The Christmas Remedy

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “Isn’t it unlocked?” She glanced at the town clock. Fifteen minutes after ten. Did Lyle forget to open the door? She lengthened her strides and dug into her apron pocket for her key.

  The man turned to face her squarely.

  Oh no. No. No. No. Of all the people…

  Memories of Josh Smucker—though most called him Joshua—filled her mind, and he stared at her, speechless. She’d gone with Ivy to a singles event in another district. That’s when she met him, and it was about this time last year. They’d enjoyed six months of playful camaraderie during the socials after singings and at singles functions—volleyball games, bonfire gatherings, hayrides. She’d kept him at arm’s length, sharing very little about herself while enjoying the fun activities. She’d fooled herself into thinking it was just a lighthearted, acquaintance-type friendship.

  Then he’d asked her out.

  Taken aback at his question, she’d stood in front of him, gazing into his beautiful brown eyes, and realized just how deeply attracted to him she was. It’d been all she could do not to flee to the carriage right then and hightail it out of there in terror. Instead she’d stammered her way through what she’d hoped was a polite decline and vowed to herself never to attend another singles event—at least not one he might be at. Since his district was so far from hers, she’d simply bowed out of his life. Until now.

  What was he doing this far from home?

  He finally broke the silence. “You work here?” The scowl on his face detracted very little from his natural good looks.

  “Ya.” Just breathe, Holly. She put the key in the old lock and jiggled it.

  “But I thought…” He sighed. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  The key didn’t turn. Antiques were nice, but some things needed to be updated. Like locks. Would Josh be less irritated if she told him the truth—that she would not let anything or anyone prevent her from reconstructing how her people dealt with their health? She would stay the course. Save lives. Renew minds that would continue to impact generations of people long after she was gone. Amish women had to give up all work outside the home in order to marry, and after a woman was wed, babies started coming, often a newborn every two to three years until age began to reduce her fertility. She could barely keep up with the pharmacy and education needs as a single woman. Not that he’d necessarily had marriage in mind. If he’d had the chance to really get to know her, he probably would’ve chosen to extract himself from her life. Few men could tolerate a headstrong woman.

  What was wrong with this lock? She lifted the doorknob and tugged on the door while putting pressure on the key.

  When she was honest with herself, she found the whole headstrong thing a bit frustrating too. Sometimes it was as if her will had a will of its own. Nevertheless, she’d increased awareness about following through on taking prescribed medicines and, in so doing, had saved a few families from losing a loved one. A couple of years ago she even prevented her Amish friend from ignoring all medical advice when diagnosed with intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy. Holly’s determination might have saved the mom’s and the baby’s lives and definitely saved them from a lifetime of health struggles.

  Why wouldn’t the key just work already? “Mr. Greene must be running a few minutes behind.”

  “Seems to me he’s not the only one.”

  “No.” She kept her voice pleasant. Stupid lock. “I’m not late. I deliver medicine to people.” The lock finally turned, and she opened the door. “Come on in.” She whooshed inside and gestured for him to enter, holding the door for him and trying to respond to him as she would anyone else. The lights in the pharmacy were on, and the pharmacy window was open. Apparently the only thing Lyle had forgotten was unlocking the door to the storefront.

  Josh walked inside and stopped in front of her. “This is really annoying.” His brown eyes bore into hers. “The doctor lady said this was the best place to come. That you people would get me all set up in short order to tend to my Mamm’s illness, and yet I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.” He glanced down the block. “I’m not even sure my driver is still here.”

  This was Josh. Honest as the Pennsylvania winters were long. He wasn’t a people pleaser, and it was part of what she’d liked about him. In a society where manners were equal to salvation, he offered no pretense whatsoever.

  “Doctor lady?” She closed the door behind them and walked across the store at a quick pace.

  He followed close behind. “Julie Wilson.”

  “Ah.”

  Julie wasn’t technically a doctor, but most Amish referred to her as one, herself included, just as they called Lyle, Doc Lyle. Holly forced her voice into the default cheeriness she used for all her customers. “I’m sorry we’ve slowed your morning. I’ll do my best to get you on your way.”

  “Of course you will.”

  She turned around. Her eyes snapped onto him, and she longed to defend herself. But men didn’t understand what it was like for an Amish woman with a career calling. Actually, men didn’t believe in such a thing. A woman’s calling was to find a husband, serve him well, and populate the earth with obedient, well-behaved offspring. Thanks, but no. She was trembling all over as she broke eye contact and walked behind the counter. “Your name?”

  He moved to the register. “Seriously?” His tone was somewhere between disbelief and anger.

  She refused to react to him. Chin up, smile on. She forced a smile, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt. “Sorry. I meant to ask for the name the prescription is under.”

  “Edith Smucker.”

  Did she know Edith Smucker? Truth be told, she shouldn’t know Josh, but thanks to Ivy and her idea to venture a little farther outside their district, Holly ended up at a new singles event before she realized what she’d agreed to. Still, it wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own that she returned to the singles events in Josh’s area time after time. “Okay, I’ll get it.” She craned her neck and stood on her tiptoes. “Lyle?” She went up the small set of steps that led to Lyle’s workstation. “Lyle?”

  As she looked in, she could see his feet sticking out from between two rows of shelves and pointing toward the ceiling. Dear God, no! Her heart stopped. Ten years ago she’d stumbled upon her Daed, and his feet had been pointing skyward too.

  Move! He needs help! But she just stood there. She pulled her attention from his feet to look at the rest of him. Lyle was sprawled on the floor, eyes closed.

  “Something wrong?” Josh’s voice seemed to be lost inside a canyon, echoing.

  Answer him! But no words would form.

  “What’s going on?” Josh squeezed next to her and peered over the gate. “We need to call 911.” He jiggled the gate, trying to open it, but only Lyle had the keys to that.

  Her body refused to move, seeming more frozen than her mind.

  “Kumm on, Holly.” Josh clapped his hands. “He needs you.”

  Lyle needed her? Her people needed him. Josh yelled her name again, but her brain was processing slowly, as if she were hearing the words underwater. She drew a shaky breath, finally able to think.

  She jumped down the small set of steps she had climbed earlier and shoved the black pharmacy phone across the counter toward Josh. “You call.” She ran up and flung herself over the gate, folding her body at her waist and kicking her legs until her hands were on the landing. She pulled the rest of herself over and rushed to her boss. She pressed her fingers into his neck, checking for a pulse.

  Dear God, please don’t let him die!

  Brandon closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Blood pounded, and the nerves in his head felt like guitar strings that had been pulled too tight, probably from his staring too long at the most boring book in the world. When his dad was trying to pass his boards all those years back, had he studied anything as tedious or hard to memorize as Pennsylvania Pharmacy
Law: A Complete Study Guide?

  Delicate hands setting a mug of steaming coffee in front of him caught his attention. “You look exhausted. And it’s only ten in the morning.” Mila tapped on the closed book. “Need help studying?”

  He picked up the mug and sipped the fragrant, dark liquid. If she could hand him his state license and a promotion to pharmacist along with the coffee, his headache might ease.

  “Brandon Greene.” Mila had cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hello?”

  He pushed the weight of his failures to the side. “Oh, hi.” He held up the mug and smiled. “Thanks.”

  “What is going on with you lately?” Mila flopped onto his well-worn paisley-print couch and sprawled out. She pressed buttons on her phone, seemingly scrolling and texting.

  Did she even need to ask that question? She should know the truth. He attracted misfortune like a magnet drew metal.

  She probably wanted another assurance that he was fine. But she knew the real score. He’d failed an internship round because his preceptor lied, counting him as late when the preceptor had been the one who was late. How could a lowly intern whose parents weren’t rich straighten out a mess like that? The only way to fix the issue had been to retake the internship round, which he’d done. But the mess had knocked him off schedule, and he hadn’t graduated with his class.

  He looked around his apartment, noting how out of place she seemed inside this dump. The rented apartment he shared with two roommates matched its seventies’ decor, and the wear and tear made each item look as if it was almost ready for the garbage heap. Mila had her own place, a nice one, and she had her PharmD. What a powerful term: PharmD. She was officially a doctor of pharmacy. She also had a job and, oh, no student debt. They were polar opposites in these areas, but all he needed was one tiny break—his license—and then the pharmacist job would surely come.

  Her question hung in the air, and eventually she put down her phone. “What happened stinks. All of us know that, Bran. But maybe you need to push harder. See if the administration will make an exception for you and let you graduate now. You’ve finished every requirement, just like all the rest of us who’ve graduated.”

  “I did. There’s no budge anywhere.”

  “I’d be beating down the dean’s door or something.”

  “I’ve been to see him twice. The appeal process for late graduation applications can be heard only at a full school board meeting, and the next meeting isn’t until November. So there’s no point. I can’t take the NAPLEX or MPJE until after that.”

  “This is just crazy. You were making the study guides for all of us back in the first year, and I’ve been a pharmacist for almost three months now.”

  Her words were flippant, but he knew her, and she didn’t mean to come across that way. On days like today he would willingly give up a pinkie finger if it meant he could suddenly have his license. He tossed the book onto the floor, and it landed with a thud. “Good thing one of us has money, right?” He winked, trying to steady his rising blood pressure. “Look, our preceptors are just given way too much power. He declared I was the one who was late when he actually was, and there is nothing we can do about—”

  “Are you sure you weren’t actually late?” Mila sat upright. “Like sure, sure? I mean, I could understand your telling everyone else that excuse so you wouldn’t feel embarrassed, but you can tell me the truth.”

  Even she didn’t believe him? “I thought you just said everyone agreed that what happened to me stinks?”

  “They do think that. Me too. I just…was wondering out loud, I guess.”

  “Good grief. What motivation would I have to lie?” Brandon stood and picked the book off the floor. “It’s not like lying would change the outcome. It was my word against his, so of course they went with him. Like I’ve said before, I was late once. I didn’t lie about that. I wasn’t late the second time.”

  “And it’s two strikes and you’re out, I know.”

  The question kept repeating in his head—she didn’t believe him? “So how long have you doubted that I’m telling you the truth?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that sometimes, like watching you today, it feels as if you’re floundering.”

  “While the rest of the graduating class have their careers on track.” He tossed the book onto the kitchen table.

  “I wanted to do something fun today, and there’s never time or money for that.”

  “I don’t even know where to start in an argument like this. You have no idea how it feels to struggle with money.”

  She made a dismissive sound. “You think that school was easy because I didn’t need to take out student loans? Money issues didn’t cause the preceptor issue, and besides that, your father is a business owner and in pharmacy, no less. It’s not like you were bad off.”

  “Yeah, but he put everything he made back into the pharmacy.” Brandon would never understand why the Amish were more important to his dad than his own son, but he tried to accept it with as little rancor as he could manage. “I know I’m swimming up to my neck in student loans, and nothing has gone right for a while.” That was an understatement. He’d been dealing with setbacks for a long time, but within three months he’d have his license and be able to move up from his current position as a graduate intern to a pharmacist with BB Drugs. Thankfully he didn’t need to have graduated to be a grad intern. He only needed to have successfully completed all classes and rotations. His workday was the same as the pharmacist on duty, except an intern couldn’t do the final check on prescriptions, and pharmacists made a good wage. A manager pharmacist made even more.

  BB Drugs was a huge franchise, and he hoped to quickly work his way up to management. But even if he didn’t get a promotion to manager, he’d be making enough money to pay his student loans and eventually buy a house, a modest one.

  Mila studied him, arms folded.

  He smiled. “You’re right. We haven’t done anything fun in way too long.” He sat next to her on the couch and moved in closer. He kissed her lightly on the lips. “How about if we go to…” He angled his head, thinking, teasing, ready for this argument to end.

  “Yes.” Mila licked her lips and drew a deep breath, already looking happier.

  He laughed. “I haven’t come up with an idea yet.”

  “Anywhere fun will do, Bran. I’m not hard to please. I just want time with you.”

  There was a hiking trail to a waterfall about an hour away. “How about—” His phone rang, and Brandon pulled it from his pocket. A name he rarely encountered flashed across the screen: Holly Zook.

  “Don’t you dare answer.” Mila raised an index finger, and he knew she was sort of teasing, and yet if he answered, they’d argue again.

  “I have to. It’s Holly Noelle, my dad’s lead tech. She never calls me.” He slid his finger across the bar icon to answer the call.

  Holly paced the length of the ER waiting room for probably the two hundredth time. The air seemed thick, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen to fully satisfy her body. Her heart continued to race, and her hands were still shaking. Waiting was torture. But she wasn’t a relative, so she couldn’t get any more information until Brandon arrived. To make matters harder, this hospital didn’t allow nonrelatives to enter ER until a relative gave permission. A relative would arrive shortly…she hoped.

  The call to him was the worst she’d ever had to make. While riding in the front seat of the ambulance, she’d had to raise her voice over the chaos to break the awful news to Brandon: his dad had most likely had a stroke.

  No one would tell her anything, and if the doctors needed permission to do a procedure on Lyle, she couldn’t give it to them. Why did the law have to assume a blood relative was more involved and loved the patient more than the people who spent time with the patient? She owed Lyle so very much, and all she could do for the man was pace the
floors and wait for Brandon to arrive.

  After finding her Daed on the floor of his office, feet facing skyward, she had scrambled to the phone shanty and called for an ambulance. He had died of sepsis four days later. It’d been preventable, so completely preventable.

  Stop.

  She redirected her thoughts. Lyle and his wife, Beverly, took her under their wings, giving her a much-needed job at fourteen years old. They paid her two dollars above minimum wage—a mere child who needed more assistance from them than she’d provided to them, but that money kept food on her family’s table. Four years later Beverly died, and Holly did her best to help Lyle get through that time. He moved out of the big house where he and Beverly had raised Brandon. Holly helped make the living quarters above Greene’s Pharmacy as homey as possible. She had cooked for him, worked beside him, and kept him company while Brandon remained in his last year of college before he entered pharmacy school. Now, six years after his mom’s death, Brandon was graduated from pharmacy school and still never found much time to visit his dad. Truth was, she should have more rights over Lyle’s welfare than Brandon, but the law didn’t see it that way.

  She glanced up from staring at the white-and-gray dotted tiles. The few other people in the waiting area seemed similarly encumbered. No one chose to hang out in a hospital for fun. Why wasn’t Brandon here by now? She could call him again, although that would do no good. Calling him wouldn’t make the miles between him and the hospital disappear. She checked the time on her phone again.

  “Holly!”