The Patch of Heaven Collection

by Kelly Long

  The boy took off between the trees, and Grant rose slowly to his feet to pick his way back across the field. It had only been a suspicion really, about the arson, but the blue coat matched up. He’d have to let Mr. King know, though he doubted the police could catch the boy in the maze of the woods even at this time of year.

  He sighed, chilled, as he got back in his car and thought about old Mrs. Stolis. No, he didn’t know everything, and he wished Matthew Fisher didn’t know as much as he did about the evil of man.

  CHAPTER 14

  The week at the Kemp farm seemed to take wings, and Sarah found herself feeling better as she spent time talking with John Kemp’s mamm, eating the tasty meals Chelsea prepared to tempt her, and holding her tiny nephew. When she returned home, there was color back in her cheeks and a renewed spirit within her, but when she went to greet Father, she found him pale and somewhat absentminded.

  “Father,” she asked with concern. “Are you ill?”

  “Nee.” He smiled, patting her cheek. “I’m just growing old, that’s all.”

  Sarah looked at Mamm, but she only shrugged with a worried frown and turned back to the stove.

  So Sarah went back to the stand the next day and sat close to the kerosene heater Luke had brought that morning. She clutched her gloved hands together and tried to repress a shiver. She found it hard to believe that she’d ever thought, in the summers past, that it was too hot when the early November weather was as cold as it was.

  The stubborn wind blew, shifting the light curtain of near-freezing rain into the deeper regions of the stand, and she moved to adjust some needlepoint pillows farther back on a shelf. She gazed over the baskets of pinecones, both natural and dipped in cinnamon wax, and the ten pumpkin and custard pies she’d made the previous night. In truth, she had fun arranging the various wreaths, dried mushrooms, and jars of canned items each day. And despite the cold, cars stopped. She learned to have an assortment of ribbon and brown paper for passersby who stopped on a whim, wanting a gift for the upcoming holiday season or some token to take home or to a party.

  Mamm had also given her several quilts from the attics that she’d completed some years back. It amazed Sarah how fascinated the Englisch were with quilts and the act of quilting.

  She glanced up at the thought, realizing that she was expecting Grant. She hadn’t seen him since she’d returned, but a car pulled in, and a man got out who was not the doctor.

  He was clad in one of the puffy coats the Englisch seemed to prefer in cold weather and wore sunglasses against the glare, as the light began to pierce through the thin rain, catching the dim corners of the leaden surroundings.

  He took the glasses off as he mounted the steps to the stand.

  “Mornin’, honey. I’d like to see your quilts. Want to get one for my wife for Christmas.”

  Sarah rose, dreading the moment when she’d have to tell him the cost. Mamm had insisted that quilts in Lancaster and other places sold for as much as a thousand dollars and had also said she’d have the arthritis in her neck to prove her workmanship was just as fine.

  “No lower than four hundred, Sarah. Don’t forget what I say. Your heart is soft enough to give them away,” Mamm had told her as she’d bundled the quilts into Sarah’s outstretched arms.

  “Jah, Mamm,” Sarah had replied.

  So she wriggled her cold fingers inside her gloves and unfolded the blue and white double wedding ring quilt first. She could see the pleasure in the man’s eyes as he surveyed the stitchery.

  “That’s real pretty. You got anything with more purple and red in it?”

  Sarah opened the Jacob’s Ladder quilt, and the man smiled in satisfaction. “That’ll be the one. I’ll take it.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “It’s four hundred dollars, sir.”

  He looked surprised and she shifted nervously, hating this part of the stand. “Four hundred? Honey, you’re selling yourself short. A quilt like this would go for nearly a thousand in some places.”

  He ran a rough hand over the colored fabric. “I’ll give you five hundred and you learn a lesson from an older man. Don’t sell for less.”

  Sarah swallowed. “Thank you so much. I hope your wife likes it.”

  His face took on a faint shadow, though he still smiled. “Well, me too. It’ll be her last Christmas you know—if she can hang on that long. She’s got the breast cancer real bad . . . gone through to the chest wall. The doctors don’t give her much time.” He was counting out the bills as he spoke and Sarah’s eyes filled with quick tears.

  He looked at her as he handed over the money and she took it reluctantly. “Don’t feel bad, honey. We’re believers in the Lord; I’ll see her again one day.”

  “Please,” Sarah choked. “Will you let me give you the bed pillows that will match the quilt? I—I’d like a chance to bless her.”

  The man smiled. “Why that’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “Can I wrap it for you? I have paper and ribbon.”

  “Sure.”

  Sarah was concentrated on fitting the paper around the quilt, thinking how much she had to be grateful for when others were suffering so. She wound ribbon around two of the needlepoint pillows, binding them together.

  “Thank you, honey. You keep your chin up now!”

  “Ach, you too and your wife!” Sarah called as he placed the items in his backseat, then got in and drove off with a wave.

  Keep your chin up . . . Sarah pondered his words. He was telling her to be strong, when he had such a weight to bear himself. It made her bow her head in silent thanks to the Lord for sending someone to give her a message of hope that provided her a different perspective on life.

  She returned home that evening, frustrated at not having seen Grant, only to encounter Mamm’s anxious face.

  “Sarah, Father is much worse today than he has been. He doesn’t want to leave his chair.”

  Sarah took one look at Father’s ashen complexion and the indecisive faces of her brothers and spoke quickly.

  “He needs to go to the hospital. I’ll run to the telephone shack to call an ambulance; I’m faster.” And she flew out into the freezing darkness.

  Grant swung the car into the lane of the King farm, not even sure why he was doing it. He’d taken the fawn to the animal sanctuary that morning and had then been tied up with a difficult cesarean on a cow, followed by prolonged visits to several farms to complete herd vaccinations, which he’d been working on for nearly two weeks. He hadn’t had the chance to see Sarah in forever, and he chafed at the darkened roadside stand as he passed it. His headlights suddenly picked up a woman crossing the road and he recognized the strands of light brown hair.

  He ground the car to a halt and got out. “Sarah, what is it?”

  She looked at him wild-eyed, and he caught her shoulders. “It’s Father. He’s very ill. I need to telephone . . .”

  “Get in.” He sped a few yards down the lane, then muttered and stopped again. “Sarah, the battery’s dead in my cell. Run to the telephone shack. Pick up the receiver and dial 9-1-1; someone who will help will answer. Run fast. I’ll go to your father.”

  She was out of the car before he’d finished speaking and started back through the field, stumbling over the earthen clods. She was praying with each step, but she knew that the Lord had sent Grant at that moment. The Lord was in control. She kept repeating the thought over and over as she gained the small gray shack that housed the telephone. She flung the door wide and saw nothing but blank, rough walls and a black telephone and wires mounted on the wall opposite her. The fitful light of the moon allowed her to see the numbers. She lifted the handle with a shaking hand and put it to her ear. She’d never had to use a phone before. She heard a buzzing sound and recalled the number that Grant had spoken. She put her thin finger in the circle by the nine and turned it clockwise, then did the same for the two ones. She waited, her heart beating in her ears.

  “9-1-1 emergency. How can I help you?” The woman’s voice s
ounded calm and competent.

  Sarah sagged against the wall in relief. “Father . . . my father . . . he’s very ill. He needs an ambulance.”

  “Is he breathing?”

  Jah . . . yes . . . he’s just very pale and sitting still.” “

  “Can you take the phone and go to him while I ask you some questions?”

  “No,” she sobbed. “I’m Amish; I’m in a telephone house in the fields.”

  “All right, honey, hang on. Can you give me your address?”

  Sarah carefully gave her address and directions to the farm from Lockport.

  “All right, now I want you to go back to your father and wait for the ambulance. Do you know CPR?”

  She thought desperately. “No . . . no . . . What is it?”

  “It’s all right, honey. Just go back to your father; try and make him comfortable. The ambulance is on its way . . . should be there in ten minutes or less.”

  “I’ll go,” Sarah breathed. “Danki.”

  She raced back toward the house, her feet beating a steady rhythm to the refrain in her heart. Let him be well, Lord. Let him be well . . .

  CHAPTER 15

  Grant entered the farm house to an eerie quiet. The family was gathered around Mr. King’s chair, and Mrs. King sobbed. They looked up at him as he crossed the kitchen and Mamm cried out, “Der Herr sie gedankt, Dr. Williams is here. Please help him!”

  Grant hurried to the chair where Mr. King sagged, with his head on one side. He felt for a pulse, relieved to find it weak but present.

  “When did this start?”

  Mamm wrung her hands. “He hasn’t been himself for a few days, but tonight he complained about a pain in his arm and then he just seemed to drift off. I couldn’t wake him; I thought he was just tired.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. King, but I think it’s his heart. Let’s get him down on the floor and make him more comfortable. Get some blankets too.” He took off his jacket and pillowed it on the hardwoods while the boys helped him ease their father down and cover him up. Mr. King’s eyelids fluttered, and Grant breathed a prayer of thanks.

  “Mr. King, it’s Grant Williams. You’re going to be all right. The ambulance will be coming. Sarah ran to call them.”

  Grant kept up the flow of simple sentences, trying to make an anchor of his voice; Mr. King groaned.

  “Get a damp cloth, will you, Luke?” he said low.

  Sarah flew back into the kitchen as Grant began to wipe down her father’s forehead. She dropped to the old man’s side, next to her mamm, and began a rapid flood of Pennsylvania Dutch, in between hiccupping sobs.

  “Here.” Grant gave her the damp towel. “Wipe his face and calm down. You’ll transfer your panic to him. Speak to him slowly. Did they say how long for the ambulance?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Great . . . He’s going to be all right, I think. He’s breathing on his own and his pulse is okay.”

  “That’s good,” James said in a choked voice.

  The whine of the ambulance siren hurtled to a stop outside. Grant went to open the door to the paramedics, then eased Sarah and her mamm to their feet and away from the patient.

  He watched with both sadness and interest as the paramedics pulled on gloves and shot brief comments back and forth and then radioed vital signs back to Lockport Hospital. Medicine in all its forms interested Grant, but he could not fully concentrate with Sarah and her mamm’s faint sobbing.

  The paramedics brought in a gurney and wrapped Mr. King in blankets; then they strapped him securely.

  “Are you going to follow the ambulance?” One paramedic looked at Grant.

  “We’ll be right behind you.”

  He glanced at the boys. “I can take your mamm and Sarah and come back for you.”

  James shook his head. “Nee, go on. We need to get chores done; that’s what Father would want.”

  “And we must let Chelsea and John Kemp know,” Luke added.

  Grant nodded and bundled Sarah and her mamm into his car as the ambulance sped away and he shifted the car into gear to follow. He wanted to soothe Sarah, hold her hand, but he kept up a reassuring conversation that demanded little reply instead.

  They arrived at Lockport slightly behind the ambulance to find that Mr. King had been taken to the ER.

  “Can we go back with him?” Grant asked, catching the eye of a kind nurse.

  “Yes, you’re family?” She looked at the obvious difference in dress between Grant and the two women.

  Mamm spoke up. “He’s from out of town.”

  Grant smothered a smile and felt flattered by the compliment. They followed the nurse through the massive swing doors and entered the ordered chaos of the emergency room.

  Sarah was assaulted by the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells of the place. Father looked small and frail on the hospital bed. He had tubes coming from his nose and arms and his clothing had been replaced by a blue gown and white blankets. Strange machines beeped and displayed ominous, blinking red numbers, while the nurses swinging the curtain back and forth along the steel rod grated against her nerves. Mamm was seated in the only chair while Sarah stood with Grant behind her.

  “I know you’re both scared,” Grant said gently. “Would it help if I explained what they’re doing?”

  “Jah,” Mamm sniffed, then pressed her lips together.

  “All right, the tubes in his nose are for oxygen, to help him breathe more easily. The tube in his arm is called an IV. It goes into the vein to help deliver fluids and medicine directly into his system.”

  “Where are his clothes?” Mamm asked, desperate to hang on to something familiar.

  The nurse looked up. “Mrs. King? I’m Erin, one of the nurses. Here are your husband’s belongings.” She handed Mamm a white plastic bag, and Sarah thought how strange it was that all of one’s external life could be so easily confined by a mere slip of plastic.

  “Will he go home soon?” Mamm asked.

  “One of the doctors will be in to speak with you about that. Can I bring you some juice or water while you wait?”

  Sarah and Mamm both shook their heads.

  “No thanks,” Grant murmured.

  The nurse flung the curtain open and closed once more, and Mamm reached her careworn hand to touch Father’s. Sarah’s lip quivered, and Grant massaged the back of her neck.

  The curtain was reopened once again, and a white-coated young doctor entered. He glanced at the women and Grant, then he took a stethoscope, brushed aside Father’s beard, and listened to the old man’s chest. He slung the stethoscope back around his neck.

  “He’s going to need a heart cath—stat.”

  “What . . . what is that?” Mamm asked.

  “You’re Amish, right? My girlfriend loves your quilts; bet they go for a small fortune.”

  “The patient, if you please, Doctor.” Grant’s voice was level.

  The young doctor grinned at Grant. “Did you forget to get dressed up this morning?”

  “I’ll speak to your superior, now,” Grant said. “Tell him Dr. Williams requests the presence of his or her company.”

  Sarah felt Grant stiffen behind her. She couldn’t see his face, but something must have made the other doctor change his mind about his attitude.

  The young doctor glanced at the chart. “My apologies . . . Mrs. King. I . . . spoke without thinking. Your husband will be taken to a special room where we will use a very small camera to move through his vein and look at his heart to see what sort of damage there is, if any.”

  “Will he go home soon?” Sarah asked.

  The doctor glanced at her, seeming to notice her beautiful face for the first time. “No . . . no, ma’am . . . a few days in the hospital or more. We have a hospitality suite where you can stay if you would like to be close by. I’ll send one of the nurses in to talk about it with you.”

  He avoided Grant’s eyes, nodded, and slipped out of the curtain.

  “Eyes like flame, Dr. Williams,�
�� Mamm said, smiling. “You scared him off, I think.”

  Sarah felt Grant nod, then she stepped forward to embrace her mother, who hugged her back and muttered something in Pennsylvania Dutch.

  “Nee, Mamm. That’s not true.”

  “What did she say?” Grant asked curiously.

  Sarah looked back at him. “She remembered an old superstition . . . that a new life must be paid for with an old. Chelsea’s baby for Father, but she’s just worried, jah, Mamm?”

  Mrs. King nodded. “I know . . . Der Herr is in charge. All will be well.”

  A pair of nurses came then.

  “Mrs. King, We’re going to take your husband up to the cath lab to take some pictures of his heart. You can all follow us; there’s a waiting room up there for you.”

  Sarah watched as tubes were unhooked and gathered, locks were turned on the wheels of the bed, and side rails were raised in quick precision. She held Mamm’s arm and followed the rolling bed with the doctor in the rear. They came to a large steel door, where the nurse pressed a black button and an arrow pointing upward lit up. Sarah swallowed in faint alarm. She knew it was called an elevator, but she’d never ridden in one and she didn’t want to reveal her fear to Mamm.

  She felt a large hand press into the small of her back as Grant leaned close to her ear. “First time?” he whispered, and she felt a peculiar chill down her spine as she nodded. He patted her back as a bing sounded and the steel door slid open. The bed was wheeled in first, then Sarah, Mamm, and Grant followed. Sarah felt a trapped tightness in her chest as the nurse pressed a button on the steel wall and was grateful for Grant’s sturdy presence.

  She felt as if her body was falling through her feet as the elevator climbed, and a wave of nausea swept through her. She looked at Mamm, who appeared equally pale, and was grateful when the thing stopped with a jolt and the doors reopened. Then it was following an endless piece of yellow tape on the floor until they came to double doors marked Heart Institute. The nurse smiled at them kindly and gestured to a bright room to their left.

  “Please go and wait inside; We’ll let you know as soon as possible how everything goes.”