by Senft, Adina
“I am very tired of being alone in my home,” he said softly. “But you deserve to be courted.”
What was he trying to say? “With Mamm, I am not alone, but all the same, it’s good to be together with nothing standing between us.” She looked down at the scattered Scrabble tiles, then back up. “And I like being able to say what I want to you, with no fear of misunderstanding or of making a fool of myself.”
“I would like to say something, but I’m not sure if the time is right. Then I would be the one making a fool of myself, but that’s nothing new.”
She held his gaze. “You can say anything to me. I would never think you were foolish.”
“You say I am the man you have been waiting for. And you are the faithful woman I have been waiting for. Emma, what are we waiting for?”
His eyebrows rose in a way that was so comical that she giggled. “I don’t know.”
“You deserve your summer of courtship, but I want something more.”
Her breath seemed to back up in her throat, and she whispered, “So do I.”
“Then you will not think I am rushing you if I ask you to be my wife?”
“Will you think I am hopelessly forward if I say yes?”
Now her eyebrows rose, and they both laughed. And then he was pushing back his chair and she knocked hers over and finally, finally, she found the refuge she had been looking for half her life—in his arms.
From the top of the hill, Emma could see the skeleton of Eli’s new workshop going up at the foot of his and Amelia’s property, close enough to the road so that a man could pull in and tie up his horse, yet far enough back so they didn’t seem too anxious for business. In the good weather, the foundation had set up quickly, and Grant’s crew had made short work of studs and beams. Various men from the community, including, to Emma’s surprise, Joshua Steiner, had augmented the core crew so that the building was going up with gratifying speed. Amelia had thought they would be able to finish the sheathing and maybe even begin the roof today, and as Emma walked down the hill, she saw that they’d already finished insulating the walls. Many hands made light work, indeed.
She hoped she had enough lemon cake and chocolate peppermint whoopie pies to feed them all when they broke for refreshments. With men coming and going all the time, it was hard to make a good estimate.
Amelia waved from her garden as Emma let herself in through the gate. “Have you come to see your man?” she called gaily.
He was her man, all right. Emma hugged the knowledge to herself. She would tell Amelia and Carrie soon—probably later today—but for now it was hers alone to marvel over. “I have, and I brought some baking for when they break.”
“Oh, good. I made plenty of cookies and a big pan of matrimonial cake, but I’m afraid it’s not going to be enough. Alvin Esch and a bunch of his friends arrived to help just after lunch.” She paused. “Are you still…”
Emma knew immediately what she referred to. “Not so much anymore. His packets stopped coming, you know, when he finished his course. I don’t know if he’ll start up again in the fall. It won’t be with my help, in any case.” I won’t be living here then, so I won’t be able to sneak his packets out of the mailbox and into the cupboard.
Amelia slashed at the soil with her hoe, separating weeds from their roots with cheerful efficiency. “I can’t say I’m sorry. It was a risky business. I’m very surprised you were never found out.”
“I am, too,” Emma confessed.
“Have you told Grant what you were up to?”
“Do you think I should?”
Amelia paused to gaze at her. “You shouldn’t keep secrets from your man.”
“And I won’t—when they’re mine. But this one is Alvin’s.”
Thoughtfully, Amelia swiped the hoe through the soil, swinging it more than using it for its intended purpose. “I suppose.”
Time to change the subject. She shaded her eyes with her hand and stepped closer to the corner of the house, where she had a long view down the lawn to the construction site. “It looks like the men are coming down.”
Amelia dropped the hoe. “Already? Goodness. I filled the cooler with jars of water. We just need to get the pitchers of lemonade out of the refrigerator and turn the gas on under the coffeepot. It’s ready to go.”
While Amelia washed her hands, Emma took everything out of her carry basket and set it out on the table on the porch. Then she hustled into the kitchen to turn on the flame under the coffeepot. Amelia took the drinks outside just in time for Alvin and his friends to swarm the table like so many tall, gangly locusts.
When Emma brought the coffee out, the boys were lounging on the lawn with their suspenders slipped off their shoulders, and Grant was standing on the top step looking hot and thirsty.
She put the coffee down and poured him a jar of lemonade. He smiled at her as he took it. “You read my mind.”
For no reason at all, she blushed, as if this were an intimacy that belonged behind closed doors. “You seemed to prefer lemonade to water when you were at our place working on the porches.”
“Not every woman would notice.”
“I noticed everything you did.” And then, drat it all, she blushed again.
But he only smiled, not releasing her gaze—which meant she nearly dropped the pitcher. Only when Amelia gently took it from her did she realize she’d dribbled lemonade on the porch floor and it would have to be wiped up quickly before the sticky stuff got tracked everywhere.
Goodness. How was it he could shake her up and make her mind go blank simply by looking at her? And he was so confident about it—already some of the men were teasing him, but he only laughed it off. She felt ready to crawl into the nearest linen closet and hide there the rest of the afternoon.
“Emma, I think we might need more lemonade.” Amelia was trying not to smile and failing. “The lemons are in the refrigerator, and you know where the sugar is.”
It wasn’t a linen closet, but it would do.
When she came out with the fresh pitcher, the men were straggling back to the shed. Alvin Esch grabbed half a dozen whoopie pies in one hand. “We could use that down there,” he told her with a jerk of his head. “Want me to carry it?”
If she took it, she might catch another glimpse of Grant—and maybe he would smile that way at her again. “Nei, denki. I’ll do it. You might carry the cookie tray, though. Amelia wants it emptied.”
It wasn’t often she got a chance to see Grant managing his crew. The ease with which he gave instructions, and his patience with teenage boys whose enthusiasm outweighed their common sense, was a beautiful thing. Even little Matthew and Elam, who were out of school, hopped to it when he told them to do something. Her man was as humble as any in the Gmee, yet he was a born leader—one who wouldn’t ask someone to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself, even if it was only picking up the lumber scraps and fallen nails at the end of the day, a job usually reserved for the small boys.
Alvin dropped the tray on a plank set on two sawhorses, so Emma set the pitcher and a clean pint jar next to it. Then she walked around the side of the building, keeping so far away from the activity that she was practically in the cornfield. Where was Grant?
Ah, up there on the peak of the partially completed roof. He straddled a couple of planks on the far end as he pulled up the stovepipe from whoever was feeding it to him on the inside. After setting it in place and securing it, he straightened and saw her. She hadn’t meant to distract him from his work, but when he waved, she couldn’t help the smile that broke out. Who cared if half the crew saw her grinning her fool head off? The man up there on the roof made her happy simply by existing—and it seemed she could make him smile with just as little effort.
Alvin scrambled up the ladder like a monkey, a couple of studs under his arm. It was very high on the roof. The crew were skilled, experienced men. They knew what they were doing. It was the teenaged boys who shouldn’t be allowed up there. Alvin carried too many stud
s. His load was off center, and no one stood at the bottom of the ladder to steady it.
“Alvin!” she shouted. “Drop them!”
Grant shouted something at the same time, and slid down the beams toward him. Alvin wavered, dropped the lumber, and jumped for the roof just as Grant reached the exact same place.
Steel-toed boot met ungloved hand.
Alvin screamed as Grant lost control of his slide, flailed fruitlessly for something to grab on to, and man and boy tumbled over the edge and fell fifteen feet to the ground.
Chapter 20
Emma’s shriek could have been heard all the way over in Whinburg. She yanked herself into motion and ran as she had never run in her life, arms and legs pumping, skirts flapping against her thighs, heart pounding with fear.
She skidded to a stop just behind Joshua, who knelt beside Grant with a face as bleached as a sheet. “Is he—is he—?” She didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.
He lay unmoving, on his back, his left leg twisted up under him at an angle so unnatural Emma was thankful he was already unconscious. Alvin, on the other hand, had landed partially on a pallet of insulation and was already sitting up, looking dazed and horrified at the same time.
Joshua looked up. “Run for the phone. Call nine-one-one.”
She was already moving, flying down the lane as if the very hounds of hell were after her. She caught herself on the door of the phone shanty before sheer momentum caused her to barrel right past it, and grabbed the phone off the hook. It took two tries before she got the numbers right.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Ein herr hat—” She caught herself and started again in English. “One of our men has fallen off a roof. We need help.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Nei. No.”
“Broken bones?”
“Ja, I think so. His leg did not look so good.”
“Where are you located?”
“I’m at the phone shanty. But Grant—the man who has fallen—he is at the Fischer place on Edgeware Road.”
“The address, ma’am? The ambulance will need an address.”
What was Amelia’s address? Why couldn’t she think of the numbers? Dear Gott, please tell me the address.
And then her brain cleared, as if someone had drawn a curtain back from a window. “Eighteen-fifty-three Edgeware Road. Please hurry.”
“I’m dispatching the ambulance right now. Please stand at the end of the driveway to flag them, all right?”
“Ja. Yes, I will do that. Thank you.”
“Will you be all right, ma’am?”
Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes. Until she knew Grant was out of danger, nothing in the wide world would be all right. But she couldn’t say that to the kind woman on the phone. “I’m fine. Just please tell them to hurry.”
She hung up and began to run the quarter mile back to Amelia’s place. She had to see him before the ambulance came. Maybe he was awake. He would certainly be in pain. Had someone put something under his head?
Eli Fischer was waiting at the end of the lane, watching for her. “They’re coming. Is he conscious?” She was so out of breath she could hardly gasp the words out.
Eli shook his head. “I felt the back of his head and he’s got an awful knot back there. But with the leg…I’m thinking it’s gut he is not awake to feel it.”
“Will he be all right?” She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice. A bump on the head was one thing, but hitting it when you fell off a roof was serious. More serious than the leg, maybe.
Ach, mein Gott, mein Gott, please protect him. Please be with him and keep him. Let him be well. Show me how to help him.
Eli gripped her arm, and through the gabbling in her mind, she focused on him. “He needs you. Go to him. We will let the Yoders know to keep the little ones while he goes to the hospital.”
In the distance, they both heard the wail of the siren. “You’ll flag them down?” she asked, already half into a run.
“Ja. This is my place. You go take yours.”
She beat the EMTs to Grant’s supine body by a matter of seconds—long enough to see that his eyelids had begun to flutter. When they worked on his leg and she heard his moan of pain, it was all she could do to beat off the buzzing of the black dots in her vision and stay on her feet. They strapped him down and loaded him into the back with the efficiency of long practice, and one of them looked around at the silent crowd. Emma knew the same prayers were going up to God as were in her mind.
“Are any of you members of this man’s family?” he asked.
The men shifted and someone—Joshua—gave her a push in the small of her back, and Emma found herself not hovering anxiously on the periphery, but standing in front of the EMT, twisting her hands in her apron. He lifted his eyebrows and she realized she had to say something before they slammed the doors shut and drove off without her.
“I—I will be,” she managed past her fear. “We are engaged to be married.”
Somewhere in the back, she heard Amelia gasp, but there was no time to explain.
“Close enough,” he said. “Hop in.”
Emma didn’t remember much about the ride to the hospital. Normally her writer’s eye took in details in unfamiliar situations, just in case she could ever use them in a story or an article. Now such things were furthest from her mind. It was all she could do to remember to brace herself for the turns in the road. Every cell in her body was fixed on Grant, as if her watchfulness alone would keep him safe and out of pain until they got to the doctor.
They pulled into the loading bay and she climbed out, trying to stay out of the way while they yanked the wheels of the gurney into position and ran it up the ramp. Doors seemed to open magically as they ran through, and she would have run right into the triage room with him if someone hadn’t grabbed her arm.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, you can’t go in there. Please wait outside.”
“But we are engaged. I am his family.” Or close enough.
“Yes, ma’am, I understand. Please, let me take you to the waiting room, and someone will come and talk to you as soon as they know his condition.”
“He fell off a roof,” she said inanely, looking over her shoulder at the doors as the woman in the odd blue pajamas led her down a hall and into a little room with orange couches and a low table spread with magazines.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
How kind this Englisch woman—girl—was. “A glass of water would be gut.”
A water bottle gurgled as she filled a paper cup and brought it to Emma. “It’s nice and cold.”
“Denki,” she whispered, gripping the cup. “Will they know to find me here?”
The girl nodded. “This is the only waiting room in Emergency. They’ll come here first. When you’ve finished your water, you can come with me and we’ll get the paperwork started.”
And so Emma waited. Two hours and a pile of forms and several paper cups full of water went by, so of course she was in the bathroom when the doctor came out to find her. She found him talking with Amelia and Eli, as well as Daniel Hoff, Christina’s man, who must have arrived at the same time. Even traveling much more slowly in the buggy, they had made good time.
“Please,” she said breathlessly. “I’m sorry. I was in the bathroom. How is he?”
“We have just been telling the doctor you couldn’t be far away,” Amelia told her. “We just got here ourselves.”
“I’m Kirk Duncan. Are you Mrs. Weaver?” The doctor had gray hair that sprang back from his forehead in a widow’s peak. His blue eyes looked particularly piercing under the lights.
“I am Emma Stolzfus. I am engaged to him,” she repeated for what felt like the dozenth time. “Please, will he be all right?”
“Your fiancé suffered some trauma to the head, but as best we can see, there’s no fracturing of the skull. We’re going to keep him here overnight to make sure he isn’t concussed. He’s got a br
oken tibia and a twisted kneecap, so he’ll be in a cast for a couple of months. We’ll put that on tomorrow, once we know he’s stable.”
Trauma to the head. Broken leg. Twisted knee.
Ach, he must be in so much pain!
“He should be able to go home tomorrow or the next day,” the doctor went on. “From what your friends have been telling me, he’s a pretty lucky man. Apparently there was a lumber pile quite close to where he landed. A clip from the corner of a beam would have made my job a lot harder.”
Thanks be to the good Gott that it hadn’t.
“Could I see him?” she asked.
“He’s a little groggy from the painkiller, but I don’t see why not. A nurse will take you into the recovery room.” He glanced at Amelia, hovering anxiously at Emma’s elbow. “Just you, though. A crowd will only confuse and agitate him.”
Reluctantly, but obeying the authority in his tone, they fell back as the little nurse in the blue pajamas reappeared. “He’ll be fine,” she confided to Emma as they walked swiftly down the corridor. “I’ve seen patients with a lot worse trauma come out of it with no problems at all.”
Without that hope, Emma might have fainted at the sight of Grant, so tanned and strong and capable, lying between the rails of the bed with a needle poking out of the back of his hand, and a lot of tubes and things going who knew where.
“Ach, mein Lieb,” she whispered as the curtains shivered closed, shutting the rest of the world away.
Grant’s eyelids flickered, and then opened. “Emma.”
“How do you feel?” She couldn’t imagine. Who could?
“Strange. Am I floating?”
“No, you’re lying in a hospital bed. You have to stay here overnight to make sure you haven’t got a concussion. The doctor says you’re lucky.”
“Don’t feel…lucky.”
“The bone will mend. In a couple of months you’ll be good as new.”
“A couple…” The word faded into silence, and Emma thought he had fallen asleep. Then his eyes opened again. “Kinner?”
