“In the room with Dat. She won’t leave his side. Emma and Caleb took the little ones home for the night. Emma wants to teach her class tomorrow—trying to keep things as normal as possible. But Fanny won’t leave Dat’s side.”
He remembered Fanny was Thomas Lapp’s wife. “Can I meet her?”
“If you come to the room with me. But there’s only two visitors at a time.”
“That’s okay.” He tapped the hospital ID card hanging around his neck. “I’ve got a pass.”
Dylan spent a quiet half hour with Elsie Lapp; her stepmother, Fanny; and her father, Thomas. Fanny was obviously pregnant, and Elsie explained that the hospital had given Thomas a room with an empty bed because Fanny needed to stay off her feet.
Although Thomas was on a breathing apparatus that moved his chest up and down with each whoosh of air, Fanny and Elsie spoke to him as if he were quietly watching from beneath the crisp white sheets and medical lines and tubes. They talked of repairs on the old carriage house, and their plans to start a wheelwright business or a harness shop. Fanny talked about the little ones, who had gone home with Emma and Caleb, and Elsie assured Thomas that the children would be back to visit in the morning.
Dylan knew nothing of the man’s medical prognosis, but the atmosphere in the room was warm and homey. This was a place of profound love, and any man would consider himself blessed to have such a family.
When he saw that Fanny was dozing off, he waved good-bye to Elsie and slipped out the door. Elsie followed him into the hall.
“Thank you for visiting,” she told him. “I’m a little worried about Fanny. Her first husband died, and now to face this terrible thing. All this stress and she’s already sick with preeclampsia. What do you think?”
“She’s doing as well as anyone would expect. It’s good that she’s getting rest. I’ll be happy to stop in tomorrow. Once she’s gotten some rest, she might want to talk.”
“Good.” With a sigh, Elsie smoothed down the hair at her forehead. “I know it’s a sin to worry, but my heart is so heavy right now. I hope you’re looking after Haley, too. She’s an angel. Smart and a caring person, too. But she’s been through a lot, coming up on our smashed-up van like that.”
“I’ll keep an eye on Haley, but how about you?” Dylan asked. “You were actually in the van. That must have been frightening.”
“Ya. I keep seeing it, every time I close my eyes.” Her face puckered for just a moment, then it smoothed out again.
Dylan knew it wasn’t unusual for a victim to keep flashing back to a moment of crisis. “Sometimes that happens to people in your situation. It helps to talk about it, and there are other therapies that—”
“I’m fine, thank Gott in heaven. It’s the others … I think they’re going to need your help.”
“I’m on it,” he assured her. “And don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’m here for you, or anyone else in your family. Anyone else in your community.”
“Thank you.” She nodded, then returned to the room.
Dylan returned to the waiting room on the third floor and found most of the people asleep or hunkered down for quiet time. It was late, and he had probably done enough for now. He would check in with these folks in the morning.
He headed out of the hospital, noticing that the place had a very different face at night when the elevators were nearly empty and most of the traffic in the corridors came from janitors and their carts. So much happened within the confines of this building—life and death and pain—but he was glad to see the old girl at a calm moment.
Downstairs in the main lobby, he came upon Haley, who had said she was leaving half an hour ago.
For some reason, she stood, a statue in the lobby, staring out at the lights of the parking lot through tinted glass. She wore her coat and hat—gloves, too—but she didn’t seem to have any intention of stepping outside.
“Haley?”
She flinched, startled.
“I thought you’d be well on your way home by now.”
“Oh … Yeah. I’m on my way.”
“Want me to walk you out to the parking lot?”
“Okay.” The bewilderment in her eyes was hard to read, but he sensed her distress.
The doors whooshed open, they walked out, and Haley burst into tears.
“I can’t … I can’t do this.” She turned to Dylan and clung to his shoulder. “Please take me home.”
Aching for her, he put his arms around her and gave her a big bear hug. He should have expected this. She’d been through a major trauma. “You’re exhausted. Overwrought …”
“And I can’t drive. I can’t get on Route 30 and go past that stretch where … the SUV just cut right across the center and … It was so violent. The sound of the impact and … the randomness of it. One car crossed the line and look what happened. Someone is dead now. Lives are changed, forever.”
He patted her back, maintaining a therapeutic touch despite the depth of emotion that crossed the line of patient-therapist. “You’re right.”
“Clara Estevez is dead.” She pulled away, and though he let his arms slip away he wanted to hold on. “She made a stupid mistake and it killed her. And do you know what her mother said? That … that she was in heaven now. That the angels had taken her away. But you and I know she’s just … dead. Gone. Flatline.”
It was unusual for a medical professional to hit this wall so early in her career, but Dylan had seen it before. “It’s good that Graciana can find solace in her faith. Many people in crisis turn to their faith. It can be a valuable source of support.”
A tear slipped down Haley’s cheek as she sniffed. “I wish the angels did take her away. It would be so much better than what really happened. I saw her, you know. She was covered in blood and …” She shook her head. “It was horrible.”
“And you’ve held it in all this time, haven’t you? You kept your emotional response tamped down so that you could be professional.”
“I had to. I had to keep moving and try to make the best decisions for everyone out there. Everyone needed attention in one way or another.”
“And you gave them what they needed. A spectacular job, from what I’ve heard around here. You did everything you could, Haley. You’re a hero, sweetheart. But you’re going to have an emotional reaction to the trauma, too. We need to talk about it, probably more than you will want. We’ll schedule some sessions. And you might want to try guided imagery therapy, too.”
She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Can I come to the group therapy sessions with the Amish victims?”
“Sure.” Right now, he wasn’t so sure there were going to be any sessions, since the Amish response so far had been a resounding no. But if he and Haley got things going, some Amish people might drop in.
She took a deep, ragged breath, her eyes sweeping over the parking lot. “I guess I can drive soon. I mean, aren’t you supposed to get back up onto the horse that throws you?”
“Not necessarily.” He wanted to kick himself for not reading the signs of her distress earlier. “I’ll drive you home tonight. We can use my GPS to find a way to your house that doesn’t include Route 30.”
Obviously relieved, she let out a breath and looked back at him. “Okay.”
Her eyes, wide and trusting and full of pain, evoked something deep inside him, something that had been buried for years.
Buried forever, or so he’d thought.
18
Ruben Zook leaned against the hitching post outside the candy shop and watched as her hands turned the OPEN sign on the door to CLOSED.
Now was the time.
He intended to pay Elsie a visit, but when he’d first arrived on this busy part of Main Street, he didn’t expect to see all the customers filling the aisles of the Lapps’ store. Such a business they had now. That was not how he had imagined his visit with Elsie, and he’d been thinking about it these past days, waiting for the shop to open so that he could see her.
For three days, the Country Store h
ad been closed, on account of Elsie and her family spending as much time as they could at the hospital. The little ones were staying with a friend now, as they weren’t allowed in to see their dat, who was still in a coma, still sleeping.
Since the accident, Ruben had tried to get to the hospital to see Elsie and pay respects to her family, but carfare was expensive, and his dat didn’t see the need to trade a day of work for a day spent sitting in a hospital. “No need to pay your respects now,” his father had told him. “You’ll see these folk soon enough when they return. Maybe even at church next week.”
He couldn’t tell his father that next week was not soon enough … that ever since the accident, he thought of Elsie Lapp constantly, and he needed to check on her and make sure there wasn’t anything she needed. Because Elsie was one of those people who didn’t take things for herself. She made sure everyone else was all right first. A heart of gold, that girl, and somehow, since that cold day on the highway, Ruben felt that Gott was making it his job to protect that good heart.
He crossed the street, and then quickly shifted his hat down to cover his face from the reporters who had stood outside the shop all afternoon. Usually, as a courtesy, most media folks didn’t photograph an Amish person without permission, knowing that it went against their beliefs to be cast in a “graven image.” But Ruben shielded his face from their view. You never knew when one of those photographers was going to break the unspoken rule.
They had been hanging around Halfway ever since the accident, looking for people to interview. It seemed like an odd way to spend the day, waiting for someone to talk to you about a terrible thing. If Ruben was going to wait around, he’d want to be hunting or fishing, waiting for something that would make a good dinner, at least.
A little bell jingled as he opened the door and stepped in, his hat in his hand.
“We’re about to close, but if I can help you—” Elsie peeked out from one of the aisles, blinking up at Ruben. “It’s you. I was just closing. Got to get to the hospital. But you can come in.”
He went around a small village of birdhouses and paused at a display of baby items. The store had changed a lot since the last time he’d been in here as a boy, buying a soda pop on a hot day. “I noticed the store’s been closed until today.”
“Caleb and I have been at the hospital, almost day and night, so we’ve had no one to cover the store. Emma comes, too, as soon as school is over.” She finished restocking the display of candles. “I have half a mind to keep the store closed, but it’s this shop that pays our bills.” She shrugged. “What can you do?”
“And how is your dat?” Although he knew the answer, he sensed that she wanted to talk about Thomas.
“Still sleeping. Unconscious.” She took the cash box out of the old register and began to count bills, busying herself. “The doctors say they’re not seeing any brain activity. You know those special machines and X-rays they got to see what’s going on inside a person’s body? Those machines are telling them that Dat isn’t going to wake up. But they said we can give it time. Anything is possible.” She stopped counting and looked up. Her sweet face reflected a wide pond of worries. “Do you believe in miracles, Ruben?”
“I do. I think it’s a miracle we’re both alive.” He’d seen his share of miracles. Tragedies, too.
“Then can you help me pray for a miracle? Because everyone else is walking around with a sad face. No one’s talking about it, but I think they’ve given up. But I won’t. I’m not giving up on Dat. Will you pray for him?”
“I already am.”
“Denki.” She continued counting out the register drawer.
He looked around the shop, which was much improved from the last time he’d been in here, but that was years ago. So, this was where Elsie spent her days.
“Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m getting a ride with the Kings.”
Ruben planned to go with Zed, though he dreaded it. Funerals were difficult to get through, and a funeral for a teenage girl was a terrible thing to endure. “It’s so hard to understand Gott’s plan,” he said. “When I found her car, I thought Gott intended to spare her life.” He shook his head. “I was wrong.”
“I don’t think our brains are able to understand what Gott intends.”
He picked up a delicate puff of a pincushion with a heart pattern in the center. Many of the items here—the quilts and honey, jams and lavender—were items that vendors sold in his father’s marketplace, but not these pincushions.
“I’ve never seen the likes of these before,” he said, holding it out in the palm of his bandaged hand.
“That was made by Hannah Ebersol. Very nice stitching.”
He placed it on the counter. “I’ll take it, if it’s not too late.”
“Sure. But what would a fella like you want with a pincushion?”
“My mamm sews. She needs a place for her pins.”
“Then this will brighten her day.”
“I reckon it will.” In truth, his mother didn’t favor sewing, but he wanted to make a purchase that might help bring along the Lapps’ profits after two days of being closed. He understood how a household could rely on a retail business. His family lived on the money made at Zook’s barn.
She wrapped his purchase in a small piece of cloth—a remnant from the fabrics they sold—and tied it off with a ribbon to make a dainty package that would melt his mother’s heart.
“That looks so nice; now I’ll have to save it for her birthday,” he said.
There was no hint of a smile on Elsie’s face. She seemed tired and worn down, and he wished that there was something to do to relieve the heavy burden on her shoulders.
“I guess you’ll be getting back to the hospital?” he asked.
“As soon as I close up here. There’s a driver coming to pick up me and Emma. Don Goldbright. Do you know him?”
“We’ve used him before.” But mostly, his family hired George Dornbecker when they needed a driver. George was reliable and always good for a few laughs. “Did you hear that George got burns on his arms from the air bags?” Somehow, talking about the people in the van reminded Ruben of the bond they shared.
Elsie nodded. “He’s been to visit with Dat at the hospital. I wish he didn’t blame himself. I saw that car coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.”
“He came to check on me, too. I hear he’s been to see everyone who was in the van. George is a good driver and a good man. I hope he gets another van.”
“Ya.” She closed the register and took a pouch of money to the back room. “I’ve just got to get my coat. I want to be ready when Don gets here.”
He knew he had to let her go, but the prospect of not seeing her for another few days made him hungry for conversation. “I’ll let you go. I just wanted to let you know, if there’s anything you need, just get word to me,” he called toward the back room. “Anything your family needs, too. I want to help.”
“Denki. You’ve already helped a lot, Ruben.”
He moved toward the door, catching sight of the back of a sign in the window that said: NO SUNDAY SALES. That was a rule among the Amish, since Sunday was a day of rest, meant for church every other Sunday, and for family time.
“You’re closed tomorrow,” he said, thinking aloud. “But Monday …” He turned to Elsie, who now stood in her coat. “How about if I run the shop for you on Monday? That way you can spend the day with your dat.”
The veil of worry lifted as she looked up at him. “That would be ever so kind, but you’ve never run the shop before.”
“Ya, but I’ve managed the marketplace at the barn. Two dozen vendors, and hundreds of folks coming and going. I may not have your eye for detail, but I can handle some customers.”
“I’m sure you can.” She looked at the key in her hand and held it out to him. “I hope you mean it, because I’m going to take you up on it. Ya, I will, and I’d be ever so grateful. It would ease my
load to be able to be with Dat and know that the shop is being tended to.”
He took the key from her. “I’ll be here Monday morning.” He looked at the sign, checking the hours. “The store will be open by nine.”
“We’re open nine until sunset,” she said. “I’ll come check on you, just in case you have any questions.”
“That would be good.”
“Thank you, Ruben.” She wrapped a wool scarf around her neck—a small one that a child would wear—and let out a deep sigh. “You’ve eased my heavy heart.”
That was exactly what he’d been hoping to do. He pressed the key into his palm, looking forward to Monday.
19
A bitterly cold wind stirred the air, bringing tears to Haley’s eyes as she made her way up around the block to the front of the church. Good thing for sunglasses, she thought. Otherwise, people would know she’d been crying.
Which she had been, at the most unexpected times.
Every morning in the shower and every night in bed, her eyes filled with tears. She let the warm spray wash down the sorrow and pressed her face to her pillow to drown out the sobs, but even if someone heard, what could they do?
No one could stop the rush of panic that overwhelmed her … the racing heartbeat and tightness in her chest. No one could remove the jagged knife of fear that lodged in her ribs, reminding her that life could end in a nanosecond, and that the ending might be unexpected and fraught with pain.
At the hospital, she was treated like an Olympic gold medalist. People regarded her with awe and respect, when the truth was that she had only acted as any decent human being would have, with a few semesters of nursing classes under her belt. Her parents had softened toward her, too, and suddenly Haley seemed to have the life she had craved, minus the happiness.
Yesterday she had completed her clinical shift at the hospital with barely a blink, but then when she went to the hospital cafeteria for a cup of coffee, the realization that she had forgotten to bring money caused her to burst into tears and gasp for air.
That had frightened her—losing control in public. She was afraid it would happen again, and honestly, she had no idea how to prevent a public breakdown.
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