“I don’t understand. Why did you—”
“All the men were out looking, Annie.” Adam reached over, placed his warm hand over Annie’s trembling ones. “We’re fortunate Samuel found him first.”
“He’d been lying in the cold too long, though.” Samuel’s voice remained detached, as if he were briefing her on a patient she might encounter on her morning rounds—not her father lying in the next room. “It settled into his lungs, and I’m very worried about that. One of his legs is a simple break. It should heal with no problems. The other has infection already.”
Annie pushed back from the table, began pacing between the stove and the chairs. “Then we should take him to the hospital—”
“He’s been to the hospital,” Samuel said. “Doctor Stoltzfus saw him, set both his legs and prescribed antibiotics.”
Realizing how serious it must be for her dat to agree to go to the hospital, Annie tried to grasp all that Samuel was saying.
In all the years she’d lived at home, she’d never known either of her parents to go to the hospital. She and each of her siblings had been born at home with the help of a midwife. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe in hospitals; her dat hadn’t ever felt the circumstances had warranted either the expense or the trip to one.
This situation was different.
It was grave.
Her father’s life must have been in jeopardy. Her pulse began to thunder, and she had trouble staying in the room.
She wanted to rush back to her dat’s side.
She wanted to call a driver and take him back to the Englisch.
She realized for the first time that he wouldn’t live forever. She’d always known that intellectually, but it was an entirely different thing to consider while sitting at the kitchen table.
“How is he now?” she asked. “I don’t understand why he’s here. Why he’s home.”
“It was your mamm’s decision to make.”
“But if it’s as serious as you say, then he came home too early.”
“Rebekah believes—and so do I—that we can handle him here at this point.”
“But it’s not your father lying in there, is it?” Her voice rose as she turned on him, ready to fight, ready to claw the admission out of him.
“Peace, Annie.” Leah stood and walked around the table. Stopping beside Annie, Leah trailed a hand down her hair, down her back, rubbing in soft circles. “Samuel wants what is best for Jacob as well.”
“Indeed I do. I count him as one of my closest freinden.” Samuel also stood, moved toward the stove as if to warm his hands, but in fact stepping closer to Annie and lowering his voice. “I won’t leave him with a girl who isn’t mature enough to handle the pressures. His recovery will be long. He’ll need constant attending, and your mamm needs someone who will stick with this job.”
So he did remember her.
Annie felt her chin come up even as the air left her lungs. “You needn’t worry about me, Mr. Yoder. I won’t be leaving my dat’s side until he’s well enough to drive the buggy again. Now if you’d like to leave your instructions.”
And not waiting to see if he followed, she turned and marched into her father’s room.
3
Annie woke the next morning unsure why she felt so comfortable, so right.
Then she heard her dat’s roosters crowing before the sun had lightened the sky. Gratitude washed over her, through her heart, and into her morning prayers as she contemplated her day.
She could not feel thankful for the tragedy her father had suffered, or the fact that she would have to endure Samuel Yoder’s insufferable, patronizing directions.
Replaying the conversation in her dat’s room—the one after she’d lost her composure in the kitchen—she questioned whether she should have admitted to Samuel that she was a nurse. She hadn’t even admitted that to her family yet. How could she explain it to Samuel? Her mamm and dat thought she’d spent the last three years living with her aenti and acting as a sort of live-in governess. Annie had never lied to them, but she was old enough to know a lie of omission was a lie nonetheless.
Rolling out of bed, Annie found her clothes neatly folded on top of the chest at the end.
The memory of last night’s discussion caused her cheeks to burn anew even as she dressed in the darkness.
Samuel might not realize she had medical training, but he still spoke to her as if she were a child younger than Reba—a child who couldn’t be trusted to change a Band-Aid correctly let alone a dressing.
“Is Dat worse?” Charity asked, sitting up in alarm.
“He’s fine. Go back to sleep. I’m used to waking early.”
“Earlier than on a farm? That’s hard to imagine.” Charity turned and burrowed deeper under the covers.
Annie tiptoed out of the room, carrying her shoes with her until she’d descended the stairs to the kitchen. Though it wasn’t yet five in the morning, her mother had already rekindled the fire in the potbellied stove that heated the living room and set water to boil on the stove in the kitchen. The two-stove system would have looked strange to anyone from her aenti’s house, but to Annie it immediately spoke of home.
She looked longingly toward the kitchen—a cup of hot tea would start her moving—but she decided to check on her patient before indulging herself.
Lacing her shoes, she moved quietly across the living room, noticing again that her mamm had begun none of the Christmas preparations. Her heart sang at that realization. No doubt the nativity scene had been cleaned off and lay ready in the barn. Perhaps they would set it out in front of the house on the weekend.
She stopped at her parents’ room and knocked gently on their door.
“Come in.” Her mamm’s voice was like a sweet balm over chapped skin.
In that moment, stepping through the doorway, Annie fully realized how much she had missed being home, being with her family, being with the people who loved her.
Rebekah sat beside the bed, knitting by the light of a kerosene lamp.
“How is he?”
Her daed lay sleeping, same as before. She’d yet to see him open his eyes. His quietness unsettled her. She was used to seeing him working, always working.
“He woke about an hour ago. Adam and I helped him to the bathroom, since he isn’t to put any weight on the leg yet. And I managed to coax a few spoonfuls of tea with honey down him. Go and make your own breakfast while he’s sleeping.” Rebekah reached up, accepted her kiss, and then returned to her knitting. “Go on now. You’ll have enough of this room by the time this day’s done.”
Smiling to herself, Annie made her way back into the kitchen. She’d worked quite a few twelve-hour shifts in the last six months, but she wasn’t quite sure how to explain those days to her mother.
And what good would it do?
The important thing was that now she was home.
Slipping the teabag into the cup and pouring the hot water over it, her thoughts returned to her prayer of thanksgiving— the one she’d uttered on rising.
She was grateful to be back in Mifflin County, grateful that she would be home for Christmas.
This was where she belonged.
Her heart had nearly stopped when Shelly had said her father had been in an accident. So many terrible things had passed through her mind.
Her dat’s condition was serious to be sure, but she had seen much worse.
Kiptyn’s face flashed in her memory, then Laquisha’s, Stanley’s, Logan’s. She had managed to stop by their rooms and tell them goodbye before she left, and she’d promised to write to Kiptyn. It had seemed to her the boy’s color looked better by the time she’d cleaned out her locker, hopefully owing to the fact they had started the new medications the day before.
Hugging Annie goodbye, Shelly assured her she would watch over her patients and drop her a line as to the children’s status.
So much suffering in the world.
While Mercy Hospital—and facilities like them—pro
vided a needed sanctuary for the sick, she preferred to nurse her father here.
Slicing a piece of her mother’s raisin bread and a red apple, she looked out the window to see if dawn was yet claiming the sky, driving back the night’s blackness, but it was too early.
A vision of Samuel Yoder’s brooding eyes pierced her calmness, but she pushed it away. She wouldn’t need to see him often, and there was another prayer of gratitude she would be offering up when she knelt by her bed. The Lord knew she had enough work, and enough men in this household, without adding one with a sharp attitude to the mix.
The morning passed as quickly as any she had spent on the ward at Mercy Hospital.
In the first hour, four heads popped around the corner of her dat’s door, in descending order. First Adam, coming in from the barns, then Charity on her way out to help Adam. Next came Reba—still yawning, and still protectively holding one hand over the pocket of her apron.
Each of her siblings whispered, “Gudemariye,” cast a worried eye toward their dat, and affirmed again how glad they were she was home.
Only her mamm motioned her outside the room. “He still hasn’t wakened?”
Annie shook her head. “I believe the herbs Samuel gave him are helping him sleep.”
“But it’s so unlike him—”
“Sleep is what his body needs.” Annie placed a hand on her mother’s arm, easily falling into the role of comforter—though it did strike her as ironic that she was consoling her mother.
It seemed as if just yesterday she had stood in this room explaining how she’d been asked to leave yet another job, and her mother had been the one promising everything would be all right.
“He’s never been in bed this late.” Rebekah’s voice creaked like the swings on the playground at school. “Not even the time he had the measles.”
Annie smiled at the story they had all laughed over so many times—laughed because it had ended well and the thought of her father tending the stock while he was broken out in the red bumps must have been a sight.
The measles weren’t a laughing matter among her people though. Since many in their community did not immunize their children, it remained something they had to vigilantly guard against.
“Rest is what he needs now. Go on to the store. We’ll be fine.”
Rebekah nodded, pulled herself up straighter as she tied the strings of her prayer kapp. “Your bruder is working here today. David Hostetler has agreed to help out, and Adam is going to show him what needs to be done.”
For a moment, Annie thought of confessing to her mother exactly what she’d been doing during her rumschpringe years. Perhaps if her mamm knew she’d been at school rather than running wild, she’d relax.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she decided while it might ease her own conscience, it likely wouldn’t help her mamm a bit. Rebellion was precisely that in the eyes of the Amish people—didn’t matter that it was schooling she had pursued while she was away.
The point was she sought that which was forbidden to them.
Best to leave it alone.
Her mamm had enough to deal with this morning.
“I’ll shout for Adam if I need anything.”
“Or ring the bell.”
“Ya, or I’ll ring the bell. I haven’t forgotten how we do things, you know.”
“Of course you haven’t.” Rebekah stopped gathering her things and pulled her close. “Danki for coming home.”
Annie wanted to say so much in that moment. Instead she merely returned her mamm’s hug, forced back her tears, and nodded. “Gem gschehne. Now go, or you’ll be late and the Englischers will be lined up outside the store waiting to purchase Mr. Fisher’s fine things.”
Two hours later, Annie was checking her dat’s vitals when his hand reached out and covered hers. The sight of his weathered hand lying gently over hers caused tears to sting her eyes. She drew in a deep breath, willed herself not to cry, and reminded herself that she was a professional.
“Please tell me you’re hungry.”
“Ya. Seems like you don’t feed your patients much around here.” His voice was weaker than she remembered, but those blue eyes opened with a twinkle, and a smile pulled his beard that was streaked through with gray.
Annie forgot for a moment that she was a registered nurse.
She threw herself into her father’s arms, buried herself in the smell of him—a smell that still held the barns and the fields, though he hadn’t been there in over forty-eight hours. It wasn’t until he patted her clumsily and began wheezing that she pulled back, wiping at the tears streaming down her face.
“Did I give you so big a scare?” Jacob asked, his voice cracking.
“You did. I suppose you did.” She flew to the pitcher of water, poured him a glass and held it to his lips as he struggled to sit up.
Drinking even a little tired him, and he lay back against the pillows with a sigh. Looking out at the daylight, he shook his head, plainly unhappy. “Must be nearing nine in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about the farm. Adam’s here, and David Hostetler is coming.”
He nodded, but looked no happier.
“What do you feel like eating? Maybe some bread first, or tea—”
“Wait.” His voice stopped her more quickly than the hand that reached out to grasp her wrist. “I remember the hospital and a doctor.…”
“Doctor Stoltzfus set your legs.” Annie said it gently, not sure if he realized yet the extent of his injuries.
Jacob nodded, not looking down at the covers—bunched high from the casts covering both his left and right legs from knee to ankle.
“Ya. He spoke with me when I first arrived. I don’t remember anything of the procedure though.”
“Your left leg is a simple break, according to Samuel. It should heal quickly.”
“Samuel was here?” Jacob turned his attention from the window to her.
“He found you, in the snow late that night, then rode with you to the hospital.”
“Yesterday?”
“Day before yesterday. You’ve been sleeping quite a bit.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
“What about the accident?” Annie didn’t want to tire or upset him, but she’d learned with patients that often their first memories were their clearest. “The police have no leads.”
“Why are the police involved?”
“You don’t remember anything?”
Confusion clouded his face now, and Annie was sure if she felt his pulse she’d find it had accelerated. He shook his head and attempted to sit up straighter.
“Let me help you.” She plumped his pillows, positioned them behind his back and head.
“The first thing I remember is waking up in the hospital, with Dr. Stoltzfus and your mamm standing over my bed.”
Annie thought of waiting until her mamm had returned to tell him, but she knew there would be no putting her dat off. She also suspected he wouldn’t rest until he’d had the entire story.
“Someone hit your rig when you were driving home from Samuel’s. Someone in a car. You’re lucky to be alive. You lay there in the cold for hours, which is why we’re worried about pneumonia. It’s why you have such a heaviness in your chest.”
Jacob frowned but didn’t interrupt her.
“The mare was still alive when Samuel arrived, but maimed. He had to put her down. Then he stopped a motorist and borrowed a cell phone to contact Dr. Stoltzfus. He called an ambulance and met you at the hospital.”
“And my legs?” The question came out harshly, like a rock dropping onto the ground.
“The left one will heal quickly. The right is a more complicated break and has grown infected.”
Jacob clenched his jaw, the lines across his forehead creasing as he did. It was an expression she had seen occasionally as a child, and it never signaled anything good.
Jacob had been a kind, gentle father—but he’d also had an extremely stubborn streak. Rebe
kah had often teased his genealogy could be traced back to Noah himself because Jacob was stubborn enough to build an ark during a drought.
Annie saw that stubbornness in her father now. She wanted to reach down and kiss his weathered cheek.
Instead, she poured him more water.
He drank it, then asked, “How long until I can work again?”
“Samuel says it will be later winter, maybe spring before you’re even walking.”
She had returned the cup and pitcher to the stand, straightened his covers, and walked to the door—determined to bring him something to eat—when he finally spoke. His words didn’t startle her, but neither were they exactly what she expected.
“Samuel Yoder is a gut friend, and I consider him a smart man in such matters.”
“Ya, I expect he is.”
“But smart men are sometimes surprised by things they haven’t lived long enough to see, things they can’t understand.”
Annie thought she heard a desperation behind his words, but then again perhaps it was the exhaustion speaking. She nodded, went into the kitchen, and prepared him a simple breakfast.
In the early afternoon, he woke again and reached out for her hand.
“What is it, Dat?”
“Are you home, Annie?”
“Of course. I’m right here.” She checked his forehead, wondering if fever had set in, if the infection had worsened—but his skin was cool to her touch.
“I mean are you home for good? Are you here to stay this time?”
She looked into his blue eyes, crinkled with concern, and ran a hand down his brow. “Ya. I’m home to stay.”
“So you’ve put your rumschpringe behind you?”
Annie understood then what he was asking. She also understood she wasn’t only answering because he was ill, or from a desire he rest and not worry.
She was home to stay.
Wearing her plain clothes, surrounded by her family, among her community—this was where she belonged.
She had known it all along. Why had she ever left?
There were things she had longed to learn, yes.
A Simple Amish Christmas Page 3
