hold your questions,” she said, sitting down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Dr. Neal said that if your temperature didn’t break today, you had to go into the clinic, so we need to check this.”
He raised his arm as if he intended to remove the thermometer, but Becca popped into his field of vision, shook her head and nodded toward her mamm. “You want to do what she says. Mamm isn’t to be messed with when it comes to the flu.”
Sarah smiled at him and tapped her foot against the floor. The girls’ voices had dropped to a whisper, though Daniel was able to make out the words “horse” and “house” and “workers.”
Finally Sarah took the thermometer from his mouth and held it up to the light from the window. “Only one hundred. Much better.”
“Doesn’t feel better.” His voice came out resembling a bullfrog’s, and he winced against the rawness in his throat.
“Hannah and Isabelle—I want you two cleaning up your rooms like I told you before. Becca, could you see that Daniel gets down at least a full cup of water? I’ll go and heat up some chicken broth. I do believe you’ve turned the corner, Daniel.” And then she patted his shoulder as if he’d done something praiseworthy.
The girls dashed from the room in a flurry of giggles and shouts.
Sarah picked up a tray and glided into the kitchen.
Becca took her place in front of him, perching on the coffee table. She held up a cup of water. “Want to give it a try?”
He nodded, though he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Somehow the afternoon light had formed a halo around her head. Her lips were more pink than he remembered, and her freckles seemed to pop with the smile she wore. It was her eyes, though, that gave him pause—the look of concern caused a lump to form in his throat that had nothing to do with the flu.
He took a sip of the water, both their hands steadying the cup. He winced at the pain of swallowing and then drained the rest.
“I don’t remember...” He tried to clear his throat, but Becca shook her head.
“You’re only going to make it hurt more. Here, try one of these cough drops.”
She unwrapped it and dropped it into his hand. He sucked on it for a few minutes while she watched him.
“I don’t remember coming here, or...anything.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?”
“Planting the cover crop with David.”
“That was three days ago.”
* * *
Becca almost laughed at the look of shock on his face, except it wasn’t really funny. Nothing about the past three days had been funny. She’d been terrified when she’d found him burning with fever and unresponsive. She’d spent the last four days hovering and praying and trying not to worry.
“What happened?”
“You were supposed to bring the extra seed over on Tuesday morning. When you didn’t show, David went looking for you.”
“And?”
“He could see you through the window, lying on the floor in your sleeping bag. He tried tapping on the window to wake you, shouting at you, but nothing worked. He didn’t know what to do, so he came and got me.”
“You told him to fetch your mamm and dat, and to bring the buggy.”
“I did.”
“You came into my house.”
She dared him with a look. “I did not snoop this time. Obviously something was wrong. I wasn’t going to let you just die there.”
“Danki.”
“Gem Gschehne.”
Becca’s mamm returned carrying the tray, which now held a steaming bowl of chicken broth and another cup of water.
“Becca, please help Daniel eat this—all of it. Also, it’s time for another dose of his flu medicine.” Sarah sat the tray on the coffee table next to Becca, smiled at them both and went back into the kitchen.
Becca wasn’t sure if there was work in there, or if she was giving them time alone. Her mamm seemed to think there was something going on between them. Becca had tried to disabuse her of the idea, but it only made her mamm more convinced that she and Daniel were hiding their feelings for one another.
“I remember an old guy—” Daniel scrubbed a hand across his face. “He shone a light in my eyes and said for you all to stay away from me.”
“Doc Neal. Mamm says he worries too much, but she did insist the girls keep their distance.”
Becca picked up the soup bowl and the spoon. “Think you can handle this?”
“Ya. I can feed myself.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she handed him the spoon and bowl, but his hand shook so badly that the soup sloshed right back into the bowl.
“Um. Maybe you could help me.”
“I’d be happy to.”
As he obediently swallowed each spoonful, she caught him up on what he’d missed the past four days. “Dat and David planted the extra seed in our back field. That was after they moved you here. Your temperature topped out at a hundred and five. Clyde and David went back to your place and fetched a few things—a couple changes of clothes, your hat and coat, and your journal.”
“Notebook.”
“Right, and in case you’re wondering, I didn’t so much as take a peek.”
“I wasn’t wondering.” His eyes met hers and a shiver slipped down her spine. “That argument seems rather childish after...after this.”
“Indeed.” She cocked her head, so relieved to find that he was eating and talking that she felt a strong urge to give him a hard time for it all. “Quite impressive. I’ve never seen anyone with a temperature that high.”
“I’m an overachiever.”
“Apparently.” She spooned more of the soup into his mouth, then offered him a napkin. He wiped his mouth, then sank back onto the pillow.
“Who turned this couch into a bed?”
“Oh, I did that—Francine and Georgia helped.”
“How did your family get by with no sitting room?”
“That wasn’t a problem. We just stayed in the kitchen, though honestly, if it weren’t for you being contagious we could have danced a polka in here and you wouldn’t have known.”
“You know how to dance a polka?”
“Beside the point. You were out.” She scooted the tray away, crossed her legs, propped her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “Did you know that people talk a lot when they have a high temperature?”
“Uh-oh.”
“Oh, ya. There was one name you called out over and over...”
David’s eyes widened. “Who...”
“We tried to tell you she was fine, but you wouldn’t be comforted.” Becca would have liked to keep teasing him, but her mamm walked through carrying a stack of clean towels and popped into the middle of their conversation.
“Never heard a man go on so about a horse,” Sarah said, smiling.
“Indeed.” Becca wriggled her eyebrows. “She must be the love of your life, Daniel.”
“She’s okay?”
“She’s fine,” Sarah assured him. “David’s gone over twice a day to see to her. You don’t need to worry about Constance.”
Her mamm walked back to the bathrooms, so Becca dared to lean forward and lower her voice. “You’d have been better off in the barn with that horse, than in that drafty old house. What were you thinking?”
He looked as if he was about to answer, but then another sound caught his attention.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“It sounded like...hammering.”
“Oh, that. Ya. The community is rebuilding your house.” Becca stood and began tidying the things on the coffee table, dropping the thermometer, cup of water and wet cloth onto the tray.
“Wait. What did you say? They’re...”
“Rebuilding your house, Daniel. They’ve had prep crews here the last two days. The actual workdays are tomorrow and Saturday. It’s a real shame that you won’t be there. I guess you’ll have to trust that they do the work the way you would have wanted it done.”
“Wait. I didn’t want...” He tried to sit up, but he ended up grasping the back of the couch and taking deep breaths.
She almost felt sorry for him, but really, wasn’t this his fault? If he hadn’t been so secretive, if he’d accepted help when they’d first offered, he might not be in this mess.
Which wasn’t quite true. He’d still have the flu. She knew it wasn’t caused by sleeping in a drafty house. It was a virus that was caught from other people. They’d had half a dozen members at church come down with it. Daniel’s case seemed to be the worst. That could’ve been because of his living conditions or the terrible state of his pantry.
He’d finally caught his breath, and reached for her arm. “They can’t do that.”
“They are.”
“But I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll rebuild your house? Before the first snowfall? Did you forget that we’re already in November?”
He flopped back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, then threw his arm across his forehead. The expression on his face was pure agony. He was definitely being more dramatic than the situation called for. The Amish helped one another.
What was his problem?
Why was he embarrassed?
Was he actually too proud to accept help?
Or maybe he was feeling guilty that he hadn’t taken care of his home before his fields.
She couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on in Daniel Glick’s mind, but she paused when he reached out and laid a hand on her arm. “I need to talk to the bishop.”
“Okay. I’m sure he’ll check on you tomorrow.”
“Nein. I need to talk to him before tomorrow, before the real work begins. Can you...can you call him?”
“No need for that. I saw his buggy go by on the way to your place. I suppose he’s there helping. If it’s so important, I’ll send Francine or Georgia over to fetch him.”
Daniel closed his eyes and nodded.
He looked more than worried. He looked distraught, but the flu didn’t seem to care about his new worries. The flu was still having its way with his body. By the time Becca had carried the tray to the kitchen door, she heard his soft snores behind her.
Her mind slipped easily back into its old track.
What was Daniel hiding?
Why the urgent need to talk to Saul?
And on top of those questions, a more pressing one: Why did she care so much about the concerns of Daniel Glick?
* * *
The sky was nearly dark by the time Bishop Saul walked into the Schwartz sitting room. Fortunately, the entire family seemed to be gathered in the kitchen. Daniel could hear their conversation and laughter and the general chaos that usually accompanied such a large household.
“Daniel, it’s gut to see you awake.”
Daniel pushed himself into a sitting position. He was suddenly aware that it had been several days since he showered, but that was trivial compared to what he was about to do.
“I need to speak with you...” He glanced toward the kitchen, knowing they couldn’t hear what he was about to say, but worried that they might. “If now is a gut time.”
“Now is an excellent time. There is no time better than the present to unburden your soul.” Saul sank into the chair closest to the couch.
Daniel guessed his age to be near eighty. The man’s face was a myriad of wrinkles that fanned out into gentle folds, and his neatly trimmed, white beard reached his chest. It was his eyes, though, that belied his calling in life—they were gentle, patient, kind.
“I haven’t been honest about my past, and the work over at my house...well, I think it should stop.”
Saul didn’t argue, simply made a go-on gesture with his hand.
“I have perhaps misrepresented myself. That is to say, though I purchased a less than pristine property...”
“A bit of an understatement.”
“I actually have quite a bit of resources.”
Saul didn’t answer, didn’t react in any way.
A nauseous stomach now added to Daniel’s other aches. He pushed the thought away. Nausea was the last of his troubles.
“What I’m trying to say is... I’m rich.”
“I see.”
“Nein. I don’t think you understand. I’m a millionaire.”
And then the story poured out of him. He explained about inheriting the money, how it had torn his family apart, how it had ru
ined his relationship with the woman he’d expected to marry. The sounds in the kitchen turned to cleaning dishes and homework questions and a game of chess, but that was all background to Daniel as he gave up the burdens of his heart to this man that he barely knew.
“I decided to move away, to live as if my life had never changed, to live as if I had nothing.” He crossed then uncrossed his arms as he finally ran out of words.
Saul ran his fingers through his beard, tapped the arm of the chair and then sat forward—elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
“It is not a sin to be wealthy, Daniel.”
“It’s not?”
“Nein. Remember the parable of the talents.”
“I never understood that one.”
Now Saul smiled. “Gotte’s word can be difficult. Ya? And at various times in our lives, it can speak to us differently. Go back and read the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew, as you’re recuperating. I think that you’ll find comfort as well as instruction there.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Read Matthew?”
“Paul is gut, too. In the first book of Timothy, he commands those who are rich to not be arrogant.” Saul waited, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Search your heart, Daniel. Have you been arrogant?”
“Nein. Stubborn, perhaps.”
“Which we can deal with at a different time. Paul also says that the rich are to put their hope in Gotte, not in their wealth.”
“My wealth has been nothing but trouble for me. Gotte has been—up until now at least—the only constant in my life.”
“Gut. That’s gut.” Saul sat up straighter. “Paul goes on to say that the rich are to be generous. I suspect you have been generous with your resources, since you’re certainly not spending them on yourself.”
“But don’t you see? People are going to show up tomorrow to work on my house. They’re going to give of their time and use resources from the benevolence fund. That’s not right. It’s not fair. I could easily hire a contracting firm to come and do that. I wanted to live simply, to live without the money, but then this happened, and now I don’t know how to fix it.”
The Amish Christmas Secret Page 9
