Leah’s work, besides that of handling sales and customers in the showroom, had been a mystery to me until a few days before, when she showed me the pictures of my work she’d placed on the Internet. Elias had paid an Englisch man to create a website for his shop, and that man had taught Leah how to place pictures of the items for sale. She called the procedure uploading and seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in the process. Just as I took pleasure in creating the bowls and cups and pitchers she displayed.
Elias raised his hands, shaking his head. “It was not my work the customers bought yesterday. It was yours.” He awarded me a kindly smile. “Take the money, Seth. Ein arbeiter ist seines lohnes wert.”
That particular Scripture from die Bibel was one Bishop Beiler was fond of quoting. The worker deserves his wages.
“Besides,” Leah added in her usual acerbic tone, “I am not giving you all of the money from the sale. I’m keeping a portion to cover our expenses and a nice profit besides.”
I threw up my hands in defeat. “How can I argue with die Bibel and your making a profit?”
She actually laughed as she pressed a stack of bills into my hands.
“Gut.” Elias rubbed his hands together. “Now, let us get to work. You must trim that canister you threw yesterday, and I have an order from an Englisch customer for a pair of large pots for her front porch. This will require the larger wheel and wooden bats. You will learn a new technique today, my skillful student.”
The door’s jangling bells stopped me as I turned toward the workshop. Robbie rushed in, his face white and eyes round as Mammi’s donuts.
“Is something wrong?” I took a step toward him, his alarmed expression creating instant tension in my chest. “Did you have an accident?”
“Not me.” The young man held up his cell phone, his gaze fixed on me. “It’s your grandmother. You need to get home now.”
My heart stuttered, and for a moment I couldn’t move. Then I sprang into action and raced through the door after Robbie.
Robbie drove like a maniac while I clutched the dashboard and wished he would go faster. We arrived at the farm in time to see an ambulance turning from our driveway onto the road. The little red car sped toward the house, where my family stood gathered outside, watching the vehicle with flashing lights disappear in the distance.
I leaped out of the car as soon as it was stopped. “What happened?”
“She just fell.” Saloma’s face was the color of the bleached sheets hanging on the line stretched across our backyard. “She picked up a dress from the wash basket and started to hang it, and—” Her voice broke.
“It was my dress.” Tears squeezed Becky’s voice tight, and Saloma placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. Sadie clung tightly to her mamm’s leg, her face hidden in the dark fabric of her dress.
Daed, who held a twin’s hand in each of his, cast a sympathetic glance at my schweschder. “Your dress had nothing to do with the fall, dochder. She must have tripped on an uneven place on the ground.”
“I am sure that is what happened.” Saloma gave Becky’s shoulders a final squeeze before releasing her. “The ambulance driver said she might have broken her hip.”
Though a broken hip in a woman Mammi’s age was nothing to take lightly, a few of the tense knots in my stomach unwound. After the episode I’d witnessed in the daadi haus, I’d feared worse.
The door to the house opened, and Mamm bustled out, holding her cape closed beneath her chin. Aaron followed with a small overnight bag in his hands.
“I will call the Cramers as soon as I know anything,” she said as she hurried toward Robbie’s car. “Doris Cramer said her husband would bring a message here.”
Robbie took the bag from Aaron and placed it in the trunk of his car while I opened the back door for Mamm.
She addressed Saloma as she settled herself on the seat. “Ham for supper, and don’t add wood to the oven too soon or you’ll burn it.”
“I won’t,” Saloma promised.
“And don’t start the potatoes too late or everything else will get cold waiting for them to cook.”
“Don’t worry about our supper,” Aaron chided. “Save your worries for Mammi.”
Daed fixed a hard stare on him before turning a soft expression toward his wife. “Do not worry at all. Instead, pray, as we all will be doing.”
Pray. I had not done so, too obsessed with my concern for my grossmammi. I formed a quick, silent plea for her health and safety as I rounded the front of the car and opened the passenger seat.
Mamm leaned forward and asked, “You are coming too?”
“Did you think we would let you go alone?” I shot back.
Everyone nodded, and Becky shot me a grateful look as I climbed inside.
Robbie opened his door. “Which hospital did they take her to?”
“Lancaster General.” Saloma switched her gaze to Mamm and raised her voice to be heard through the closed window. “Call the Cramers as soon as you know anything.”
Mamm nodded as Robbie turned the key. The engine caught with a rumble, and we took off in the wake of the ambulance.
Robbie pulled the car to a stop in front of the emergency room doors and then jumped out to help Mamm from the back. I sat frozen in the front seat, unable to move. All the way here my mind was focused on praying for Mammi. I hadn’t anticipated the wave of sudden panic that gripped my lungs with fists of steel and left me gasping.
The last time I was here, I’d watched my Rachel die.
My mind replayed the scene as though it had occurred mere moments before. The feel of the asphalt beneath my shoes as I leaped from the back of the ambulance and scurried to get out of the paramedics’ way. The sight of them pulling the stretcher out. The sound of metal snapping into place as the collapsible framework expanded so they could wheel her inside. The antiseptic smell when the glass doors slid open and I followed them in. But especially her deathly pale face, the only part of her visible beneath the sheets and straps that bound her to the stretcher. Her breath had been horribly shallow then. Not long after, it stopped completely.
The car door opened, and I tore my gaze from my memories to focus on Robbie’s face.
“Are you going in?”
Mamm had already hurried inside, and the doors slid shut behind her. My legs felt wooden as I swung them out and placed them on the asphalt. I sat for a minute, willing my lungs to relax enough to take in air.
“Seth?” Concern creased Robbie’s smooth forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
My response was, perhaps, indicative of the depth of my distraction. Normally, I would have merely nodded. To my horror, I found myself uttering, “My wife died here.”
A moment later I had a new concern, for Robbie’s face went a ghostly white, and he swayed on his feet. I stood quickly and grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, noting his pale skin and round, darting eyes.
“I—” He swallowed several times in rapid succession. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine. I just—” With an unreadable glance thrown over his shoulder at the hospital entrance, he shook himself. “Give me a call when you and your mom are ready to go home.”
Promising to do so, I watched as he climbed in the car and pulled away. A puzzling young man. Why would mention of my grief cause such a reaction? The explanation occurred to me a moment later. Robbie must have lost someone here too. Someone close to him. My thoughtless comment had brought the pain back to him as vividly as the sight of the emergency room doors had done to me. My young driver and I had more in common than I’d realized.
How I wished I could hop in a car and run away too.
Instead, I steeled myself to follow my mamm inside. I held my breath as I passed between the doors.
“Here you are, Mrs. Hostetler.” A white-garbed woman carried a tray into the hospital room and set it on the rolling bedside table. She pitched her voice high and smiled with exaggerated brightness at my grossmammi. “The doct
or said you could have some broth and yogurt. And here’s some nice apple juice to drink.”
Mamm, who was seated in a chair close to the bed, rose to inspect the food when the woman lifted a plastic dome. I remained in the corner—a position I’d selected an hour ago because it was tucked out of the way of the steady stream of nurses and aides who paraded in and out of the room, checking monitors and adjusting tubes and jotting notes on their clipboards.
“Broth?” Mamm’s nose curled. “How can she get strong again on a diet of broth and yogurt?”
The woman smiled. “Doctor’s orders. You don’t want anything heavy this soon after surgery.” She switched her attention to Mammi, and her voice again resumed the irritating, high-pitched tone. “It wouldn’t be much fun having your dinner come back up, would it, Mrs. Hostetler?”
Mammi opened one eye to look at the woman and then closed it again without answering. Since being wheeled into this room, she had yet to say more than a few slurred words, still groggy from hip replacement surgery.
“Someone will be by to pick up the tray in a little while,” the woman told Mamm.
She left, her sneakers squeaking on the spotless hospital floor.
Without opening her eyes, Mammi whispered, “Is she gone?”
“Ya,” Mamm replied.
Mammi’s chest inflated as she drew in a breath and then blew it out. “I hope she does not come back. Her voice goes through my ears.”
I piped up from my corner. “I think she works in the kitchen.”
“That’s right.” Mamm smoothed the blanket around Mammi’s shoulders. “She is not a nurse. Now you should have some broth. I will help you.”
When Mammi agreed, Mamm looked at the buttons on the bed rail and then turned toward me in a silent plea. After studying the device for a moment, I figured out how to raise the head enough that Mammi could sip from the spoon Mamm held to her lips.
After a few swallows, she waved away the rest with a feeble gesture, her brow wrinkling when she noticed the IV line puncturing the back of her hand and taped to her wrist. Her gaze followed the clear tubing up to the pole beside her bed, where a bag of fluid dangled and glowing numbers showed on an electronic box.
“What is that they are giving me?”
We had asked the same thing. “Mostly fluids to keep you from becoming dehydrated,” I told her. “And some medicine. They want to make sure you do not get an infection, and there is something to help with the pain.”
“The last is not working.” Her tone was as cross as my soft-spoken grossmammi ever sounded.
Mamm recovered the tray and rolled the bedside table away. “I will tell the nurse. Maybe they can give you something else.”
She left the room, and I stepped to the bedside.
Mammi closed her eyes. “What did they do to me?”
The surgeon had explained the procedure to us in detail, though most of what he said was lost on both Mamm and me because we had little experience with implant prostheses and the other unfamiliar terms he used.
“You broke your hip, so they gave you a new one.”
Her forehead creased. “I have a fake hip?”
“An artificial hip,” I corrected her. “One that will work well for the rest of your life. He said he was surprised you had not complained of pain before now because he found evidence of osteoarthritis.”
Again, a feeble wave of the hand. “What does complaining do other than make us discontent?”
So she had been suffering pain that she’d not mentioned.
“In this case, you might have had this surgery before and avoided breaking your hip to begin with. In fact, the doctor said he would like to take X-rays of your other hip as well.”
“So he can charge us for two surgeries?”
Such an uncharacteristic attitude for one who always sought to see the best in people. She must be in real pain. I glanced toward the open doorway, where Mamm had gone in search of more pain medicine.
“He is a very good doctor,” I answered softly. “This hospital has an entire program dedicated to helping people with osteoporosis and fractures and joint replacements like yours.” I did not mention the name of the Geriatric Fracture Program, lest in this cranky mood she would take offense at the reference to her age.
The doctor had also spent a good deal of time discussing Mammi’s heart, having noted some concerning symptoms during the surgery. He’d insisted on calling in a cardiologist, who would examine her tomorrow. I decided not to mention that either.
Mamm returned then, followed by a nurse with a rolling cart.
“I understand you’re experiencing some pain, Mrs. Hostetler.” Thank goodness she spoke in the soft, soothing tone of a normal person, not the offensive, squeaking shout of the cafeteria woman.
The nurse tapped on a computer keyboard, scanned the wristband on Mammi’s free arm, and then took up a syringe with clear liquid inside. When that had been injected into a port on her IV tube, she smiled at her patient.
“That should take effect almost immediately. You’ll feel better very soon.”
“Danke.”
Indeed, before the nurse had even left the room, Mammi uttered a soft sigh and her eyes drooped shut.
Mamm turned to me. “Seth, call the driver and go home.”
I looked at her in surprise. “You are not coming with me?”
“I will stay here. The nurse said that chair unfolds into a bed.” She pointed at the chair in which I’d been sitting. “Besides, I expected we would not be home tonight, so I came prepared with a clean dress and other things. I will not be able to sleep at home anyway. What if she wakes in the night and needs help?”
I could have pointed out that the nursing staff seemed perfectly capable and attentive, but it would not have done any good. Besides, I too felt reluctant to leave Mammi alone. I would stay myself, but given the circumstances it made sense for Mamm to stay instead. It would be far more appropriate for a woman to give the care and attention Mammi might need than a man, even a relative.
Conceding to the inevitable, I used the telephone in the room to call Robbie. When I explained that Mamm would stay the night but I needed a ride home, he said he would be right over. Less than twenty minutes later, he strode through the door, carrying a reusable grocery bag.
With a quick glance at the bed, where Mammi dozed, he spoke to Mamm in a whisper. “I would have been here sooner except my mother insisted on sending your supper.”
Surprise lit Mamm’s features. “She sent food for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He set the bag on the floor and extracted several plastic containers to show her. “She said she’s eaten in this cafeteria enough to know the food is good, but nothing beats homemade. She was just taking our supper out of the oven when Seth called, so…” He shrugged.
I looked at the clock on the wall. The hours had evaporated, and it was now nearly six o’clock. Between the uncertainty of waiting for X-rays and doctors’ reports and then the tension of pacing in the waiting room while the surgeon operated on Mammi, the day was nearly gone.
Tears appeared in my mamm’s eyes, fueled by exhaustion and the gesture of an Englisch stranger.
“Please tell her I am touched by her kindness.”
She pried open the lid on one of the containers, and a delicious aroma filled the room. My empty stomach rumbled in response. I hadn’t thought of food throughout the day, but my breakfast was long gone. Cold ham and potatoes at home would make me a welcome late supper.
“I will.” Robbie looked at me. “Are you ready to go?”
A quick glance at Mammi revealed that she slept. I told Mamm, “I will be back tomorrow.”
We wound our way through the hospital corridors, the smell of antiseptic stinging my nose. I was relieved when Robbie led me to the main doors, bypassing the emergency room. My weary brain was too tired to combat the memories that area held.
Once we were on the road, he slid a quick glance in my direction. “My mother told me to bring y
ou to our house for supper before I take you home.”
“That is not necessary.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I told her you would probably be tired and in a hurry to get home, but she kind of insisted. Our house is only a couple of miles from here, and it’s on the way.” I opened my mouth to voice another refusal, but he spoke first. “I think she wants to meet the guy I’ve been driving around so much.”
A natural desire for the mother of a teenager. Robbie had spent a lot of time in recent weeks taking me back and forth to Elias’s workshop. We’d come to an agreement about a payment schedule, though he still refused to accept an amount I thought was fair.
“In that case, I accept.”
“Cool.”
The sun hung low in the sky behind us, casting long shadows from the tree-lined avenue down which we traveled. I watched the landscape outside the car. Wide lawns spoke of professional care, green and immaculate even in late March. We drove by a golf course on the left, and the houses facing it were large and ornate, even by Englisch standards. Apparently, my young driver came from a wealthy family.
He turned onto a long driveway that looped in front of a brick house three stories high. A sunroom on one side consisted of tall, multi-paned windows, and behind that lay a garage that had been designed to look like a miniature of the main house. A fit of nerves overtook me. This place was far too fancy for a Plain man like me.
Robbie parked in the circular driveway, and I sat for a moment gaping through my window. The words were on the tip of my tongue to say I’d changed my mind, and would he please take me home now? Then the front door, made of carved, gleaming wood, opened, and a woman stood in the doorway smiling in our direction.
“There’s my mom.”
He opened his door and exited the car. What could I do but follow?
As I drew near, I detected the family resemblance. The same thick, dark hair, though she tamed hers into a stylish arrangement favored by Englisch women. She was thin, too, though not gangly like her son. She smiled at me with Robbie’s smile, and extended a hand.
The Amish Widower Page 12
