The Christmas Remedy

by Cindy Woodsmall

  The sound of tires on the gravel road roused him from the monotony. A small blue sedan pulled onto the shoulder of the field he was working and didn’t stop until it was at the side of the dirt road next to his row. A pretty Amish woman with light-brown hair hopped out of the front seat, shut the door, and waved at the driver. Holly. Joshua’s face warmed from more than just the afternoon sun. How had she found him, and why would she bother?

  She began walking toward him, and Joshua didn’t know what to do or even how to start a conversation. In his twenty-five years he’d found one woman truly interesting and had asked her out, thinking she was attracted to him too. Apparently his request was so offensive that she felt it necessary to stop coming to all singles functions. Ignoring her, he drew a breath and picked up two more cobs. His mother would be so proud of his manners.

  “Hallo.” Her pleasant voice indicated she was just a few feet away. He glanced up and saw that she had strapped on one of the harvest bags he’d left on the end of the row. She picked up a cob of corn.

  “Hi.” He stopped the work and stood up. How could he make his earlier rudeness right? “I’m, uh, sorry for this morning. Is he okay?”

  “Ya.” She scooped up several more cobs. “Well, okay enough for now. It’ll take some time for him to recover, but he seems to be out of danger.”

  “Gut.” What could he say that wouldn’t make him look worse in her eyes? “Why’d you come find me?” He’d tried to voice the question in a gentle way, but it still sounded rude.

  “I told you I’d bring the medicine.”

  “Ya, and I appreciate it, but why are you here?” He gestured at the rows of harvested corn.

  “You were stressed this morning, worried about your Mamm. I was on my way to the address on the prescription and saw you in the field.” She stopped, reached a hand into her hidden apron pocket, and pulled out a white paper bag. “This is insulin, so I knew she probably needed it today. Since it requires at least a room-temperature environment, I could take it by your house if you’re going to be in the field for a while. My driver will be back within ten minutes. He is just giving me a bit of time while he looks for a gas station or convenience store to buy a soda. And just as general info, insulin should be kept in the fridge during the summertime for those who don’t have air conditioning, and it should never be stored somewhere that’s above eighty degrees. But in this October weather, it’s fine staying with you for the next hour as long as it’s not in the direct sun.”

  “Good to know, but it’s okay. I’ll take it. I’m about picked out and was planning to head back home soon.”

  “Well, good then.” She handed the bag to him.

  He folded it and tucked it into his pants pocket. “Denki.”

  She smiled, and of all the smiles Joshua had seen, hers was the best. Was she seeing someone? He couldn’t ask, but he did wonder why they’d had six months of fun—camaraderie even—and yet one simple request for a date had caused her to run away and hide. On the other hand, if he wanted her to leave right now, he knew how to get rid of her—and fast.

  But he wouldn’t do that. With all she’d been through today, she’d remembered his Mamm. Maybe the many good things he’d heard about Greene’s Pharmacy since his Mamm landed in the hospital Saturday were true. “My Mamm…she’s not been herself lately. I don’t know how much is physical and how much is emotional.”

  Holly started walking again, picking up corn as she went. “It’s hard when someone we care about is sick.”

  “Seems like it.” He strolled beside her, picking up corn too. “I’m sorry about this morning.” He’d said that once already, but he’d sounded halfhearted, and she hadn’t acknowledged hearing it.

  She turned to face him and gave another smile. “Please don’t give that another thought. If you have any questions about the medicine, Adrienne or Harris, our other pharmacists, will be able to answer them. I have a cell, and we can get them answered now if you want.” She went back to walking down the row of corn.

  “Why are you being so nice?” He motioned toward the harvesting bag she was carrying.

  She put more corn in her bag. “Because I’ve been where you are—worried about a parent. And because it’s very hard to offend me about work stuff. Each person who walks through our door could be having the worst day of his or her life due to health issues—theirs or a family member’s. We often see people at their worst emotionally and physically, and it’s our job to give them the tools they need to make things better.”

  “That’s really an amazing outlook to have.”

  She plunked more corn into the harvest bag. “I will say, though, that usually the type of rudeness you displayed is reserved for the chronically ill. Are you ill, Josh?” Her lips curled into a wry smile.

  He grinned at her teasing. She had to have a dozen guys vying for her attention, and he was bound to be the only one who’d been rude to her. Again, his Mamm would be so proud.

  She jiggled the bulging harvest bag and nodded toward the wagon, clearly ready to empty the bag of its contents. “Is this for your chickens?”

  “No. I needed to glean this field sooner or later, and since a shipment of chicks I was expecting earlier today was delayed in transit, now was as good a time as any. But baby chickens need a special corn, not this stuff, and they need it milled with a specific formula for their health, and the grown chickens don’t eat corn. They forage on their own for grubs, worms, and weeds. But we have other animals on the farm that need feed corn—a really grumpy mule we use to keep foxes away from the chickens, a dairy cow we milk for personal use, and goats that only eat feed in the winter when there isn’t enough grass.”

  “You’re not the grumpy mule that guards the henhouse, are you?”

  He laughed. “You know, now that you mention it, I think sometimes I am.”

  She chuckled. “The number for the pharmacy is on the instruction insert and the box holding the vial of insulin. Just call if you or your Mamm ends up having any questions.”

  “I believe we are set. She was in the hospital over the weekend. That’s when she got the diagnosis. She came home with a small supply of insulin to get her through until this evening, and the doctors were clear in their instructions on how to use it.” Wait, why was he trying to end the conversation? “But actually…I am curious about something. I don’t think I’ve ever met an Amish woman who works in health care. I didn’t realize that about you when we got to know each other.”

  “What?” She put her hands on her hips. “I told you I worked at a small pharmacy.”

  “Ya. And I have two sisters who used to work at Home Depot before they got married, and neither of them knew anything about home repair or the products. They knew how to operate the register and the scanner that rang up the sales. That’s it.” He shook a corncob at her. “But that’s not you. When I saw the brass key to the store in your hand, I got a feeling that place was a part of you. And the way you waltzed inside, welcoming me, it seemed clear that you’re a part of Greene’s Pharmacy in a way that goes much deeper than working the register.”

  She lifted her hand to her brows, blocking the sun from her eyes while studying him. “That’s strangely observant.”

  “Ya, anytime the word strange is used, it somehow ends up being connected to me.”

  She gave a short laugh. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  So maybe this strange set of circumstances would give him a second chance with her. They paused behind the wagon, and when she removed the bag, Joshua took it from her and emptied the corn into the wagon. “Just how connected are you to Greene’s Pharmacy?”

  “Very. I know it’s unusual for any Amish to be this coupled with health care, but I have the full support of my bishop. I started working for Lyle after my Daed died when I was fourteen. I joined the church at seventeen, and my bishop allowed me to get my GED and to cont
inue to work full time. Once I had my GED, I qualified to take a state board exam to be a pharmacy technician. That was no easy feat. Now I’m studying for the entrance exam into nursing school. If…When I get in, I’ll take classes at the pace of a snail, like one class a semester, until I’m an LPN.”

  “Wait…” He blinked a few times. “You have your GED, and you’re planning to go to college?”

  “Ya, sorry. Maybe I should’ve told you that last year, but the bishop asked that I keep it to myself as much as possible. The ministers and I are trying not to stir up trouble, because if anyone complains to the bishop, and especially if a group comes to him, he’ll probably have to ask me to quit. But I need that license. See, if you or anyone has a question about a medicine I deliver, I can’t legally answer, even if every word I said was correct or if I read the answer off the insert that came with your medicine.”

  “That’s sort of crazy.”

  “I think so too, but it’s the law, and they probably have good reasons for it. Once I’m an LPN, I can give answers. Then I’ll have to call a pharmacist only when I don’t know something.”

  “I asked a friend about you when you came to the first gathering, so I knew you’d joined the church as a teen.” Joshua had yet to join. He loved music, specifically the guitar. He’d been taking lessons for years, and all that had to end when he joined. “But I figured you’d had a beau and intended to marry and that things hadn’t worked out.”

  “What? No. Why does everyone have to assume that the only thing single women are interested in is marriage?”

  “Because ninety-eight percent of the time it’s true for Amish girls, but I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I doubt you’d understand what family life entails for a woman. It’s not just frowned on if we wish to continue working after marriage. It’s forbidden, at the very least for the first year. By then a baby has arrived or will soon, and the woman’s place is to stay home. My work is too important. Speaking of that, we are actually having a health fair specifically for the Amish this Saturday in Raysburg Field behind the Martel Clinic. You remember, that’s where your Mamm saw Doc Jules. You’d like the clinic’s owner, Doc Martel, too.”

  He was beginning to get a fresh perspective on why she might have turned him down and disappeared. In truth he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about such strong opinions coming from a woman. Maybe she’d done them both a favor by refusing even one date.

  “Ya, I heard a little something about that.”

  The small blue car that had dropped her off earlier was slowly approaching them.

  Holly waved him forward. “You should come, Josh, and bring your Mamm. There will be so much helpful information, answers that could otherwise take years to piece together, and you’ll receive handouts to take home. Julie—Doc Jules—will explain everything in detail, and then she’ll open the floor for questions. People will ask questions you might not think to ask, and, voilà, you’ll have answers before you knew you needed them.”

  “You know, it can’t hurt anything to go.”

  “Can’t hurt a thing. Might even be useful.” She grinned. “Free, useful info is hard to beat.”

  The word free jogged a thought. “What about payment for the insulin? I know money talks, but we’re surrounded by corncobs, and they’re pretty quiet, being all ears and no lips.”

  She laughed. “Observant and witty.” She dusted off her dress. “I can start a tab for you and your family at the pharmacy. Come by at your convenience to pay it.”

  He smiled. “Denki, Holly.”

  How did one of the most boring activities in the world suddenly turn into the brightest spot of his day? Same way the gatherings suddenly became fun. Holly was involved. But what did it say about him that the only girl he connected with wasn’t interested in following the traditional path?

  Familiar aromas and noises from Brandon’s childhood caused dozens of memories to wallop him as he walked through the pharmacy with his dad beside him. Well, two things were new. The feel of his dad’s knobby elbow in the palm of Brandon’s hand as he guided his aging dad toward the steps that led to his apartment and the sound of his dad’s cane thudding against the floor. It’d only been three days since his dad’s stroke, but in many ways it felt as if weeks had passed. Brandon hadn’t wasted any time. He’d subleased his bedroom in the apartment, moved his stuff out to make room for the new guy, and spent restless hours studying for the upcoming exam while at his dad’s bedside in the hospital.

  Now they methodically made their way toward their destination, and Brandon figured this was what life would look like for a while—moving like a turtle. But rather than Dad continuing toward the stairs, he eased toward the pharmacy counter.

  “Dad, come on.” Brandon tugged gently, biting his tongue to keep from speaking the frustrations in his head. He silently prayed for patience. “Upstairs. You can’t work right now.” His dad had no clue what kind of sacrifice Brandon was making by moving back to his hometown, even temporarily.

  His dad gave a dismissive wave and escaped Brandon’s guiding hand. He continued toward the prescription work area instead of their intended destination: the side door to the apartment upstairs.

  “Really? You are really going to step behind that counter?” Brandon shook his head.

  “Holly! Adrienne!” his dad called, sounding as if he were greeting his employees on a normal day.

  Though Brandon was staring at his dad’s retreating back, he was sure that a big grin was plastered across Dad’s face, albeit lopsided from the stroke. A familiar annoyance rose in Brandon’s chest. His dad never failed to treat his employees as if they were family, even at the expense of his actual family.

  Adrienne was blank faced and blinked several times before smiling. “Lyle? What on earth are you doing behind this counter? Your son told me you are supposed to be in bed.”

  Adrienne’s white pharmacist coat needed an iron, her usually well-kept red hair was in disarray, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She had twins who were almost two, and as a relief pharmacist, she worked only on Thursdays and Saturdays and sometimes on the very rare occasion Lyle needed to take a sick day. But she was here, filling in for his dad and working every other shift since Lyle’s stroke. But neither Adrienne nor Harris could work here full time. Brandon had to get a full-time temporary pharmacist-in-charge as soon as possible. He’d talked to someone about that yesterday. Brandon thought his dad would approve of his choice, but right now the most important thing was to get his dad settled upstairs and resting.

  “Lyle…” Holly put a hand on her hip. “Put your lab coat back on its peg and go upstairs. You need rest. We’ve got this under control.”

  “What’s going on? How behind are we?” Dad ignored her instructions.

  “You don’t wanna know.” Adrienne laughed in a short, high-pitched chuckle.

  “Come ’ere, Son.” Lyle inched his way forward, leaning on his cane. “Let’s spend a few minutes and help them out.”

  “Dad.” Brandon clenched his teeth. “We are literally walking in from a three-day hospital stay. You are in no condition to check any scripts right now.”

  “I’m not a moron, Bran. I’m not going to verify any scripts. I’m just going to help our hardworking ladies catch up. It’s about time for the afternoon rush.”

  “We already have four people in the store waiting on prescriptions we said would be done thirty minutes ago,” Adrienne added.

  Not helpful, Brandon wanted to tell her. It was clear there was no talking his dad out of this.

  “Fine.” Brandon yanked a spare white pharmacist coat off the peg. “We’ll help for ten minutes. Then you and I are going upstairs and getting you settled in.”

  Twenty-five minutes in, Brandon was kicking himself for not considering the rule of pharmacy busyness: every problem you solve often creates several others. Holly was t
yping and furiously scanning data entry, trying to get to the bottom of the stack of scripts in the queue. His dad was pulling medications from the shelf and arranging the baskets in order. Adrienne was counting pills and double-checking Holly’s typing against the scanned prescription copies and also verifying they had the right medication and the possible drug interactions. Brandon found himself working the register and manning the phone, answering questions, taking phoned-in prescriptions from doctors, and ringing up the finished prescriptions. It was helpful that he could legally dispense information as a licensed pharmacy graduate intern. Between ringing up customers at the register, he answered the phone. With the pharmacy this busy, why wasn’t his dad making any money?

  “Holly,”—Dad paused from putting bottles of meds into a basket—“have you taken a break at all today?”

  Brandon doubted it. Who could step away with this kind of busyness? He had the handset to the push-button phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, on hold with a doctor’s office. He’d been stuck like this for several minutes. He could see the light on the pharmacy phone flashing with two more calls waiting. He glanced up at Holly. Her hands were shaking as she typed.

  “Well, I…” Holly trailed off, eyes still on the computer screen.

  “I think that’s Holly-ese for no.” Lyle chuckled. “Why don’t you take five? Go sit down. Maybe get some water and a protein bar from the drawer in the break room while Brandon and I are here.”

  Brandon shifted the phone against his shoulder, waiting for the nurse to come on the line. “This coming from you? You shouldn’t be here working, period, and you agreed you would go upstairs after ten minutes of helping.” But his dad was right. Holly needed to take a break. Not doing so broke all sorts of labor regulations, and it made her more susceptible to making mistakes. The last thing this pharmacy needed was the State Board of Pharmacy on their backs or a tech making a mistake that an exhausted pharmacist wouldn’t catch. “Yeah, Holly, he’s right. You need to take a break. After I get finished with this call, I’ll work on data entry in between patients.”