“What are you using for bait?”
“Worms. Sometimes I use crawfish or minnows, when I can afford ’em. I got worms today.”
A young man arrived by bicycle. “Matt.”
“Levi, you made it.” Matthew beamed. “We’ve just cast our lines. Nothing yet.”
Just then, Silas felt a tug on his fishing rod. It could be the current, or something else. Like a log.
He pulled hard, and the something pulled back.
“You got something, Dad!”
“Yes, I can feel it.” He cranked the handle to the reel. The fishing rod bowed. He reeled more.
A fish leapt into the air, gave an odd wiggle, then released from the line. Silas’s pole snapped straight again.
“Lost it.”
They continued in the same manner for a while, with Levi having an elusive fish, and their bait supplies dwindled. Silas also gave some bait to the older woman fishing nearby.
“Silas!” Uncle Tobias approached.
He’d never seen the man walk so briskly or in such a straight line. “Yes, Uncle Tobias?”
“It’s Fran. She called me, not a moment ago. Lena’s trying to reach you.”
“I left my phone at the house.”
“She’s having some bad stomach pains. Fran went over to your place to check on her. She was upchucking and running a high fever. Wouldn’t let Fran touch her stomach.”
“I need to get home.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Matthew asked.
“Not sure.” Silas had his suspicions.
“Go, be with her. I’ll stay with the boys. Might even catch a few fish myself.”
“Thank you, Uncle Tobias.”
Silas hopped on his bicycle and sped back toward the house. Good thing they’d decided to bicycle instead of walk.
Lord God, touch my daughter, in Your mercy.
Helplessness had never been part of his vocabulary. Another time he’d felt so helpless; no, two times. Years ago, with the attack on John, and when hearing the news about Belinda . . .
He arrived home quickly enough, zipping around Fran’s vehicle and stopping at the garage. He let the bike lean against the garage door and ran to the front door.
Aunt Fran opened the door. “Good, Tobias reached you.”
“Dad!” Lena called out from where she lay on the sofa.
“Is anything helping?”
“No, it’s not. I tried a heating pad, and some aspirin, but nothing’s helping.”
“We’re going to the ER.”
Lena didn’t argue with him. She swung her legs over to the floor and tried sitting up, gasping with pain as she did so. “I think I can do it.”
Silas and Fran helped her to her feet.
“We’ll take my car. I’m blocking you,” Aunt Fran said. “I’ll call Pastor to get the prayer group on this, too.”
“Yes, please.”
They continued outside to Aunt Fran’s vehicle, where Silas settled Lena in the back seat.
“Can you sit up?”
She nodded. “It hurts, but I can do it.”
“We’ll be there soon.” As long as the traffic cooperates.
“I’ll go as fast as I can, dear,” Aunt Fran said to the rearview mirror.
Silas wondered if he ought to commandeer the driver’s seat. “Aunt Fran, if you need me to drive . . .”
“No, I’ve got it.” With a squeal of tires, she backed out onto the street. Then she shifted, and the car shot forward.
Lena moaned. “Oh, it hurts. It hurts so bad.”
“Pull over, Aunt Fran. Call an ambulance.”
22
Rochelle slid the first two pans of cupcakes into the oven just as her phone rang. She’d planned to bake four dozen cupcakes this morning, then visit her one Saturday cleaning client before spending the evening studying for exams.
She closed the oven door and went for the phone. Lena.
“Good morning, Lena.”
“This is Silas.”
“Oh, good morning.”
“I’m sorry about the short notice, but Lena won’t be able to take care of her clients this afternoon. I’m with her at the emergency room right now.”
Emergency room? Rochelle sank onto the nearest kitchen chair.
“Tell her not to worry about them; I’ll work it out. What’s wrong?”
“I think it’s appendicitis. She’s getting examined now. They mentioned getting a CAT scan before doing surgery . . .”
“Okay. Do you need anything else? I’ll make sure her clients are covered.”
“No, I don’t think so. But she wanted me to call you first.”
“What a sweetie. Tell her thank you, and I’m praying for her.”
“I will. And thanks for praying.”
She made a call to one of her other cleaners who said she’d be glad to take today’s clients, as Christmas was drawing closer and she could use the extra money.
Rochelle wanted to pack a bag and head to the emergency room. But it wasn’t her place, and no one seemed to know if or when Lena would need surgery. Maybe it wasn’t appendicitis at all.
Maybe Rochelle merely had the fidgets and wanted to distract herself from her thoughts by thinking about someone else. She took out another cake mix, then washed the mixing bowl and beaters, the sound of the running faucet loud in her ears.
The house felt still and quiet otherwise, with only her inside. Much like it had years ago, in the beginning. Some had questioned the wisdom of a young woman purchasing a three-bedroom house, but she’d been able to provide a place to stay for a trickle of extended family members throughout the years.
Everyone loved family who owned a house in Florida.
The timer! She’d forgotten to set it. She went over to the microwave, guessed at how much longer the cupcakes needed to bake, then punched in the numbers.
Rochelle pulled out her calendar. One more week, then finals. She’d already selected her classes for next semester. Only two this time. Then clinicals and exams next fall, and then, Lord willing, she’d be an RN.
After this semester, she’d realized how her heart truly wasn’t in cleaning anymore.
Right now especially, her heart was at Sarasota Hospital. She was with Silas, waiting to hear news about Lena. He’d welcome her there if she showed up. Ever since Thanksgiving and their walk and talk, he hadn’t been far from her mind.
She planned out her week ahead, and the following week, after which came Christmas week, the busiest in Pinecraft.
When the timer beeped, Rochelle knew exactly what she’d do.
She’d let these cupcakes cool, then visit her client early, and head to the hospital. She likely wouldn’t be the only one there lending support.
Whatever came next, she had no idea.
* * *
Not quite two hours later, she found her way into the emergency room, where Silas sat. He had a bottle of soda and half-eaten bag of chips on the end table. His face brightened when he saw her. His Aunt Fran stood, wearing a smile of her own.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Frances Fry said. She gave Rochelle a warm hug. “I was hoping he’d ask you to come. Lena will be glad to know you’re here, too.”
Rochelle gave Silas a glance. “I . . . felt like I should be here.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Lena’s getting a CAT scan now. They . . . they had a backlog of people waiting at Radiology.”
“It’s going to be all right, Silas.” Frances moved back to the seat beside him, and then paused. “Here, Rochelle, take my seat. I . . . I need to head home, but I’ll be back soon with Tobias and Matthew.”
“Thanks,” Silas said. “Thanks for taking me.”
“No problem at all.” Frances smiled. “It’s what family is for. Now, I’ll be back, lickety-split. Call, call, call me when you know something more.”
Silas nodded, and Rochelle settled onto the cushioned chair, which shared an armrest with Silas’s chair. He sat back and faced her.
&nbs
p; “You didn’t have to come. I know you have a lot to do . . . but I’m glad you did.” He reached for her hand again. Another flashback of his warm strength, of walks on Ohio country roads. Then the present came into focus as she stared at their hands, older now.
“I wanted to be here for you and Lena.”
A young medical assistant in blue scrubs emerged from a locked set of double doors. “Fry?”
“Here.” Silas stood, pulling Rochelle along with him.
They met the young man at the doors. “Come on back. Your daughter’s back in the examination bay.”
Still holding his hand, Rochelle went, too, her heart thudding all the way.
The medical assistant pulled back a curtain. “Your parents are here.”
Rochelle wanted to correct the man, but now wasn’t the time. “Hey, Lena.”
Lena smiled, her face pale. “Rochelle . . . you’re here. I’m so glad. And Dad . . .”
“The doctor will come in a few minutes and go over the CT results with you.”
“Thank you.” Silas released Rochelle’s hand and drew closer to his daughter’s bedside. “How are you feeling?”
“I still hurt. They gave me something for nausea, so I feel a little woozy.” Lena closed her eyes, and sighed. “I need to study. I have exams coming up.”
“Worry about it later.”
The curtain slid back and the doctor came in, carrying a folder. “I have the CT results back, Lena. You have a severely inflamed appendix, and it needs to come out.”
“I suspected as much,” said Silas.
“Someone will come by with consent forms, and your family is welcome to stay here with you until we take you to the OR.”
“Okay.” Lena’s voice came out as a whisper. She glanced from Silas to Rochelle.
“The procedure is laparoscopic, so all you’ll have are three small holes in your abdomen to heal up from. We’ll discharge you home tomorrow, if all goes well.”
“If all goes well . . .” Lena repeated.
The doctor left with more reassurances.
“These kinds of operations are routine,” Rochelle said after the doctor had pulled the curtain closed and left them alone. “Technology is amazing. Years ago, you would have ended up with a long incision on your side, and weeks and weeks of recovery time.”
“I’ve never had surgery before. I had stitches once, but it doesn’t count.”
“Why did you need stitches?” Maybe she could help distract Lena. Silas released Lena’s hand, then sank onto a nearby chair beside the heart monitor.
“I fell. I was running after Matthew in the kitchen, while I was carrying a glass. Who knows what he’d done. Anyway, I dropped the glass, then fell. On the glass.”
“Ouch.” Rochelle shook her head.
“Yes, ouch.” Silas half chuckled. “You screamed like someone was trying to tear your leg off.”
“I was ten and dramatic.” Lena laughed, then sucked in a breath. “Ow. You’re both trying to distract me.”
Rochelle darted a look at Silas. “Of course we are.”
The curtain moved, and Marvin, their pastor, entered the emergency room bay. Excellent timing. Rochelle stepped aside to allow him a place beside Lena.
Silas moved closer and whispered to her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
And so was she.
* * *
Instead of pacing in the surgical waiting room after Lena had been taken back for surgery, Silas suggested they walk in the outdoor atrium. Fresh air and quiet. Time to pray and wait. Wait and pray. He held the light-up pager the woman at the desk had given him. Instead of calling his name, they’d use the pager to signal him if needed.
Pastor Marvin had led a simple yet heartfelt prayer. Silas could sense Lena relaxing during the prayer, her features appearing less tense. He’d apologized for leaving, but was also visiting another church member who’d had surgery the day before.
Today, the breeze warmed Silas’s skin, the sun a reminder of why people flocked here every winter and some stayed. Like Rochelle, beside him.
He squeezed her hand, not caring if anyone saw.
“You like holding my hand.” She grinned, and a dimple he hadn’t seen in years bloomed in her cheek, then faded.
“It’s been a long time. I’d forgotten . . .” He stopped himself. He hadn’t exactly forgotten. He’d merely chosen not to remember.
“So, have you come any closer to deciding about the job offer?”
“I don’t think I’m going to take it. My life is here now. My family might not think they need me. Despite Matthew’s protests and Lena’s nose in her studies most of the time, I’m going to stay around. There will be other opportunities.”
“What about the mission field?”
They’d once had the same dream, yet Belinda had been the one to experience it with him.
He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll be out there again, someday.” But it wouldn’t be the same, going it alone.
“I’m thinking of applying to the Overland Missions group. They need nurses, and I’m ready for a change.”
To ask if she’d consider going with him would be to presume much, much more about their relationship, such as it was at this point.
Friends, and yet something more. Yet not a couple.
They continued along the brick walkway, covered with names of donors to the hospital. He led her to a secluded bench in the corner.
“I wonder how much longer it’s going to take,” she said as they sat down. “It’s been, what, forty minutes or so now?”
“I think so.” He tucked the pager into his pocket and settled onto the bench as close to Rochelle as he dared. Lena lay in an operating room, somewhere in the hospital, and right now all he could think of was Rochelle being near to him.
He’d been immature, years ago. She’d been wounded, grieving.
“Rochelle, may I kiss you?”
She leaned closer, turning her face toward him, and her eyelids fluttered closed.
He kissed her swiftly, not allowing himself to give her the kind of kiss he wanted to. When he opened his eyes, red shot to Rochelle’s cheeks, and her gaze slid toward the brick pathway.
The pager then began to buzz.
“The surgery must be over.” Rochelle scrambled to her feet.
They hurried back to the surgery desk and the receptionist.
“Mr. Fry.” The woman stood, handing him the phone. “The surgical nurse needs to speak to you.”
He glanced at Rochelle as he took the phone and set the pager on the counter. She frowned. If the surgery was over already, why hadn’t the receptionist said so?
“This is Cynthia, the head nurse on your daughter’s case. The surgeon is converting Lena’s procedure to an open operation.”
“Open operation?”
“Her appendix is too inflamed to remove laparoscopically,” the nurse explained. “He doesn’t want to risk rupturing her appendix on removal. So the procedure will take longer than planned. But he wanted me to let you know instead of keeping you waiting in the dark.”
“I . . . I understand.”
“What’s your blood type, Mr. Fry, in the event your daughter needs blood products?”
“It’s AB.” Blood products?
“Thank you. We ask, just in case. You sit tight, and we’ll have her in the recovery room as soon as we can. I’ll let you know when he’s finished closing her up.”
“Thank you.” He shook his head as he handed the phone back to the receptionist. “Could you reset the pager for me, please?”
After the receptionist reset the pager, he moved to the nearest set of chairs.
“What is it?” Rochelle touched his arm.
“It’s going to take longer.” He explained, and Rochelle sighed.
“We’ll keep praying.”
Another thirty minutes—how long could it take to make a bigger incision, anyway?—and the pager buzzed again.
Cynthia the nurse had called, this time with news making
Silas’s stomach curl over on itself.
“It’s worse than we thought. Your daughter is anemic, and she’s lost a lot of blood during this procedure. We’re out of her blood type in the blood bank, and she’s going to need a transfusion after all is said and done. We’ve put out a call for her blood type, because hers is O-negative and rare.”
He didn’t know much about blood types, but he knew even his own blood probably wouldn’t help Lena.
“Is it because I’m not her biological father that I can’t donate?”
“No, sir. She can only receive O-negative blood.”
At Silas’s words, Rochelle backpedaled and nearly stumbled over the chair.
All these years, it had never seemed to matter. Not to him, not to Belinda. And Rochelle knew . . . didn’t she?
The nurse kept talking about screening his blood anyway, and if there were other family members or friends who might have O-negative blood, but he heard little of it.
“I’ll . . . I’ll ask around.” He hung up the phone and turned to Rochelle. “I thought . . .”
23
Not now, Silas.” Rochelle shook her head as she caught her balance. “Not now. I don’t want to hear. Take care of Lena. She’s what matters right now.”
“But, we need to talk. I thought Belinda—”
“I’m going to get a coffee.” She turned and left the waiting area and found her way to the main hospital corridor.
Silas and Belinda had let them all believe Lena was their child.
She well remembered the feeling when she heard, years ago, that Belinda had given birth to a little girl seven months after the wedding. No one said much about Lena coming early, but murmurs mentioned a “honeymoon baby.”
Lena was John’s child.
The realization tumbled into her head as the circumstances added up.
Did Lena know?
She referred to Silas as her father, and their interaction seemed natural, loving, like a father loves his daughter.
Rochelle recalled her own words to Vera, about love always believing the best of someone.
She would stay out of it. She’d help Lena, but as far as whatever she thought she and Silas had, she wasn’t so sure it was meant to be.
He and Belinda had, in a sense, lied. Never denying his paternity, because nobody talked about such things, but they’d allowed people to believe Lena was his. Or, likely people knew, but didn’t say anything except in private, behind closed doors. She’d been in Florida then, was working for Leah and building a life away from Ohio.
A Promise of Grace Page 20
