An Amish Holiday Wedding

by Carrie Lighte

  “Hunter, don’t be lecherich!” Faith argued, calling him ridiculous. “You need medical help and you need it now. There’s a medical center in Highland Springs—”

  Hunter used his free hand to grab her wrist. “No ambulance,” he insisted. “You take me. In this weather, it’s safer with a horse and buggy. You take me.”

  “But, Hunter—”

  “It’s quicker. You take me,” he demanded, too afflicted to waste his breath with niceties.

  “Okay, let go of my arm and I’ll take you,” she agreed.

  “Denki, Faith,” he said, and after he released her wrist, he broke out in feverish hilarity. “If you think I’m bad off, wait until you see the gingerbread men I landed on.”

  “Hush now,” Faith instructed over her shoulder before calling for the horse to giddyap.

  The buggy lurched forward unevenly, sending another jolt of pain through Hunter’s body, and he gasped before passing out. When he came to, he could hear pellets of sleet riveting the roof of the buggy as Faith recited the twenty-third Psalm. In his delirium, he thought he might be dying and he worried about who would take care of his mother now—not that he’d done a very good job of fulfilling his father’s final request. Remembering his dad’s tortured expression as they lay side by side after the accident, Hunter began to sob.

  “It’s okay, we’re almost there,” Faith promised from the front seat. “Be strong for a few minutes longer, Hunter. You’re going to be alright.”

  Hardly able to catch his breath, Hunter felt anything but strong, yet just as the pain escalated to a point he thought was beyond what he could endure, Faith announced, “We’re here! Denki, Lord, denki. You made it, Hunter, we’re here.”

  Though his eyes were closed, Hunter sensed the light brightening around him and he heard someone say, “This area is for ambulances only. You have to move your buggy immediately, miss.”

  “Not until you help my friend,” Faith replied. “He’s in the back. His leg is numb and I think he might have bumped his head. He’s been in and out of consciousness all the way from Willow Creek. You must help him.”

  The buggy shifted as someone climbed aboard. Hunter squinted to see two men peering down at him.

  “What’s your name, son? Can you tell us your name?”

  “Hunter Schwartz,” he answered, tasting blood. In his torment he must have bitten the inside of his cheek.

  “Hunter, we’re going to get you out of here, but we have to stabilize your neck and back first, so we’re going to secure you on a board that will help us carry you. It might be uncomfortable. Can you tell us what happened?”

  “I was hit by a truck,” he muttered feebly. He meant to convey it was his previous injury that was plaguing him, but he couldn’t form the sentence.

  “A truck hit you?” the man repeated. “Were you walking or in your buggy when it hit you?”

  “Neh, neh.” His head felt so fuzzy.

  “Hunter? Hunter, stay with me,” the man urged him. “How were you injured?”

  “My daed died,” he groaned, trying to make them understand. “Someone has to let my mamm know I’m here. If I’m late returning home, she’ll worry that...”

  But he passed out again before he could finish expressing the dreadful thought.

  Chapter Nine

  “Was there a fatality at the accident scene?” the medic asked as the men lifted the board Hunter was strapped to onto a gurney.

  “What?” At the word fatality, Faith’s heart pummeled her ribs even harder than it had during the harrowing journey to the hospital. “What accident scene?”

  “Hunter said he was hit by a truck and his dad died.”

  “He was injured and his daed was killed when a truck struck their buggy, jah,” Faith answered, following the men as they wheeled the gurney through the automatic doors of the emergency room entrance. “But that happened over a year ago. He must be confused—could it be from knocking his head?”

  The two men met each other’s eyes without answering her. “Is he on any meds?” one of them asked. “Any painkillers, herbal remedies, anything like that?”

  “Why would he already be on painkillers? He just got here.”

  A nurse intercepted Faith by her shoulders as the medics briskly rolled the stretcher through another set of doors. “I’m afraid you can’t go with them. The doctors will take good care of your friend.”

  “But I need to make sure he—”

  “Look, hon, you’re dripping wet,” the nurse pointed out. “I’m going to get a thermal blanket for you to wrap yourself in and this young man is going to head outside to hitch your horse, right Tyler?”

  A man wearing blue cotton scrubs smiled broadly at her. “If your mare is like my grandpa’s, she won’t like the sound of the ambulances, so I’ll find a quiet, dry place to settle her, okay?”

  “Jah,” Faith agreed distractedly. Thinking aloud, she added, “I should...I should call the phone shanty. Or maybe Joseph Schrock is still at his shop. He usually stays late on Tuesday nights to do his accounting. I should call him so he can tell Hunter’s mamm Hunter is here in the hospital.”

  “That’s a good idea,” the nurse said kindly, leading Faith to a room containing a small sofa, a row of chairs and an end table with a phone. “I’ll be right back with the blanket.”

  “Denki,” Faith automatically replied in Deitsch.

  She dialed Joseph’s number, praying, “Please, Gott, let him be there,” as the phone rang one, two and then three times.

  On the fourth ring Joseph picked up and Faith rushed her words so quickly he interrupted her, asking, “Who is this?”

  A second time she explained Hunter’s predicament. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him yet, but the nurse said he’s in gut hands with the doctors, and we know he’s in Gott’s hands, so he’s bound to be alright.”

  Even as Faith spoke, the phone quivered in her grasp. With the exception of when her mamm had been in childbirth with her youngest brother, she’d never heard anyone cry out in pain as Hunter had done during their traumatic trip to the medical center. The only thing more disturbing than Hunter’s wails puncturing the night air was when he’d fallen silent in the back of the buggy.

  “I’ll bring Iris to the hospital straightaway,” Joseph suggested.

  “Would you send someone to my house in the meantime, to let them know I’m alright?” she asked.

  “Of course. I’m sure your absence has them very worried.”

  Faith wasn’t as certain. She’d been working late recently; perhaps Henrietta would assume she was still filling orders at the bakery. Suddenly, Faith missed her family so much that she couldn’t wait to kiss her nephews’ pudgy cheeks and listen to her brothers’ animated joshing at the supper table. More than anyone, Faith missed Henrietta, and she longed to confide to her sister-in-law about her grueling journey into Highland Springs.

  While Faith didn’t know exactly how Hunter had been injured, she surmised he never would have gotten hurt if she hadn’t requested him to make a second delivery just to placate Marianne Palmer. As Faith sat in the deserted waiting room, she realized she not only had been pushing herself too hard lately, but she’d been pushing Pearl, Ivy and Hunter, too. She was filled with such regret that she would have begun blubbering on the spot if the nurse hadn’t opened the door to deliver the blanket and a cup of hot tea.

  “I’ll let you know how Hunter is as soon as I hear from the doctors,” she promised.

  Despite the thermal blanket and warm drink, Faith couldn’t shake the chill that permeated her to the core. Shivering, she recalled the alarmed expressions on the medics’ faces when she said Hunter was confused. Did they fear he had a concussion? Then she thought about how Hunter had said he couldn’t feel his legs—didn’t that indicate paralysis? What if his condition was permanent? What if he couldn’t walk again?
She’d never forgive herself. Please, Lord, make Hunter well, she prayed.

  Over an hour later, her head was still bowed in prayer when Hunter’s mother and Joseph Schrock entered the room. Faith leaped to her feet to embrace Iris, whose eyes were red-rimmed.

  “We saw the nurse on the way in,” Iris explained. “She told us Hunter is resting comfortably and we can visit him in a few minutes. Denki for bringing him here, Faith. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn’t come along the road when you did?”

  Still feeling guilty about Hunter’s injuries, Faith was relieved when Reuben and Mason strode into the room and she didn’t have to reply.

  “Faith!” they exclaimed in unison and took turns enveloping her in bear hugs.

  “Mason found your bike on the side of the road,” Reuben explained. “We didn’t know what to think, and Henrietta was frantic. When we went to town to look for you, we crossed paths with Joseph, who was heading to Ruth’s house to bring Iris the news. Henrietta stayed behind to assist and comfort Ruth, but I think Ruth might be the one comforting Henrietta instead.”

  As Reuben finished speaking, the nurse pushed the door ajar. “We’re keeping Hunter overnight for observation,” she said. “The doctor will explain everything, but Hunter is medicated and he needs to sleep, so we have to limit his visitors.”

  “May I stay the night?” Iris inquired.

  “Of course,” the nurse said. “But wouldn’t you be more rested if you—”

  “I’ll stay the night,” Iris repeated firmly.

  “I’d like to stay with you,” Faith offered. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  The men quickly made arrangements to take Ruth’s buggy to her house and to return in the morning to transport Iris and Hunter home. Joseph promised he’d also stop at Pearl’s house and ask her to mind the bakery for Faith the following morning.

  “Tell her not to worry about doing any extra baking,” Faith requested. “And please ask her to intercept Ivy from the cannery at nine o’clock sharp, otherwise the poor girl will become distraught.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass along the message,” Joseph agreed. “If there’s anything else I can do to help with the bakery or the cannery, let me know.”

  “Denki, Joseph,” Faith said, and then she turned to embrace her brothers. “I appreciate the two of you coming all this way, too. Please tell Henrietta I promise there will be no more late nights for me.”

  “You did well, Faith,” Reuben whispered into her ear, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re a brave woman.”

  But when Faith opened the door to Hunter’s room and glimpsed his ashen complexion against the backdrop of needles, wires and monitors, she felt as timid as a child.

  * * *

  Hunter couldn’t lift his eyelids. The nurse informed him he might become drowsy from the medication, but he didn’t expect to feel this wiped out. As his muscles relaxed, he began to breathe easier, relieved of the anguish he’d endured for the past several hours.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Henderson,” the physician at the end of his bed said to whomever just entered the room.

  “I’m Iris Schwartz, Hunter’s mamm,” his mother replied. “And this is Faith.”

  Aha, so Faith must have notified his mother and aunt about his fall. While he was grateful his mother was aware he was alright, he wished Iris and Faith wouldn’t see him in this state. To his increasing embarrassment, the doctor began providing the two women an explicit summary of Hunter’s condition. Hunter tried to protest, but his thoughts were too addled and his mouth was too dry to speak. The doctor used words like muscle inflammation, steroids and neuropathy. Although he couldn’t make sense of everything the physician was saying, Hunter understood the gist of it to mean his condition was due to his original accident. His lack of ongoing physical therapy combined with muscle overuse had caused his condition to worsen progressively.

  “Reaching over the seat like he did was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak,” the doctor said. Then he emphasized, “Not that Hunter’s back is broken—that’s the good news. Sometimes when we see symptoms like these, it’s because a broken bone is exerting pressure on the nerves. But his X-rays look great. And other than an egg-sized bump on the back of his skull, I don’t think there’s any reason to be concerned about his head injury, either.”

  “So he’ll be able to walk again?” Faith’s voice was quavering.

  “Absolutely,” the doctor asserted. “In fact, the trick will be to keep him from walking too far too soon. He needs to learn to pace himself.”

  After the doctor left, Hunter had to strain to hear Faith tell his mother, “I didn’t know how badly he’d been hurt in the crash. I knew he lost his daed—your husband—in an accident, but I didn’t realize Hunter sustained any permanent injuries.”

  My injuries are not permanent! Hunter felt like shouting.

  “That’s because he didn’t want anyone to know,” Iris confided. Hunter silently willed her to stop talking, but she continued. “My big, strong suh. He must have been in pain for so long, yet he never let on. I should have known. I’m his mother. I should have known my kind was in pain.”

  From the sound of his mother’s sniffling, Hunter realized she was crying, and inwardly it made him cringe. Ordinarily, he might have regretted causing her such distress, but right now he only felt humiliated by her doting sentiments.

  “It’s not your fault, Iris,” Faith argued. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I asked him to make a second evening delivery. You heard what the doctor said about the straw that broke the camel’s back. If it weren’t for me—”

  “Quiet!” Hunter finally managed to gasp. “You two are disrupting my sleep.”

  “Hunter, you’re awake!” his mother declared, and suddenly she was brushing his curls from his forehead.

  “I am now.” He grimaced, his eyes still shut. “It’s hard to sleep with you two clucking over me like worried hens.”

  “I’m sorry,” Faith apologized. “I can go back to the waiting room.”

  “Gut idea, and take my mamm with you,” he said.

  At least he that’s what he thought he said; maybe he only imagined saying it, or perhaps it was a dream. When he woke, he could hear the patter of sleet against the window and what he guessed was his mother’s rhythmic breathing as she slept in a chair nearby. He fluttered his eyelids open, trying to adjust to the faint fluorescent light.

  “Can I get you something?” Faith whispered, quickly appearing at his side.

  His mouth was too dry to speak, so he shook his head.

  Faith lowered a bent straw to his lips so he could sip the water she offered.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked, her mouth so close to his ear he could feel her warm breath on his cheek.

  “Neh,” he answered falsely and shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to face her concerned, pitying expression.

  When he woke again, it was morning and his hips were burning with pain. As he tried to adopt a more comfortable position, he was appalled to notice the lower half of his white, atrophied leg had been exposed from the knee down as he slept. Flipping the flimsy blanket over it, he moaned from the small exertion.

  Startled awake, his mother sat upright. “Hunter, dear, how do you feel?” she asked.

  “His mouth is probably dry. He might need a sip of water before he can answer,” Faith suggested, rushing to his bed with a cup and straw.

  “I’m fine. Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Hunter barked in a scratchy voice.

  Both women looked taken aback, which irritated him all the more, but before he could say anything else, there was a rapid knock on the door.

  “Kumme in,” his mother called.

  A new, younger doctor introduced himself and asked Hunter how he was feeling this morning.

&
nbsp; “Fair,” Hunter responded grimly.

  “I’m surprised you’re doing that well,” the doctor commented, as he perused Hunter’s chart. “But, with physical therapy, I have every confidence you’ll regain your full strength. It’s going to take time and you’ll have to limit certain activities, especially riding in your buggy or sitting and standing for long periods. And it’s vital that you continue the regimen until you’ve completed your course of PT.”

  After the doctor left, Hunter scoffed, “He only wants me to go to more physical therapy because that’s how the Englisch clinicians make their money.”

  “Hunter,” his mother argued, “if physical therapy keeps you from being bedridden again, it’s worth every penny.”

  Hunter was mortified his mother disclosed he’d previously been confined to bed.

  “I don’t want to discuss this in front of her,” he said, motioning toward Faith with a jerk of his thumb. “The last thing I need is all of Main Street knowing my private business, whether it’s about my health or our finances.”

  Faith’s face immediately blotched with color. “Neh, of course not. I promise not to say a word to anyone and I’ll give you two your privacy now. My brothers will be here shortly to take me to the bakery. When they arrive, I’ll have them stop in to make arrangements for bringing you both home once you’re discharged, too, if that’s alright?”

  Hunter turned his face and closed his eyes, but his mother answered, “Jah, we would appreciate that. Denki, Faith, for everything you’ve done.”

  * * *

  Wrapped in the fresh, dry shawl Lovina sent for her, Faith was quiet as she journeyed in Mason’s buggy to Willow Creek. The temperature had risen, melting the ice, and the wet roads glittered in the morning sunshine. As they flew past the same landmarks Faith had felt as if she’d never reach the night before, she fretted over Hunter’s parting words.

  Understanding that pain could bring out the worst in people and recalling how miserable she’d been after her own surgery, Faith tried to dismiss his sentiment and tone. But it stung that he wouldn’t even look at her or say her name. Perhaps Hunter decided she was responsible for his hospitalization. She couldn’t blame him if he did. Despite Iris’s insistence Faith wasn’t at fault, Faith was having a difficult time letting go of her guilt. She shouldn’t have asked him to travel to Marianne Palmer’s house in inclement weather.