by Marta Perry
“Ja, you should have.” He took the paper from her hand. “I own the building, so anything to do with it is my responsibility.” He scanned the sheet, trying to make sense of the legal-sounding language.
“Is it going to slow down work on the shop?” Anxiety threaded Susanna’s words.
“Worse than that,” he began, and stopped when he saw how stricken she was. “Ach, I’m getting ahead of myself. First I must look and see how bad the problem is. Then we’ll see what comes next.”
Susanna didn’t look very reassured, but she put the key in the lock. He took a step back and gestured to Billy.
“Go around to the side and open the bulkhead doors to the cellar,” he called.
Nodding, Billy started around the building.
“That will let the air in to help dry out the cellar. I probably should have thought of that before.” He went in the shop ahead of Susanna.
“I didn’t think of it, either,” she said, “even when we were talking about the dampness.” She looked so guilty he wanted to reassure her.
“There’s no point in blaming ourselves. We can’t think of everything.” He picked up one of the battery lanterns they’d left at the shop, and started for the basement door.
Susanna came after him, and he waved her back. “There’s no need for you to go down.”
“It’s my shop.” The stubborn way her chin firmed said there was no point in arguing.
But he’d invested in it as well, and there might easily come a point at which he’d be ferhoodled to keep throwing money into it.
He started down the open wooden stairs, hearing them creak under his weight. A patch of sunlight crossed the floor below when Billy threw open the bulkhead doors. It revealed an ominous stain of black mold.
Nate swept the lantern’s beam into the darker corners as he went down. He should have done something about this sooner. It was—
Thought broke off as the stairs cracked and lurched beneath his feet. He threw himself backward, had a quick image of Susanna reaching out to catch him, and the stairs collapsed beneath him. He went crashing down to the cement floor.
The impact stunned him, and dust rose in a cloud, making him choke. He had to get up, but he was tangled in the pieces of broken steps. He couldn’t tell if he was hurt . . .
Stop. Relax a minute. Think. He lay back on the damp floor, hearing a rush of footsteps above him in the shop as Susanna must have been running to the front door. The dust began to settle, and he saw Billy’s white face looking down at him.
He was saying something, but try as he might, Nate couldn’t seem to make out the words, and Billy’s face spun around him. He closed his eyes.
“Is he dead?” The boy’s voice cracked.
“Of course he’s not dead.” Susanna’s voice now, and she was kneeling next to him, taking his wrist in her cool fingers. She must have run around to come through the bulkhead doors Billy had opened.
Susanna shouldn’t be kneeling on that wet, dirty floor. He frowned, trying to move his hand.
“Just lie still.” She pressed him back. “Let me see how badly you’re hurt. Billy, try to get the boards off him, but don’t touch him if you can help it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy still sounded scared, but he acted in response to her voice.
Susanna’s hands probed gently over Nate’s hair, and he winced. “You’ve hit your head.”
“I can get up—” he began, but when he raised himself on his elbows, the cellar swam around him. He sank back.
“No, you can’t,” Susanna said, her voice firm. She passed her hands over his arms and then helped Billy pull the boards from his legs.
Nate’s mind was clearing, but he made no further attempt to get up. The crack on his head was probably nothing, but he suspected something was very wrong with his right ankle.
Susanna’s hands reached his ankle and stopped, and he heard her indrawn breath. For an instant her fingers trembled against his skin.
“Do you have a cell phone, Billy?” Despite that betraying movement, she managed to sound calm.
“Yes, ma’am.” Billy fumbled in his jacket pocket and brought out the cell phone that was like an extra hand to him.
“I want you to call 911. Say someone’s injured and we need an ambulance at once.”
“Billy can drive me.” Nate managed to prop himself on his elbow.
Susanna put her hands on his shoulders, holding him, her face close to his. “Listen to me. We can’t get you to the truck by ourselves, and if you try to do it, you’ll damage yourself worse. Now lie still until they come.”
Since it seemed evident that Susanna meant business, he let himself be lowered back to the floor. For such a quiet person, she knew how to give orders. And how to be calm in an emergency. She clasped his hand in hers, and he seemed to feel that serenity of hers flowing into him.
Billy’s voice shook so much that the emergency dispatcher probably thought he was the injured one. He clicked off and looked at Susanna for orders.
She was frowning, and she focused on Nate’s face as if gauging how alert he was. “Who is at the store now? Can you tell me?”
“Thomas. My mother. Maybe another driver if he finished his deliveries.”
“Neither of the girls?”
“No.” The incident with Anna Mae seemed long ago.
“That won’t do,” she murmured. She held out her hand for the phone. “I’ll take the phone. Billy, you go out on the walk and wait for the ambulance. Show them how to come in.”
Billy nodded and fled.
Susanna punched in numbers. Thank the Lord Chloe had insisted Susanna memorize her new number in case of need. “Chloe? There’s been an accident at the shop.”
He could hear Chloe’s high voice from several feet away.
“I’m fine,” Susanna said. “Nate is hurt. We’ve called for an ambulance. I need you to go to the store and tell Dora, all right? Do it carefully. Assure her that he’s not hurt badly, but he injured his ankle and it will have to be X-rayed. If she wants to meet us at the hospital, maybe you can drive her, ja?”
Nate could see Chloe’s agreement in the way Susanna’s face relaxed. That was kind of her, thinking of Mamm and not wanting to tell her on the phone. He might have his doubts about Chloe as a suitable sister for Susanna, but she would take care of his mother.
The wail of a siren sounded, coming closer rapidly. Nate lay still, his gaze fixed on Susanna’s face.
“Everything will be all right,” she said, patting his hand.
He nodded, but he knew it wouldn’t. Surely after this, Susanna would understand. The shop would have to go.
* * *
Susanna
opened the door to Dora’s room and peeked inside. Dora had insisted she couldn’t go to sleep in the middle of the afternoon, but she was already out, her kapp askew and her gray hair in disorder. Dora looked older when she was asleep, with all the energy and enthusiasm that usually animated her gone from her face.
As Susanna turned to go, her gaze caught on something that froze her where she stood. She tiptoed to the sewing table that stood in the corner. Her quilt . . . the one her mother had made . . . She’d thought it was worth nothing but to be thrown away when she’d found it wet and dirty on the floor of her apartment.
She touched it lightly. Obviously Dora hadn’t thought so. She must have washed it, and a fine sewing needle was stuck in the edge of a ragged square that Dora was clearly mending. A tear trickled down Susanna’s cheek, and she wiped it away. Dear Dora, always thinking of others. Perhaps she meant this to be a surprise, so Susanna would have to do her best to pretend astonishment. Her father’s Bible had been a total loss, but she would have her quilt, thanks to Dora’s love.
Susanna tiptoed out, closing the door softly. She started down, comforted despite her fatigue. Good things and bad things, all wrapped up tog
ether . . . that was life, wasn’t it?
The house was quiet around her, nearly as familiar as her own apartment now that she’d been here a week. Nate had refused all efforts to get him to go to bed when they got home from the hospital, but he was settled in the upholstered rocker in the living room, his foot on a padded stool. With any luck, he’d drop off to sleep eventually, given the pain medication the doctor had insisted he take.
Thank goodness for her sister on a day like this one had been. Chloe had been a rock, breaking the news to Dora, taking her to the hospital, bringing them home, dealing with all the phone calls that had to be made.
Donna had been waiting at the house when they got there, chicken soup already made on the stove, a loaf of her homemade bread ready to be sliced, and a casserole prepared for their supper. She had been full of questions about the accident, though, and Susanna had barely been able to answer them.
She still found herself shaking inside when she let her mind dwell on what had happened. She kept seeing Nate moving down the cellar stairs ahead of her, his tall, solid body blocking the glow of the lantern he carried. She’d sensed his irritation at this new problem, despite his efforts to hide it.
And then, so quickly, the tread he’d stepped on had shaken and cracked and collapsed, and Nate had fallen. Still on the landing she’d reached for him, frantic to catch him, but she couldn’t, and her heart had nearly stopped with fear at the thought of what she’d see when the debris settled.
She was shaking again, and she moved into the kitchen and stood for a moment, hands pressed against the counter. Enough of this nonsense. Nate would be fine. He had a broken bone in his ankle, but nothing so serious that it would cause problems as long as he obeyed the doctor’s orders. Getting him to behave might be the most difficult part of his recovery.
Dora had been so shaken at the hospital that the doctor had addressed himself to Susanna, apparently thinking she would be the person in charge. Maybe he’d assumed she was Nate’s wife. He hadn’t asked her name. The thought generated feelings she didn’t want to examine.
In any event, the doctor had entrusted her with the medication, the instructions, and the precautions. Now the main issue was to get Nate to do as the doctor said.
Susanna ladled chicken soup thick with noodles, carrots, and chunks of chicken into a bowl, inhaling the rich aroma. She was hungry, as well as worried—that was what was wrong with her. As soon as Nate was taken care of, she’d have something to eat.
Picking up a tray with the soup and thickly buttered slices of bread, she tiptoed toward the living room. If he’d fallen asleep it might be best to let him sleep.
“You don’t need to creep around.” Nate’s deep voice held an edge. “I’m not asleep. It’s bad enough just to be sitting here doing nothing in the middle of a workday. I’m not going to take a nap like a boppli.”
Susanna moved into the living room. Sunlight filtered between the plain white curtains on the windows and lay across the oval braided rug that covered the wide planks of the floor. She took the tray to the small table next to Nate’s chair and arranged it within easy reach of his right hand.
“You can take it back. I’ll come to the kitchen and eat like a grown-up.” He groped for the crutches they’d given him at the hospital.
Susanna got to them first and put them out of reach. “No, I will not. And you’ll sit here with your foot up as the doctor ordered.”
“I’m not a child.” He glared at her.
“Then stop acting like one,” she said briskly. “I know you’re used to being the boss, but this is one time when you’ll have to obey the doctor. And if you’re not quiet, you’ll wake your mother, and I’ll have to tell her you’re not behaving.”
Nate studied her face, as if judging how far he could push her. Then he leaned back in the rocker, a reluctant smile teasing at his lips above his short, fair beard.
“Didn’t you mean to say I am used to being bossy?” he asked.
“Just a little too set on getting your own way,” she said, handing him the soup bowl. “Eat something, and you’ll feel better. You haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
“Neither have you,” he pointed out. “Fix a tray for yourself and join me, and I’ll be quiet and eat, ja?”
She considered arguing, but she was hungry, and at least if she ate with him, she’d be sure he was eating.
When she came back into the room a couple of minutes later with her own food, he was already spooning chicken soup into his mouth.
“Ready for seconds yet?” she asked.
He shook his head and pointed with his spoon at a chair. “Remember our deal.”
She sat obediently. The first wonderfully aromatic spoonful of soup reminded her of how hungry she was. They ate in silence for several minutes.
Nate caught her gaze and grinned. “Feels sinful, doesn’t it, eating in the living room? Mamm never let us.”
“Neither did mine.” Would her birth mother have done the same? Most likely. Mothers were mothers, she supposed, no matter where or who. “If I was sick, I got a tray in bed. Otherwise, eating was done at the table.”
Nate dropped his spoon into the bowl and leaned back against the cushioned rocker, looking tired. The pills, maybe, she thought. Or the pain.
“It will be time for another pill in about an hour,” she said.
“I’m all right.” He turned his head toward her, face easing. “Speaking of being bossy, I heard you snapping out orders while I was lying on that cellar floor.”
“Not snapping, I hope,” she said. “Poor Billy looked nearly as stunned as you did.”
“You are very calm in a crisis, Susanna Bitler. I didn’t know that about you.”
“I didn’t feel very calm when I saw you fall.” She couldn’t keep looking at him, not when she had that sick, helpless feeling at the image in her head. “I should have stopped you from falling.”
She could feel him studying her, even without looking at him. “What do you imagine you could have done?” His deep voice was deceptively mild.
“If I weren’t lame—”
“That’s foolishness,” he snapped. “You couldn’t have kept me from falling, not if you’d had three arms and four legs. Besides, the whole business was my fault.”
That brought her gaze to his face. “How could it be your fault?”
“I’m the one who should have checked those stairs before anyone went down them. The person who fell might have been you.” His intensity was so strong that she felt it like heat on her skin.
“With everything else you’ve had to do, it’s no wonder you didn’t think about the steps. I certainly didn’t.” She took a breath, trying to calm herself. It would be so easy to let the pain and fear she’d felt at his accident make her betray her feelings. “Let’s just blame it on the flood, and not either of us. Ja?”
“I suppose.” He frowned at the cast on his foot. “I don’t remember all they told us at the emergency room. Did the doctor say how long I have to wear this thing?”
“He said if you’re careful to let the bone heal, they might be able to replace the cast with something lighter in a couple of weeks.”
“Weeks,” he repeated.
She could hear his frustration. “I’m sorry.” What else could she say? “I’ll be glad to work in the store. Maybe some of the others can put in extra hours. Anna Mae—”
“I fired Anna Mae this morning.”
Susanna stared at him. “I don’t understand. Why?”
Nate’s head moved restlessly against the padded cushion. “She’s been taking too much for granted. This morning, she said some things . . .” He seemed almost embarrassed. “Things she shouldn’t have,” he said, almost chopping off the words. “It’s for the best.”
Obviously he didn’t want to discuss the matter. Well, it wasn’t Susanna’s business. Maybe Anna
Mae had let him see too clearly that she had a crush on him. That thought hit too close to home for comfort.
“I’ll work as many hours as I can. I have to do something to earn my keep.” Susanna smiled, trying to turn it into a joke that she’d been living in his house for a week.
“You must stay as long as you need to. Mamm likes having you here.”
And what about you, Nate? Do you like having me here?
But she couldn’t ask that, not even in the flirting way that Chloe or even a girl like Anna Mae might.
“The landlord says it will probably be at least another week before I can get back into my apartment,” she said instead. “He’s had to wait for an insurance person to come before he can start the cleanup and repair.”
Nate nodded. Amish didn’t rely on insurance, of course, but other things slowed down the work, like that notice about the mold.
“I thought maybe I could do some work at the shop this week. I know some of the volunteers would help. If we could get rid of the mold ourselves—”
“No.” Nate planted his hands on the arms of his chair. “All those rules and inspections—it’s too complicated.”
An argument hovered on her lips. Surely there was some work they could start. Nate seemed to think nothing would be done right unless he did it.
Still, it was his building, and that flash of ill humor was no doubt the result of his injury. He was in pain and frustrated as well, thinking of all his responsibilities.
She would just have to be patient, no matter how difficult it was. Hopefully soon they’d be able to get back to work on the shop. Eventually she would return to her own place, and everything would be as it had been.
She’d try to believe in her own words. But one thing, at least, would never go back to the way it had been before the flood. She could never go back to a time before Nate had kissed her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The
fields on either side of the country road seemed to blur into a green and gold haze. Chloe blinked, shaking her head. This long day had been trying, to say the least, but of course she’d been happy to help Susanna and Dora deal with the emergency.
