An Amish Harvest

by Patricia Davids

  He would never hear the end of it. “Leave them be. They have work to do.”

  “Goot. I’m glad to hear you say that. So do I. I’m going to move your legs to the side of the bed.”

  “I can do it.” He didn’t wait for her help. He swung his feet off the bed and used his elbows to push himself into a sitting position. He kept his hands raised so he wouldn’t bump them.

  She touched his shoulder. “Are you dizzy?”

  “A little.” He hated to admit it.

  “Take some deep breaths.”

  He did and the wooziness passed.

  “Now, I’m going to keep hold of your elbow while you stand.”

  “What if I fall?”

  “I’ll try not to trip over you while I’m making your bed.”

  He wasn’t amused. “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  “I’m serious. I could fall and hurt you.”

  “You could, but you won’t. If you start feeling weak, I’ll have a chair right behind you.”

  He heard her drag the ladder-back chair that sat at his desk closer. “Are you ready?”

  “Will you pour water on my head if I say I’m not?”

  “Nee, I would not want to get your bandages wet. However, I notice you don’t have any dressings on your back.”

  His father was going to have to get rid of this woman. “What kind of nurse would pour cold water down her patient’s back?”

  “One who is tired of waiting for her patient to get out of bed!”

  He rose to his feet, fully expecting to pitch forward on his face the way he had the first time he’d tried to stand by himself. It had been agony getting up and back into bed without help. He never wanted to feel so helpless and alone again.

  “Very good. Take two paces forward and then turn left. The doorway will be directly in front of you.”

  With her firm grip on his elbow to guide him, he managed half a dozen steps, but his hands were starting to throb and his legs were growing weaker. He held his hands higher. The thought of descending the stairs without being able to see made his legs shake. Fear sent cold shivers crawling down his spine.

  “That’s enough for now,” she said. “Go ahead and sit down. The chair is right behind you.”

  He had to trust her. His knees gave way. He sat abruptly, but the chair was in the right spot. At least he wasn’t lying facedown on the floor.

  “Raise your hands a little higher. I’m going to pile some pillows on your lap so you can rest your arms on them.”

  He braced for the ordeal, but she handled his burned hands with gentleness, arranging the pillows at the perfect height for his comfort. “You did very well, Samuel.”

  Was that praise from her? “Danki.”

  “Will you be all right here for a few minutes?”

  Her tone was definitely kinder. She had a pleasant voice when she wasn’t ordering him around or poking fun at him. “I’ll be fine. Close the window. I don’t like the draft.”

  She began humming as she closed the window. It was an old hymn, one he liked. He heard her pulling the sheets off the bed and bundling them together. She was still humming as she carried them out of the room. The sounds of her light footsteps on the stairs faded and he was alone.

  He shifted in the chair. He was comfortable enough. It was better than lying down. Not that he would admit as much to Rebecca Miller. He wiggled his toes and then lifted his legs, first one then the other. How had they become so weak so quickly? He kept working them until he heard her coming up the stairs.

  “I’m back.”

  “I can hear you.”

  “It won’t take me a minute to remake the bed if you’re tired.”

  “The mattress is wet. You can’t expect me to sleep in a soggy bed.”

  “I barely got the linens damp. The mattress is fine, but I’ll flip it over if it makes you feel better.”

  “There’s no need if it isn’t wet.”

  “Okay.” She continued humming. The flap of the sheets told him she was making his bed. He heard the slight sound of her hands smoothing the fabric into place. The flowery scent was stronger now.

  “What is that smell?”

  “Lavender. I sprinkle lavender water on the sheets before I iron them. It keeps them fresh-smelling a lot longer. Is it bothering you?”

  He took a deep breath. “Nee, it smells good.”

  “I grow lavender in my garden and I make it into soaps, oils and sachets. It’s a very beneficial plant and it has so many uses. It’s soothing on the sheets and the scent can help some people sleep better.”

  She stopped talking. He sensed that she was standing beside him. He tipped his head away from her. “Do you have a glass of water in your hand?”

  “Why? Are you thirsty?” She was trying to keep her voice even, but he heard the humor lurking underneath. She was laughing at him.

  “I was afraid you’d think I need a bath.”

  “You do.”

  He hadn’t had one since before the accident. Maybe it was past time. He’d have Timothy help him with that this evening. He was the only one of Samuel’s brothers with enough patience and the ability to work in silence. Samuel quickly changed the subject. “Do you sell your homemade soaps?”

  “Nee, I give them away to family and friends.”

  “You should consider selling some in our store. The Englisch love Amish-made stuff and they pay well for things like my mother’s jams and jellies.”

  “I’ll think about it. I could certainly use some extra income. Are you ready to get back in bed?”

  Was he? Not really. It wasn’t bad being up as long as he wasn’t alone. “I might sit here awhile longer.”

  * * *

  Rebecca allowed her smile of triumph to widen. She knew he would feel better once he was up. “All right. I’m going downstairs and start supper.”

  “You’re leaving?” The touch of panic in his voice surprised her.

  “I’m only going downstairs. I will hear you if you call. What would you like for supper?”

  “Some of Mamm’s chicken broth will be okay. I’m not fond of the beef broth.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Is that all you’ve been eating? Broth?”

  He shifted uneasily in his chair. “My face hurts. I can’t use my hands. Mamm figured out that something I can sip through a straw works best.”

  “No wonder you’re so weak. I need to get some real food into you.”

  “I’m not going to have someone spoon-feed me. Especially you.”

  “That sounds like pride. Our faith teaches us to put aside all pride and be humble before God. Are you a prideful man, Samuel?”

  She waited, but he didn’t answer. “I didn’t hear what you said,” she prompted.

  “I’m not prideful,” he answered softly, but with an edge of irritation.

  “Of course not. I’m sorry I misunderstood. Please forgive me. If you’re okay in the chair, I’m going to get the wash started and then supper. Which one of your family members shall I ask to help you with your meal and your bath?”

  “Timothy. But I’m not coming downstairs to eat.”

  “That’s fine. Just call if you need me.”

  She crossed the room to the door, but didn’t leave. Instead, she waited and watched.

  He turned his head to the side as if listening for her. After a long minute, he muttered, “Fat chance I’ll ask her for help.”

  She smiled. He wasn’t sure she had gone. He was testing to see if she was still about. He kept his head cocked with one ear toward the door. She silently slipped out, taking care to avoid the squeaking stair treads she had noted on the way up.

  Rebecca was used to finding her way around strange kitchens. A quick check
of the refrigerator and the pantry gave her the fixing for a hearty chicken and noodle casserole. That would be easy for Samuel to eat and filling for the rest of the family. After putting the chicken on to boil, she started the laundry in the propane-powered washer in the basement, swept the kitchen and washed the kitchen floor. While she worked, she kept an ear out for any sounds from Samuel’s room. She was prepared for his call, but not for the loud thud that shook the ceiling above her.

  She dashed up the stairs and found him sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. There was blood on the bandage covering his left hand. She rushed to his side. “Samuel Bowman, what have you done to yourself?”

  * * *

  Samuel gritted his teeth against the unbearable pain in his hands. He couldn’t breathe let alone answer her.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Her voice penetrated the fog in his brain.

  “Why? Isn’t this bad enough? Maybe I can break a leg. Would that make you happy?”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting, but that’s not an excuse to be rude.”

  The pain receded, but his humiliation grew by leaps and bounds. This was exactly what he had been afraid would happen. Hitting the floor hurt every bit as much as he knew it would.

  This was her fault. “Why didn’t you come back? You said you only be gone for a little bit. I was stuck in that chair for ages.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Forgive me. I thought you would call for me when you were ready to go back to bed. Let me help you up. Do you think you can stand, or should I fetch your father or one of your brothers?”

  “I can do it. Get out of my way.”

  “Very well.”

  He heard her move aside. He gathered his legs under him and lurched to his feet. He would’ve fallen again if she hadn’t stepped in front of him and placed her hands on his chest.

  “I’ve got you. Relax. Take a deep breath. Get your bearings.”

  He tried, but it was hard to do with a woman holding him up. The flowery fragrance was from her hair. The top of her head came to his chin. Was her hair blond or pale brown? He couldn’t recall. He remembered her pale face streaked with tears at her husband’s funeral and the flash of gratitude in her eyes when she noticed the cedar panels in Walter’s coffin, but Samuel wasn’t sure if her eyes were blue or gray.

  “Are you steady now?” She stepped back but kept a firm grip on his arms.

  He was dizzy, but he wasn’t about to admit it to her. His hands still smarted. “I’m fine.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  “This is funny to you, isn’t it?”

  There was a slight pause, then she said, “Maybe just a little. The bed is four steps to your left.”

  Determined not to give her anything else to laugh at, he shuffled in the direction of the bed until he felt the mattress against his leg. He sat down with a sigh. Gingerly lowering himself onto his side, he raised his feet. She was there helping lift them and slipping them under the covers.

  “I hope you have learned your lesson,” she said sternly.

  Was she really going to lecture him? “What lesson would that be?”

  “It is less painful to ask for help.”

  “It would’ve been less painful if I had stayed in bed in the first place.”

  “I can see you are a glass half-empty kind of fellow. We will work on that.”

  “I’m not sure I will survive any more of your lessons.”

  “Why didn’t you call for me?”

  “Why didn’t you return?”

  “I didn’t realize how stubborn you are. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Not with me you won’t. As soon as my father comes in, he will take you home.”

  “Something you don’t realize is how stubborn I can be, too. I’m not going anywhere. Your mother needs help. Whether you believe that or not. I am here to help her by looking after you. We got off to a bad start, Samuel. Let’s try to get along.”

  “A bad start? You poured water on my sheets.”

  “Only because you wouldn’t do as I asked. In the future, we will both have a better understanding of our limits.”

  “Don’t get comfortable here. You’ll be leaving.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. It’s time for your pain pill. According to your father, the doctor wants you taking them every four to six hours. I’m sure you must need one now.”

  He did, but he hated to admit it so he kept silent. She returned a few moments later and said, “Open wide.”

  He did need something for the pain. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and swallowed the pill with a long drink of water from the straw she held for him. “Danki.”

  “I’m going to mark on your bandage with an ink pen. I promise to be careful.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to make sure the bleeding has stopped.”

  “I’m bleeding?”

  “Only a small amount through the bandages on your left hand. If I mark the edge of the bloodstain, then I can check in a little while and make sure it isn’t getting bigger.”

  He braced himself for the task, but she completed it without hurting him. She straightened the bed and turned his pillow. The fresh coolness against his neck helped ease his tension.

  “I’m going downstairs now. If you need anything, you can call for me, or you can make a loud thump on the floor again, whichever you prefer.”

  “Nice to know you enjoyed seeing me fall on my face.”

  “Actually, I didn’t get to see it. Give me some warning next time so I don’t miss it again.”

  “Are you deliberately trying to make me angry?”

  “Are you deliberately trying to make me out to be a cruel shrew?”

  “I didn’t say you were cruel.”

  “Oh, just a shrew.”

  “You’re twisting my words!”

  He heard her approach the bed. “Samuel, you will be fine in a very short time. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you will. This road to recovery is painful and frustrating, but it has an end. Your mother needs help and I need the job. Let’s not fight. If we carry on like this in public people will think we’re married.”

  “We wouldn’t want people to think that.”

  “Exactly.”

  He hadn’t considered that she needed work. She was a widow and dependent on others for her livelihood. His conscience smote him. The Lord compelled men of faith to care for widows and orphans. “I can be civil if you can.”

  “Goot. We’ll get along fine, Sammy, as long as you do what I say.”

  Just when he thought she was being sensible. “It’s Samuel. We’ll get along fine, Becky, if you listen to what I think before you decide what’s best for me.”

  “Very well, we have a deal. You won’t regret it.”

  Had he just agreed to her staying?

  Chapter Three

  Rebecca almost laughed when Samuel opened his mouth to protest but snapped it shut again. He wasn’t used to losing arguments. He was a man used to getting his own way.

  Goot. He needed to find that inner strength again. If irritation with her brought it to life that was fine. He would most likely speak with his father later, but for now, she had the upper hand. But the upper hand wasn’t what she was here for. She was here to help him get better and to cope with his injuries.

  Maybe she should try seeing things from his perspective. Taking care of Emil Troyer had taught her a lot about the ways blind people coped. She closed her eyes, turned around once and tried to cross the room without losing her sense of balance. She quickly became disoriented. No wonder Samuel was insecure and fearful. Without the use of his hands to feel his way around, he was twice as blind. His fall had reinforced his belief that he needed to stay in bed. It was a setback to be sur
e, but she wasn’t willing to let him.

  She had an idea. “How are your elbows?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Are your elbows burned like your hands? Are they bandaged? I can’t tell under your pajama sleeves.”

  “My elbows are fine. So are my knees. Would you like to see me crawl on them?”

  “Maybe later.” She crossed to the wall and tried using her elbows to help keep her balance and find her way. As she suspected, keeping one elbow or her shoulder in contact with the wall made moving easier.

  “You are nuts,” Samuel muttered.

  She ignored his comment and returned to his bedside. “I’m going to suggest that you keep one elbow against the wall when you move around the room. It will help you maintain your balance and give you something to lean on if you feel dizzy. It won’t help you cross an open room, but it will allow you to get up and move around without someone with you.”

  “I’m not going to be moving around my room.”

  “Of course you will be. Several times a day, in fact, but you’ve done enough for today. I’ll bring your supper up after your brother has helped you bathe.”

  “You are not going to spoon-feed me,” he muttered.

  Her resolve weakened in the face of his embarrassment. It had to be hard to depend on others for every aspect of his care. It must be doubly humiliating to have a strange woman telling him what to do. Still, she was here to do a job and that job was to get Samuel well. Coddling wouldn’t help him.

  “Would you rather lick it off the plate like a dog? I guess that will work, but it might get the bandages on your face dirty not to mention my clean sheets. If that’s the plan, I’ll have your brother wait until after supper to bathe you.”

  “Go away. You’re making me crazy.”

  That was better. There was more life in his voice. “I’m going. All you have to do is ask. Verna Yoder was right for a change. You are a cranky patient.”

  “I haven’t spoken a word to Verna Yoder. Why would she say I’m cranky? And why are you gossiping about me? Who else is gossiping about me?”