A flicker of hope appeared in the dark gloom of his pronouncement. “Only my little finger? So I will be able to use the rest?”
His expression became stern. “Not for several weeks. The hand and wrist are a complex system of bones, muscles, and tendons. Move one, and they all move.” He picked up a chart, glanced inside, and grimaced. “You’re a potter. I understand your concern.” Hesitating, he chewed on his lower lip a few seconds. “Tell you what. Come back in three weeks and we’ll take another picture. If the bone is healing well, I’ll splint only that finger. That’ll give the rest of your hand time to heal from the trauma and those contusions will be gone. Maybe some limited usage by that point will be okay.”
Several weeks of not using my right hand. Wedging, throwing, and trimming would be impossible.
A nurse arrived carrying a box from which the doctor removed a splint. He fitted it on my hand. My pinkie and the next finger were completely covered. The splint wrapped around my wrist and several inches up my forearm. The doctor secured it with Velcro straps.
“Keep that on all the time. Use an ice pack for 20 minutes every couple of hours for the next day or so. Ibuprofen for pain. And prop your arm on a pillow when you’re sitting.” He jotted something down on the chart, and then he smiled up at me. “I’ll see you in three weeks. In the meantime, no more boxing.”
When he’d gone, the nurse gave me papers with the instructions and pointed me toward the waiting room. Leah looked up from a magazine when I entered.
I held up my splinted hand. “Broken.”
“I figured.” She stood and picked up her handbag. “Are you ready?”
With a glance toward the hallway leading to the rest of the hospital, I asked, “Do you care if we try to see my niece before we leave?”
“Sure.”
I asked directions of the woman behind the check-in counter, and we found our way to the Delivery Pavilion. There we approached another counter, and the girl seated there slid open a window.
“I would like to see my niece, who is in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we don’t allow visitors in that area.” My face must have fallen, because she gave me a sympathetic smile. “Who is your niece?”
“Rachel Hostetler.” That was the first time I’d spoken the baby’s full name, the same as my Rachel’s.
The girl brightened. “Oh, Saloma’s baby. She’s here now. Hold on a minute.”
I glanced at Leah while the girl picked up a telephone and pushed buttons. She explained that Saloma’s brother—I didn’t bother to correct her—was here and would like to see the baby. A few moments later she replaced the receiver and smiled at us.
“You can’t go into NICU, but they are going to let Saloma take the baby into the regular nursery for a few minutes, so you can see her through the window.”
We followed her directions to the nursery, a long glass window with a curtain on the inside. Before long a nurse dressed in brightly decorated scrubs opened the curtain. She smiled and held up a finger, indicating we should wait.
The nursery was full of bassinets, most of them occupied.
“Look at that one.” Leah pointed toward a bundled infant wearing a blue knit hat. “He’s so tiny.”
I read the card. “He was born only last night.”
She touched the window with a finger, pointing. “That one over there was born today. Aw, he’s crying.”
The nurse weaved through bassinets, picked up the crying baby, and took him to a rocking chair on the far side of the room.
A door in the corner opened and another nurse appeared. She held the door, and Saloma stepped through carrying a bundle of her own. When she caught sight of me, a broad smile lit her features, and she made her way to the window. Once there, she pulled back the blanket, so I could get a better view of my niece.
“I take it back,” Leah whispered. “That boy looks like a giant compared to yours.”
My throat closed around any reply I might have made. The baby in my sister-in-law’s arms was the most beautiful infant I’d ever seen. Her tiny face appeared slightly bigger than an apple, with a delicate nose and pink rosebud lips. If unwrapped from the blanket, I thought I could hold her entire body in both my hands. Her eyelids fluttered open, and I stared into dark blue eyes.
“She’s precious,” Leah said.
I could not take my eyes off of her. Baby Rachel. My own Rachel would have fallen in love with her in an instant. As I had. I looked up at Saloma and mouthed, She is beautiful. Grinning, Saloma nodded.
Long before I was finished gazing at her, the nurse approached Saloma and said something. With a smile at me, Saloma tucked the blanket back around little Rachel’s face. She waved goodbye and left.
Not until the door closed behind her did I turn away from the window to find Leah staring at me, a smirk on her lips.
“You’re besotted.”
I did not bother to deny it. “Do you blame me?”
The smirk became a grin. “Not a bit. She’s a beautiful baby. I think I’m a little smitten myself.”
Leah and I didn’t talk much on the ride back to Strasburg. The radio played, and she hummed along with several of the songs. Apparently, she didn’t share my discomfort at driving alone with me in her car. Elias must not have thought the arrangement inappropriate either, or he would have suggested calling another driver this morning. Was I the only one who thought the situation compared to courting? The only thing that kept the situation from being improper was Leah’s firm assertion that she would never return to the Amish. Riding with her meant no more than riding with Doris.
I reminded myself of that many times during the short drive.
Back at the shop, I apologized to Elias for the injury that would keep me from my work, but he dismissed my concerns.
“There is plenty of work to keep a one-armed potter busy. You can still glaze, can you not?”
Since glazing involved dipping bisque pieces into the tinted liquid, I could do that with one hand. “Ya, I can glaze.”
“So I will throw while you operate the kilns and glaze.” He shrugged, as though that settled everything.
Though I would itch to do more, perhaps I would not be completely useless around the shop.
“For now, would you go outside and stoke the firebox?” He peered at my injured hand. “But do not lift large logs. Only do what you can with one hand.”
With a longing glance at my wheel, I left the workroom. Leah was busy at the short file cabinet where she kept all the paperwork. She spared an absent smile for me as I passed and then returned to her work.
Outside, I checked the firebox. Yes, more fuel needed to be added. The wood supply had been recently replenished, and I approached the woodpile against the back of the shop. The first piece I picked up proved heavier than I expected, and it slipped from my grasp, barely missing the toe of my shoe. I spared an unkind thought for Robbie, the cause of all my problems.
In the act of bending down to retrieve the log, I stopped. The mere thought of my former Englisch driver brought a bitter taste rising in my throat. I would dislike him for the rest of my life, but Robbie wasn’t the cause of all my problems. I’d broken my own hand because I couldn’t stop the rage that had taken possession of me upon hearing his confession.
And he’d done nothing to contribute to my first wife’s death. Nor had he forced me to purchase a horse that was clearly not suited to pulling a buggy.
With a firm grip on the log, I carried it to the kiln and added it to the coal bed, wincing against the heat. My discussion with Sam yesterday gnawed at the edges of my guilt. He’d spoken of the power of forgiveness. Well, I couldn’t forgive Robbie. Nor could I forgive Sam for deceiving me. Leah was right. The counselor was unethical.
Once the firebox was fully stoked, I headed toward the front of the building. As I rounded the corner, the postal truck pulled into the parking lot. I altered my course to greet the letter carrier. We’d developed a casual acquainta
nce over the past few months.
“I’ll take the mail inside,” I told him. “No need for you to get out.”
“Thanks, Seth.” He handed over a bundle wrapped in a rubber band, and then noticed my splint. “What happened to your hand?”
Half a dozen replies came to mind, but I settled on, “I broke it.”
“Sorry about that.” He put his truck in gear and left.
Turning toward the shop, I glanced down at the bundle. An official-looking letter on top was addressed to Leah. When I saw the return address, I nearly stumbled.
The letter was from the Adult Parole Authority of the Ohio State Penitentiary.
TWENTY-ONE
I lingered up front, fiddling with a display of bowls while I watched Leah out of the corner of my eye. How would she react to the letter? She set the bundle of mail on the counter and continued her work with the files. Eventually, I could find no excuse to stay longer and stepped through the curtain to return to the workroom.
I was not surprised when I heard the door close a short while later. Leah had left the shop without a word to anyone.
Elias peeked through the curtain and then turned to where I was mixing a bucket of glaze, his expression mystified. “Leah is not here. Did she say where she was going?”
“No.” I continued to stir and did not look up.
“Perhaps she had an errand to run.”
Should I tell him about the letter? I wrestled with the question for a moment before coming to a conclusion. Elias was more than her employer. He was her grandfather.
“She received another letter in the mail that might have upset her.” I glanced up. “It was from the Ohio State Penitentiary.”
Elias closed his eyes, emotions playing across his face in rapid succession. Understanding. Pain. Concern. A moment later he opened his eyes to reveal a deep sadness in their brown depths.
Questions burned in my mind. Was Leah on parole? Had she received the scar while committing a crime? Was her bitterness gained while serving a prison sentence? That would explain why many of her relatives rejected her. I couldn’t make myself believe her capable of a crime terrible enough to require such a severe punishment, but she had once mentioned being sinful and unrepentant, which was why her former bishop had forbidden anyone to eat with her.
Elias left the workroom, and a moment later I heard his low voice. No customer answered, so he must be using the telephone.
When the glaze was thoroughly blended, I tapped the paddle on the rim of the bucket to shake off most of the droplets and then carried it to the sink. I was rinsing it when Elias returned.
Worry deepened the lines in his face. “Seth, may I take your buggy to town?”
“Ya, of course.” I did not have to ask why, for he told me.
“Leah has received upsetting news. I must go to her. You will watch the shop?”
Oh, how I wanted to ask the nature of the news, but instead I merely nodded. To ask might have put him in the position of betraying his granddaughter’s confidence, which I would not do. Instead, I followed him outside and helped hitch Orion to the buggy.
Customers came and went sporadically over the next several hours, so I didn’t get much glazing done. I’d learned to operate the cash register only the week before, which was fortunate because several people made purchases. I did my best to answer their questions about each piece, but I was not outgoing by nature and tended to be quiet around strangers.
Elias returned late in the afternoon, wearing sorrow like a second skin. He offered no explanation but set about wedging a lump of clay with a focus that I recognized as a troubled mind working itself out through industry. Had I not done the same thing? In fact, I would be doing so myself if I hadn’t broken my hand.
My concern for Leah had grown throughout the hours of his absence, and I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Will she be coming back?”
“Tomorrow.” He continued to knead the clay, though it looked ready for the wheel to me. “But only for a few hours to show us how to make out the bank deposits while she is gone.”
“She is leaving?”
“For a few days.”
His lips formed a tight line through which I sensed I would get no further details.
Mystified, I returned to the showroom and left him to his work.
Dinner that night was a solemn occasion that didn’t do justice to Lily’s shepherd’s pie. To my surprise, Leah came for the meal, but the reason for her departure earlier that day lay like an unseen boulder in the center of the table. That Elias had discussed the situation with Lily was apparent in her worried frown and unusual silence. I sat across from Leah, who rarely looked up from her plate. If I were not here, would they discuss the reason for Leah’s trip? For the first time since I moved to the Beachy house, I felt like an outsider. As soon as the meal ended, I excused myself to check on the horses.
Orion trotted over to the fence when I approached, blowing in my face and tossing his head in a plea for a caress. With a quiet laugh, I obliged. Elias’s mare maintained a safe distance, as though she had not yet decided whether I was trustworthy.
Thankfully, the temperature remained pleasant that evening. I intended to stay outside until Leah left so they would have plenty of time to discuss whatever they needed to talk about.
With something like a shock, I realized I’d been so concerned about Leah during most of the day that I hadn’t once felt the smoldering anger over Robbie’s confession. Or even the familiar guilt that had been my constant companion since Rachel’s death. For the span of a few hours, the absence of those tormenting thoughts rendered me almost light headed.
As thoughts will do, the reminder called them back to shatter the delicate peace I’d enjoyed. My right hand ached, another reminder. I hardened my heart against the image of Robbie’s face, blotchy and streaming tears as he apologized. As if mere words could erase years of anguish.
Footsteps approached behind me, and I turned to find Leah striding across the grass. She wore her hair loose tonight, and it hung in gentle waves over her shoulders and down her back. Orion deserted me to beg attention from the new arrival. She obliged without smiling.
“You didn’t have to leave the house,” she said, her gaze fixed on the horse.
“I thought you might want to speak with them alone.”
“That’s what I figured.” She shook her head. “Thanks, but there’s nothing to talk about. I’m going, and they don’t think I should. End of discussion.”
Her drooping shoulders and the sad gaze she fixed on Orion moved me to compassion. There were many layers to the woman standing beside me, but vulnerability was not one I had encountered before. I longed to know about her past, but mostly my heart ached to offer what comfort I could. Last night I had unburdened myself to her. Perhaps she would like a friendly ear as well.
“You are going to Ohio?” At her sharp look, I explained. “I saw the return address on the letter you received before you left today.”
Understanding dawned on her face. “Yes. I’ve been invited to attend a parole hearing at the prison.”
A hearing. The reason for the invitation dawned on me. The letter had not come to Leah because she was on parole. It was to inform her of a hearing for someone she knew. Shame that I had, however briefly, considered her capable of committing a crime washed through me. Though I didn’t know much about prisons or criminals, I did know that when an inmate was being considered for parole, certain people were able to attend. Family members…and victims.
Leah turned abruptly and walked away from the fence. I hesitated. Should I follow her or leave her alone with her thoughts?
No, living alone gave her plenty of time for thinking. I followed.
When I came alongside her, she slowed but didn’t stop. We walked down Elias’s short driveway, turned onto the street, and headed in the direction of the ceramic shop. The sun had dipped below the horizon, but the clouds overhead still reflected its light in a dazzling display of color.
I did not look directly at her but watched from the corner of my eye. Her hands became fists at her sides. A terrible suspicion crept over me about what happened next. Should I stop her, tell her she didn’t have to relive that moment for my benefit? But I knew, as few else do, that she had already relived it a million times in the years since. I remained silent and let her talk.
“We should have run. I don’t know why we didn’t. Too surprised, I guess. He grabbed Moriah and shoved her in the front seat. I started screaming and lunged toward the car, trying to grab her and pull her out.” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “A lot of good that did. He swung around and I remember thinking, He’s going to hit me. Then everything went black.”
My stomach churned. I could not have managed to eke a sound through my tight throat even if I’d been able to think of something to say.
“When I woke up, I was alone in the backseat of his car. I sat up and saw…”
Her voice squeaked, tight with tears. She stopped on the road, and I faced her then. Her eyes were distant, fixed on the past. I had never seen such torment in anyone’s face.
“You do not have to tell me any more,” I said softly.
She continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “I looked out the window and saw him. He had Moriah pinned on the ground, and she was screaming and struggling. I had to stop him. I looked around for something to use and found a beer bottle on the floor. Before he even knew I was there, I hit him with it. It broke on his head but didn’t knock him out.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “He left Moriah and turned on me. He called me…terrible things, and then he took the broken bottle from me.”
The Amish Widower Page 26
