Rebecca's Return (The Adams County Trilogy 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Rebecca nodded her head, the tears pressing again, one slipping out and rolling down her cheek.

  “Others have troubles too,” Miriam continued, to which Mattie nodded in agreement. “Yours are just a little harder—perhaps at the start.”

  Maybe John will come out of his coma today. Maybe the doctor’s report will be favorable. She thought of the doctor’s report as having a great power in and of itself, as if the doctor could say what he wanted it to say. Then we can talk about our problem on Sunday like we planned. She felt some relief at that thought. Maybe John will even be a better person for this experience.

  Miriam’s voice cut into her thoughts, “We waited so many years after Bethany was born. I thought Da Hah had left me barren, like a cursed woman from the time of Moses, and then John came. What a sweet little one he was. Isaac was never the same again. A father of a son, he now was. A little boy to sit on the church bench with him.”

  “I guess having only two…it might make it different,” Mattie said.

  “Perhaps.” A smile played on Miriam’s face. “Isaac won’t tell you, but he loves the boy even more than I do. Of course all fathers do, but having just one son makes a difference, I suppose.”

  “They’re all special,” Mattie said. “They come quickly sometimes, but they are all gifts from Da Hah.”

  “You shouldn’t tell all the family secrets,” Isaac said, in his best Sunday sermon voice, having been acting as if he wasn’t listening.

  “One can tell them to family,” Miriam told him. “But perhaps I shouldn’t be carrying on like this. Prattling on about my own things.”

  “It’s good to talk in times like this,” Mattie assured her.

  “Yes, it is,” Miriam agreed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Seated in the waiting room, Rebecca still felt as though she was confined within narrow walls. She thought of each room in the hospital as containing yet another story of sadness and gloom. And in their own particular story, it was as if they all were waiting for someone in authority to reveal their future to them.

  Rebecca yearned to leave this place, to ride home in the buggy, to be doing the chores with Matthew, to smell the hay in the barn, to see the feed dished out for the cows. She wished she were feeling the weight of the milkers on her arms instead of the pressure of these four walls. She wanted to breathe air untainted by the smell of medicine and antiseptic. She wanted to feel the comfort of her own room, to climb under the covers of the bed and pull the old quilt tight under her chin, never letting go. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare, to see stars from her window. She wanted to feel the nip of cold air, yet unwarmed by the rising heat from the kitchen register.

  Her mother seemed lost in her own thoughts. Miriam looked like she might be dropping off to sleep. Isaac, his face firm, his eyes on the hospital wall, was saying nothing.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the waiting room door. A uniformed Adams County sheriff’s officer walked in with an elderly woman. Someone else who has experienced tragedy, she figured, glancing away and returning to her troubled thoughts.

  Isaac was rising from his seat. But why? She glanced up at his face to see him moving toward the uniformed officer with what she was certain was a smile and then a cheerful greeting.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Isaac said, his voice gentle.

  Gentleness in a man seemed to touch her deeply right now. This must be an officer who was at the crash site last night. Surely that is how Isaac knows her. She is now, no doubt, coming in with another injured person or one of their family members.

  “I didn’t either,” the officer said. “Mother insisted.” She turned back and said to the older woman, “This is Mr. Miller, and this is my mother, Isabelle, the one who called in your son’s accident.”

  Isabelle, needing no further introduction, extended her hand. “Mr. Miller, I’m so sorry about your son.”

  Isaac nodded, carefully taking her hand in his rough calloused one. “We are glad you’ve come. This is my wife, Miriam, and over here,” Isaac half turned and said, “is John’s girlfriend, Rebecca, and her mother, Mattie.”

  Isabelle smiled, her eyes going around the room, then said to Isaac, “I told Beatrice I just had to come and see the young man. You know…after such an experience. It was awful, Mr. Miller, as you can imagine.”

  “Yes.” Isaac nodded again.

  “I just about didn’t call it in—when I heard the noise—but the Lord kept after me, I suppose.”

  “I’m sure He did,” Isaac assured her.

  “I stayed with him till the ambulance came.” Isabelle’s face softened thinking about it. “He was such a fine man…lying there so still. I thanked the Lord for him.”

  “You shouldn’t be saying all this,” Beatrice interrupted. “They have enough to think about already.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Miriam spoke up before Isaac could say anything. “Won’t you have a seat? We’re waiting for John’s tests to finish. The doctor said he’d tell us as soon as he knew anything.”

  “Is he hurt badly?” Isabelle asked, taking the chair beside Isaac. “Beatrice couldn’t tell me much, and I, of course, just had to see for myself.”

  “She’s just that way,” Beatrice said, in an apologetic tone.

  “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Miriam said quickly. “We ought to be concerned about each other.”

  “Especially when it happens in your front yard,” Isaac added.

  “See?” Isabelle glared at Beatrice. “They’re nice people. That’s how nice people should be. My own children want to put me in a nursing home,” she added.

  “Mom, that’s a family problem,” Beatrice said firmly. “You came to visit the injured boy, remember?”

  “That’s right,” Isabelle agreed, not looking too chastened by her daughter’s rebuke. “I do speak out of order sometimes.”

  Miriam didn’t let the nursing home subject pass by without comment. “You live in Unity, right? Just down the road from the top of Wheat Ridge?”

  Isabelle said, “Yes.”

  “I just thought,” Miriam continued, “perhaps Isaac could give you the number at Miller’s Furniture. They’re only there during business hours. Maybe that wouldn’t be good for all things, but during the day at least. If you’d call when and if you really need something, one of us could perhaps run down and help. Just a thought.” Miriam smiled. “It might be of help—when you’re by yourself sometimes.”

  “You would?” Isabelle asked, surprised at the offer.

  “Sure,” Isaac said, adding his weight to Miriam’s offer. “We can’t do everything, of course, but knowing someone close by is always a good feeling.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Isabelle said, deeply moved. “That way you wouldn’t have to worry so much,” she added in Beatrice’s direction.

  “But…that would be a bother,” Beatrice said. “You can’t just go imposing on people.”

  “It wouldn’t be,” Miriam said quickly again. “Really it wouldn’t. We would love to.”

  “See,” Isabelle said, still in Beatrice’s direction.

  Behind her the door opened, letting in Dr. Wine. “The Miller family?” he asked, looking questioningly toward Beatrice and then Isabelle.

  “Friends,” Miriam said. “You can talk in front of them.”

  Beatrice, who had started to rise from her seat, sat down again. Isabelle looked satisfied, never having made any effort to leave.

  Dr. Wine glanced around the room. “I’ve looked at the CT scan we just did. The news isn’t too good, I’m afraid.” His eyes found Isaac’s face, then moved on. “John has a comminuted skull fracture, which we knew from the X-ray last night.”

  “There is more then?” Isaac’s spoke up, his voice tense.

  “I’m afraid so.” Dr. Wine was taking his time. “There is bleeding, as I was afraid there would be. A subdural hematoma, to use the medical term.” Dr. Wine glanced around, and when no
one said anything, he continued. “The hematoma consists of a swelling where blood vessels broke from the injury to your son’s head. With no place to go, that blood is accumulating and pressing in on the surrounding brain tissue, and may grow for some time yet.”

  “Is it serious?” Isaac asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Wine said. “How serious? That depends on how large the hematoma becomes from the bleeding. If your son’s swelling keeps pressing on the brain, a lot of damage can result. We’re going to try to keep him stable, and relieve the pressure by medication first. Hopefully surgery can be avoided. There is no way though, to tell how much damage is being done until after the hematoma stops growing. This happens once the blood clots. The hematoma will then decrease over a period of time. When your son regains consciousness, we will be better able to tell his condition.”

  “Can there be aftereffects?” Isaac asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Wine said with some hesitation. “It’s possible a subdural hematoma can leave the symptoms of a stroke, among other things. Of course there may be nothing wrong when the swelling has fully gone down.”

  “How long before we know anything?” Miriam asked.

  “I wish I knew, Mrs. Miller,” Dr. Wine said, “but with this condition, I would not venture to guess.”

  “Are you keeping him in the hospital?” Miriam asked.

  “I would recommend that,” the doctor answered, “at least until John regains consciousness. He really needs to, but…” He paused, his meaning clear to them all. “I wish to respect your people’s wishes.”

  “Yes,” Isaac bowed his head. “But we don’t have medical insurance.”

  Beatrice cleared her throat before Dr. Wine could respond. “I believe, Mr. Miller, that your hospital expenses will be covered.”

  “Thank you, officer.” Dr. Wine nodded his appreciation to Beatrice. “She is correct. We have been contacted by the party’s insurance company, the one that represents the person at fault in the accident, and they are paying all your expenses.”

  “Not more than that,” Isaac quickly said, half rising in his seat. “We don’t want any money.”

  “That’s between you and the party who injured your son,” Dr. Wine said. “Our concern is for our own bills, of course. They are being paid.”

  “Then John should stay,” Miriam said, slowly this time. “It would be better.”

  “It would be,” Isaac agreed.

  “Should the family stay with him?” Miriam asked.

  “It’s not necessary,” Dr. Wine said, “but you are welcome to stay if you want.”

  “Is John in critical danger?” Miriam asked.

  “There is always danger. We have excellent care here at Adams, I believe. So it’s just a matter of how much damage has been done and will be done as the bleeding continues. I assure you we will monitor your son’s condition with great care. Beyond that—I’m sorry—Mrs. Miller, but we will just hope for the best.”

  “It’s in God’s hands,” Isaac said for all their benefit. “It’s out of ours.”

  “We will do the best we can,” Dr. Wine assured them again. “It never hurts to have people praying though.”

  “We already did,” Isabelle said. “Sunday there will be some more. These are God’s children.”

  “We all seek to be,” Isaac said quickly, his voice uncomfortable. “We’ll pray that what God desires, will be done.”

  “I will see you later then,” Dr. Wine said, dismissing himself. “The nurses can answer your questions, I’m sure. If you have some, just ask.” And then he was gone.

  “Who is paying the medical bills?” Miriam asked, glancing toward Beatrice.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Isaac told her.

  “I just wanted to thank him.”

  “Consider him thanked,” Beatrice said, figuring she should say that much. “I’ll pass on the word.”

  “She was the officer on the scene last night,” Isaac said so Miriam could make sense of the exchange.

  “We really have to be going,” Beatrice said, standing up. “Mom needs to get home, and I’m on shift before too long.”

  “It’s nice meeting you, and maybe I can see the young man the next time,” Isabelle got up to follow Beatrice out.

  “Oh, I’m sure you can now,” Miriam said quickly. “Perhaps John’s back in his room.”

  “Later,” Isabelle said. “He just got back from his tests. Beatrice can bring me in sometime.”

  “Oh, yes,” Isaac said remembering, “the phone number. I can give it to you now.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Beatrice told him. “I’ll help Mother find it in the phone book. Miller’s Furniture. If not, I know where you live.”

  “That’s so kind of you,” Isabelle said to them both, as Beatrice held the door open for her. “We’ll be praying for you and John.”

  As soon as the two women had left, Mattie said to Rebecca, “We should be going too. I’m sure if there’s any change, you’ll let us know,” Mattie said to Miriam.

  “Yes.” Isaac and Miriam nodded.

  Following her mother out, Rebecca said nothing as they got into the buggy and drove out of West Union. It was well north of town before Mattie spoke. “This is a time for you to be strong for John, no matter what happens,” she said firmly.

  “I want to,” Rebecca told her, hoping the strength would be there to fulfill her intentions. That she was not feeling so strong, she couldn’t help. She was doing the best she could.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Later in the afternoon, Reuben was harnessing his old driving horse, while the faithful animal switched its tail in vain protest. He was getting ready for his Saturday afternoon church rounds. It wasn’t always necessary to take these Saturday afternoon drives. Sometimes there weren’t any church matters to be dealt with, but today there were.

  He was going, not just to the one he had agreed to look into for Rachel, but to the ones Bishop Mose had left him. Those came from last preaching Sunday—two items that needed looking into. That made three stops, if more did not come in, and at this hour of the afternoon, Reuben doubted any would.

  Rachel had seemed subdued all day. It baffled him. The change had come over her during the past few days. It must be the child who was coming because no other answer made much sense. Still while Rachel was carrying Luke, there had never been such a big change, but maybe it was her older age.

  After getting his horse under the shafts and the tugs hooked up, he set out. Amman Yoder’s place was his first stop. It had to do with the possible medical needs the family might have because Nancy had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

  Reuben got the old driving horse moving smartly down the road. The quicker he got going, the sooner he would be done. Saturday afternoon church work was not exactly enjoyable to him but necessary, if things were to be kept running smoothly in the church.

  Amman’s place was also the easiest stop, and because Reuben liked doing the easiest thing first, he had so organized his afternoon.

  Coming up on Amman’s driveway, he saw that Amman must be out in the barn. Amman’s manure spreader was parked half in and out of the backdoor. The team of Belgian workhorses waited patiently, shuffling occasionally, their feet lifting up and down on the frozen ground. He could see the steady pitchfork loads of manure coming out of the barn door, the occasional one overshooting the intended aim and ending up over the side of the spreader or hanging on the edge.

  How like Amman, always a little off on his aim in more ways than one, and now his wife has cancer. Not that sickness couldn’t happen to anyone, but Reuben was still convinced that going to Mexico for medical treatments was the wrong thing to do. Because Amman was apparently in favor of such measures, it seemed to Reuben a little like one of those missed throws coming out of the back barn door.

  Now that he was reminded of the point, Reuben thought perhaps he should bring up the issue on Sunday with Bishop Mose. Maybe a trip to Mexico should not be included in the expenses the church was
willing to help with. It might do no good to bring the matter up, but right now he felt strongly enough about the subject to at least suggest such a rule.

  Dismissing the thoughts about Mexico, Reuben brought his mind back to the task at hand. He needed to find out what Amman’s medical needs were and report back to the bishop. That was as far as his authority went. Pulling up in front of the barn, he got out and tied the old driving horse to a ring in the door.

  “Hello,” he hollered into the barn, to let Amman know he was coming in.

  “Back here,” Amman hollered in return.

  Cheerfully, Reuben thought, not sure how cheerful he would be if it was Rachel who was sick and the deacon was showing up to offer financial help.

  “On your Saturday rounds?” Amman asked with a smile.

  “Yes.” Reuben grinned good-naturedly. “Someone has to…”

  “True enough…true enough,” Amman replied, grinning back. “You checking up on our money condition with Nancy’s illness?”

  “Yah.” Reuben nodded, resting his arm on one of the horse stanchions. “You doing okay?”

  “As those things go,” Amman said, as he stopped his work and leaned on his manure pitchfork. “Doctors think she’ll be able to pull out of it.”

  Reuben couldn’t help himself and asked, “You’re not going to Mexico?”

  If Amman knew about Reuben’s feelings on the matter, he didn’t show it. “Only as a last resort.”

  That made Reuben feel better and got him thinking that it was probably all Nancy’s idea to go to Mexico and that she must have told Margaret, which was how it got into The Budget.

  “I wouldn’t go either,” he told Amman, now that he was sure that going to Mexico didn’t come from Amman’s head.

  “Not my idea.” Amman shrugged his shoulders, confirming Reuben’s conclusions. “Depends how bad it gets, I guess.”