He checked his watch. Although the sun had risen only an hour ago, he knew Doc would be up. He remembered how, when he was Doc’s apprentice years ago, Doc would wake him up at four in the morning, ready to get a start on the day. Jeremiah was still an early riser, which had annoyed his roommate at Ohio State, who was often just stumbling into bed when Jeremiah was getting up.
His college and vet school years had been so different from his former Amish life. He hadn’t been to Middlefield since he was sixteen and left for school. That same year he’d gotten his GED and continued on to college. He took accelerated courses, then sped through vet school. It had taken a lot of work and sacrifice, even though school had always come easy to him. Staying focused on the goal had gotten him through, and he’d been the youngest in his graduating class. Now he was back, and he could see the area had pretty much stayed the same.
But he had changed. For the better, he thought. Until now, as he sat in Doc’s driveway dealing with the assault of the past. The guilt for leaving his family the way he did.
For not telling Anna Mae good-bye.
He drew in a deep breath, steadying his thoughts. He was here to help Doc Miller for a short time, but that was it. Then he’d hightail it back to his life in Columbus, where he had been applying for jobs at clinics around the area. Sure, he lived in a dump and could barely pay his bills with the part-time convenience store job he quit yesterday to come back here. But as his grandmother Ella had said, he had to follow his heart and his dreams. Which he had, by graduating last month from vet school.
Another wave of guilt flowed over him at the thought of his grandmother. He shoved it away and got out of the car. His worn work boots scraped against the black asphalt driveway. Two giant bumblebees hovered over a basket of purple flowers hanging from a hook under the front porch awning. He knocked on the door.
“Jeremiah Mullet.” Amy Miller grinned as she opened the door and motioned for him to come in. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She opened her arms for a hug, and Jeremiah embraced her. During the three years he apprenticed with Doc, the Millers had been like family to him.
She released him. “Did you have breakfast?”
“Not yet.”
Amy headed for the kitchen and Jeremiah followed. “I can whip up some eggs and bacon real quick, if you want.”
“That’s okay. I’m not really hungry.”
“How about some coffee, then?” She went to the counter and picked up the black coffeepot. She poured the dark brew into a cup that said Got Fleas? along with an advertisement for flea-prevention medication. She handed it to him. “Doc will be down in a few minutes.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He was able to start with the crutches yesterday, but he’s still having trouble with them. I offered to help him down the stairs, but you know Doc. Stubborn as the day is long. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to convince him to call you for help.” She lowered her voice, her mouth tightening with worry. “It isn’t just the broken leg, Jeremiah. He’s been moving a little slower lately. His arthritis is getting to him.”
“Is he taking anything for it?” Jeremiah sat down on the tufted cushion tied to one of the white kitchen table chairs. The sun streamed through the window, brightening the already cheery room.
“A couple of prescriptions, but they don’t seem to help too much. Don’t tell him I told you. He wouldn’t be happy with me.” She lifted a flowered mug to her lips and sipped.
“No problem. I won’t say anything.”
“Say what?”
Jeremiah turned as Doc walked into the kitchen. He tried to hold back the surprise at the man’s appearance. He’d changed a lot in the last six years—thicker in the middle, and what little hair he had on his head was more gray than brown. He seemed to be doing okay with the crutches, though. Yet when he plopped down next to Jeremiah and placed his hands on the table, that’s where the real effects of the arthritis were most noticeable. His fingers were bent slightly to the side and his knuckles were swollen, the blue veins under his skin bulging and prominent.
Jeremiah closed his hands underneath the table. His hands were his most important tools. Performing surgeries; delivering colts, calves, ewes, and a variety of other animals; administering shots and IVs; and so many more manual tasks—he couldn’t imagine doing all that with painful, misshapen hands.
When Doc had called him, he hadn’t given a hint of how important it was that Jeremiah return to help, only that he’d broken his leg and would be laid up for a few weeks. But it was clear the man was in pain.
“I was just saying,” Jeremiah said, glancing at Amy before picking up his coffee cup, “that your wife makes the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
“Yes, she does.” Doc looked up at her and smiled. His formerly brown beard was completely gray.
“I also make pretty good oatmeal.” Amy set a bowl in front of Doc. “Now eat up.”
Doc picked up the spoon out of the bowl and frowned at the big clump of warm cereal. “My breakfast for the last year,” he mumbled.
“Doesn’t look so bad,” Jeremiah said.
“That’s because you don’t have to eat it.”
Jeremiah chuckled. “I’ve eaten worse.”
“Ah, yes. The glamorous life of a starving veterinarian student.” He looked at Jeremiah. “I am now thankful for my oatmeal.”
While Doc ate, he and Jeremiah chatted about school, some of Doc’s patients, and how Doc had broken his leg—he was examining a horse and it kicked him in the shin. “Didn’t move fast enough,” Doc said, scraping the last bite out of his bowl.
Jeremiah met Amy’s worried gaze, then quickly focused his attention on Doc.
“Oh well. Stuff like that happens.” Doc grabbed his crutches. “Ready to go?”
Jeremiah nodded. “Thanks for the coffee, Amy.”
“Anytime.” She took the cup from him and put it in the sink.
They walked next door to the clinic. The bell above the door rang as Jeremiah opened it, holding the glass door so Doc could limp inside. Jeremiah looked around the waiting room, which had remained the same since he’d left. He was relieved. Everything else in his life had changed so much it was disorienting. More memories came flooding back from when he was younger and helping Doc with the various animals both Amish and Yankee clients had brought to the clinic.
“I’ve been spending most of my time here the past year or so,” Doc said. When Jeremiah didn’t say anything, he added, “Thought you’d ask me why.”
“It’s not any of my business. It’s your practice. You need to do what’s best.”
“That’s what I keep telling my wife.” Doc leaned against the front counter, holding on to the top of his crutches with his hand. “She kept wanting me to give up the large-animal part of the practice.” He looked down at the cast on his leg. “When this happened she thought she’d been proven right.” He chuckled. “Maybe she was. Like I said with how I broke my leg, I don’t move as fast as I used to.” He looked up. “I’ve finally given in. I think I could manage if I only had the small critters to take care of. But I still have a lot of people with livestock asking if I can help them out.” He looked at Jeremiah. “That’s why I called you.”
Jeremiah didn’t let on that he knew crippling arthritis was the real reason Doc needed to stop working with livestock—and probably needed to stop practicing altogether. “I’m glad you did.”
“Are you?” He pushed up his glasses. “I was kind of worried how your dad might feel about you coming back.”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him yet.”
Doc lifted a bushy brow. “You came here first?”
Jeremiah nodded. “I wanted to come and check on you. Your call seemed so urgent and all.”
“It wasn’t that urgent.” Doc paused. “But I understand why you’re putting off going home.”
Home. Jeremiah hadn’t had a real home in years, and where he grew up wasn’t home to him anymore. But he nodded. “Yeah
.”
Doc took up his crutches and limped over to the coat tree in the corner of the waiting room. He took a white lab coat off one of the hooks and awkwardly put it on. Jeremiah was going to ask him if he needed help, but he held back. When Doc was finished putting on the coat, he turned to Jeremiah. “I guess I was kind of hoping . . .”
“Hoping for what?” Jeremiah asked.
Doc shook his head. “Never mind. So when are you ready to get started?”
“Right now.”
“Sure you don’t have any business to take care of first?”
Jeremiah met the vet’s questioning gaze with a stern one of his own. “Positive.”
“All right, then. Let’s go in the back.”
They went to one of the exam rooms. Doc moved to the counter and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out a card and handed it to Jeremiah. “I ran into Bud last week, before this happened.” He gestured to his leg. “He told me one of his alpacas was acting funny.”
Jeremiah read the card aloud. “‘Bud Turner’s Alpacas. Once you Alpaca, you never go backa.’”
“Like we’ve never heard that one before.” Doc smirked. “But Bud’s a good friend of mine, so I went to Orwell and checked it out. Sure enough, one of his alpacas had an inner-ear infection. Gave her some Banamine and Baytril and told Bud to keep treating her twice a day with the Banamine. I called him yesterday to find out how the girl was doing. He said she was ‘sorta kinda looking a little better.’”
“I have no idea what that means.” Jeremiah chuckled.
“Me either. So I’d like you to follow up. Everything you need is in the back. Do you remember?”
Jeremiah nodded. “Yep. It’s almost like I never left.”
Doc clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just glad you came back.”
He looked at Doc and smiled but didn’t say anything. The strain he’d felt while driving to Middlefield had nearly disappeared. Working with Doc again was a good thing. As a vet, Jeremiah was firmly in his comfort zone. He could help animals—cure their illnesses, keep them healthy, educate their owners, and when necessary, comfort them.
He was in control and confident in his job—the exact opposite of how he felt in every other aspect of his life. Because when it came to his own family, he was at a loss.
The story continues in A Faith of Her Own by Kathleen Fuller.
The Middlefield Family Collection Page 68
