by Susan Wiggs
He was quiet for a moment. The horse’s hooves clopped on the road as they passed the playing field where the baseball game was going on. There were a few carts and buggies and tethered horses along a fence. Kids of all ages, boys and girls alike, shouted and clapped their hands. Whistles pierced the air. She spotted Hannah on a bench at the sideline, leaning forward eagerly but sitting out the game. Jonah was in the thick of things, in shortstop position.
“That looks like so much fun,” she said. “My summers as a kid were a lot different.”
“How’s that?”
“Totally structured. I was sent to camps designed to make me better at things—sports, music, Spanish, science—you name it. It was fun, too, but I don’t remember moments like that.” She gestured at a barefoot boy running home from third base, his hands in the air and a look of pure joy on his face. Had she ever simply played for the sake of playing? In between camp sessions, her adolescence had been a time of grinding academic study and a desperation to excel. She wondered what her life would have been like if she had taken the time to lift her nose from the grindstone.
“Hannah used to be one of the best batters in the village,” Caleb said. “She doesn’t join in so much lately.”
“She mentioned that now that she’s joined the church, she’s supposed to be thinking about getting married,” Reese said. “And I guess I don’t have to tell you how I feel about that.”
He was quiet again as they passed the playing field. He kept his eyes steadily on the road as he said, “I’m in a dispute with my father.”
That didn’t surprise her in the least. “What sort of dispute?”
“He doesn’t want Jonah to have the robotic arm. Thinks it’s too modern, and the bishop agrees.” He glanced over at her. “And, yes, I do agree with the expression on your face.”
“Then why is it a dispute? Jonah should have what he needs. As his guardian, you get to make that decision.”
Caleb didn’t respond.
“Caleb?” she prompted.
“I’m not his guardian,” he said at last.
“But I thought—”
“Everyone thought. The fact is, Asa is Jonah’s legal guardian. He has been since John died.”
“Wait. What? But at the hospital, you authorized everything as his guardian.”
Caleb nodded, turning the rig down a narrow lane, away from the main part of town. “I took charge of things. But according to the law, when John and Naomi died, the guardian would be John’s next of kin, and that was Asa. I simply took over when I moved back to Middle Grove. There was never any legal arrangement for me to do that. Now it appears Asa is claiming his authority.”
“What will you do?”
“Jonah needs that arm. I’ll do what I have to do.”
Her heart ached for him. He seemed so torn, wanting to do what was right for the boy while keeping the peace with his father. “I wish I could help,” she said, and she covered his hand with hers. “I was raised so differently. My parents are all about high achievement and self-sufficiency. Depending on someone other than yourself is considered a sign of weakness. In a situation like this . . . have you explained the situation to your father? Has Jonah’s care team?”
“I reckon that’s what Mose is doing right now,” he said. “Won’t work, though. There’s no arguing with a man’s faith. He believes the boy will burn in hell if he adopts modern ways, so he thinks he’s saving Jonah’s soul.”
“Shit. Why was your father appointed guardian over you?”
“He was here the night it happened, and I was not. I was living away and working at Grantham Farm when I heard. I showed up the next day. Naomi was gone, and John nearly so. There was just enough time to say goodbye. He told me to raise his kids in the faith, but the judge who assigned the guardianship to my father never knew that.”
“Is there a way to have yourself appointed his guardian?”
“I would have to make an appeal to a court. In our culture, we don’t use the courts. But I fear my father would do that in order to get his way with Jonah.”
“You could get a ruling in your favor,” she said, feeling his frustration. “Would you be able to find a lawyer who specializes in medical guardianship?”
“I’ve been studying up on the law myself. There’s a doctrine called parens patriae, which allows the state to protect a child’s welfare, and it might apply in this situation. For now, we’re keeping up the training with the robotic arm.”
“That’s good, then. Maybe your father will see that Jonah’s better off with a better arm.” She looked at him, and her heart seemed to swell in her chest. “You amaze me. When do you have time to study the law?”
“I don’t. Just quit sleeping so much. Let’s talk about you,” he said. “I’m sick of me.”
“I’m a bit like you. I work and don’t sleep. It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. And more wonderful. And sometimes terrible and sometimes sublime. I hate myself when I make mistakes. Sometimes I hate my patients when they don’t cooperate or refuse treatment or skip their meds or keep smoking . . .”
“Rebecca loves you,” he said, though Reese had not brought up the woman’s name.
“That’s nice to hear. I’m sorry she’s so sick. Sometimes I don’t know if I can do this,” she said. “I know I need to respect her wishes, but those wishes are destroying her.”
“Because she won’t accept medical treatment.”
“Yes. Is it strange that you were expected to marry her?”
“Some still expect that.”
“Does Rebecca?”
“I don’t know, Reese. I told her clearly enough that it wasn’t happening, but . . .” He stopped, taking her cheeks between his hands. “What is it? What are you thinking?”
She trembled at his touch, and she tried to hide the terrible struggle raging inside her. This was one of the challenges most doctors never faced. Here it was, then. The stark contrast between modern patients and rural Amish. She had made this choice and was now forced to change, not just as a doctor, but maybe who she was as a person—more humble, more soulful. Making a sacrifice for her patient.
“Reese?”
She nearly melted at his touch. “If you were her husband, you could save her life.”
He took his hands away. “What?”
Reese couldn’t help what she was thinking. It was terrible, but it was . . . possible. She rushed headlong into the conversation. “As her next of kin, you could authorize treatment. You could make that decision for her.”
He held himself completely still. “You’re suggesting I marry a dying woman to force her into treatment she doesn’t want.”
“I’m grasping at straws. She’s young and beautiful and I’m her doctor and I’m desperate for a way to keep her from dying.”
“And for that, I admire you,” he said quietly. “You have a great heart, Reese.”
He flicked the reins and the horse sped up. They came upon a covered bridge over a stream. On the far side of the bridge, he pulled the buggy off to a gravel area in the trees. He helped her down and pulled out a rolled quilt from beneath the seat.
Then he took her hand and started walking. She didn’t know what would happen. She didn’t ask. He brought her to a meadow by the stream and spread the quilt on the ground. The night air was warm on her skin, a light breeze lifting her hair. They were surrounded by the fresh green smell of broken grass, the chirp of crickets.
“Reese Powell,” he said, cradling her face between his hands, “I’ve been wanting you since you swapped my bloody shirt for hospital scrubs, when the only thing I should have been wanting was for Jonah to get better. It was a great shame to me that my body and my heart wouldn’t listen to my head. After I left the city, I thought the wanting would fade, but it’s only grown worse.”
She was stunned by his words. “I’m . . . I don’t know what to say.”
A grin flashed. “An unusual state for you. Tell me you want this or stop me now,” he said, �
��because if I kiss you again, I might not be able to stop at all.”
“I . . . I want . . . yes. Oh my God, yes,” she whispered. “But I . . . I suppose I should tell you—it probably won’t surprise you to learn I’m not a virgin.”
He pulled off his shirt one-handed over his head and dropped it on the ground. “It probably will surprise you to learn that I am,” he said. Yet there was nothing tentative about him as he took off her clothes and shucked his trousers and drew her down to the quilt, his hands and mouth and tongue making excruciatingly slow designs on her bare flesh.
His kisses, the shape and pressure of his mouth—she had dreamed of this for months, and he seemed as ravenous as she was. At the same time, his touch was achingly gentle, yet under the tenderness was a hunger that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. Though his mouth was soft on hers, his kisses were hard, demanding. She felt possessed as he groaned and unfurled a kind of power that from another man might be frightening. From Caleb, it was simply the stark, honest need held at bay far too long. He touched her in places that caught fire. The bite of his teeth drew a gasp from her, surprise and delight tumbling together. She opened herself to him and clasped him against her. He lifted her up in a moment of weightless suspension. It was only a moment but it felt like eternity. Then she came crashing down and felt herself melting into the earth.
He shuddered, aligning his forehead to hers, his wonder and joy tangible, somehow, even in the darkness. For long minutes, she glistened with sweat and joy, unable to move or even to form a coherent thought.
“That was . . .” She couldn’t form a coherent sentence, either.
“Yah,” he said. “It was.”
They lay together, listening to the night sounds until the breeze dried their sweat. Caleb kissed her with a lingering sweetness. He anchored her with his arm, holding her steady, and they dozed for a bit. She loved the sense of him so close, the way he breathed in and out so evenly, a man at peace, not tormented by doubt.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Reese. I’m an open book.”
“How could it be that that was your first time?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“God, no. You were . . . you seemed to know just what to do.”
“I’m a farm boy,” he said simply. “I know things.” He traced her tattoo with his finger. “I never danced the salsa before, and I did all right.”
She laughed and rolled over, propping her chin on his chest. “Here’s a harder question, then. What was your original plan?”
“My . . .”
“Before your brother and his wife died. What did you think you’d end up doing?”
A long pause. “I did have a plan, for sure. I wanted the world—more learning, managing the horse farm at a higher level, doing things I’d dreamed about. Flying in a plane, diving in the ocean, all the wonders forbidden to me as a boy. When I had to come back, it was a shock at first. But it was the right thing to do. The only thing. I had to make a new plan—to stay until Hannah married and Jonah . . . Then there was the accident. It means I’ll never leave him, or not for a very long time. And now here you are, and I wish to heaven I could make a different plan.”
Reese felt dizzy as she looked up at his face in the moonlight. Until now, she’d had no idea about the undiscovered world contained within the warmth and safety of a man’s arms. All her life she had focused on achievement and accomplishment, setting goals and attaining them. It was a shock to realize she really had no emotional anchor.
Now she didn’t know what the future held. She didn’t care. She didn’t have a plan, either. She just wanted it to happen.
“Are we going to do this, then?” she asked.
He flipped her over and drew her hand down his chest and lower still, then pressed her thighs apart, smiling slightly at her look of disbelief. “We already are.”
18
The internship turned out to be a richer, more meaningful education than Reese had ever experienced. Her whole life seemed to change; every moment seemed charged with importance, whether she was removing a catheter or disimpacting a bowel. The bowel procedure might have been horrific, but the look of relief on the patient’s face was worth everything. She found herself dealing with every sort of ailment. She’d been anointed with blood and shit and tears; the cry of a newborn might be followed by the hollow gasp of an elderly patient’s dying breath.
For the first time, work was an emotional investment. A labor of love. Sometimes, even when she was doing the most mundane task, she felt an almost spiritual calling. She was meant to do this work.
She made mistakes—chipped a man’s tooth while attempting to intubate his airway. Misread a dosage and gave too much potassium to a heart patient. Messed up the placement of a stent. The ways to screw up were myriad, and she lived in fear of doing damage. Mose and Penelope and the residents helped her through the agony of failure, but her softest place to fall was located in the quiet isolation of Middle Grove.
She spent every spare minute she could with Caleb, driving over to see him in a fog of exhaustion after a thirty-hour shift. When they were apart, she felt distracted, even agitated. When she saw him again, she felt so full of bliss that she was like a different person entirely, a person on fire with life, so euphoric that she knew there had to be a catch. Then he would open his arms and wrap her in his embrace, and her worries would fall away. She was utterly seduced by him in every way that mattered. With Caleb, she found something she’d thought only existed in stories and dreams—a grand passion, endless and all-consuming.
She was drawn to Jonah and Hannah as well. Her brightest moments were spent in their company, browsing through the farmers’ market, admiring the quilts and crafts at the general mercantile, cheering Jonah on as he worked with his arm.
After one particularly grinding stint at the hospital—her supervising resident, Cain, had assigned her to the ICU and had criticized everything down to her handwriting—she came into the kitchen to find Mose and Ursula sitting together, stress eating. The only way she could tell Ursula was stressed was when she saw her eating Life cereal, and at the moment, she was chowing it down from a mixing bowl.
“What’s up?” Reese asked, setting down a bag of things she’d picked up at the store on the way home.
“We need to go to Middle Grove,” Mose said.
“Oh, good. I got a soccer ball for Jonah.” She took it out of the shopping bag and palmed it. “Thought it would be a nice change of pace from baseball.”
“Good thinking,” said Mose. “We need to go first thing in the morning to look after Rebecca Zook.”
“Oh . . .” Reese’s voice trailed off and she sat down slowly. All summer long, they had watched the young woman’s condition worsen. The intermittent strange behavior, flashing headaches, and visual changes had intensified, yet Rebecca continued to refuse all but the most basic treatment.
Reese left early the next day with Mose and Ursula. The Zook household was a big one—seven or eight siblings with various spouses and offspring. The women bustled around putting out bowls of stewed plums and pans of cinnamon rolls so fresh and delicious they made her swoon. There were barefoot children everywhere—girls helping out, a little one in a choring kerchief feeding a kitten from a bottle. Some of the women were seated on benches, sewing as they spoke quietly in reverential tones. Reese sensed an indefinable air of settled peace. These women embraced their roles and their places in the world.
Alma Troyer bustled in with a pair of gorgeous pies. “Made with Pocono Golds, my favorite for pies,” she said. “Some say they’re too sweet. I say they’re just right.”
Other women had macaroni salad, baked ham, fried chicken. If food had the power to heal, these people would live forever, thought Reese. It wasn’t a social call, though, so she followed Mose into a room adjacent to the kitchen. Like all Amish homes, it was furnished in a spare, unadorned style, with a railed bed against one wall, a few wooden chairs, a washstand,
and a row of pegs along the wall. Above the bed was a sampler stitched with the phrase And he that doubteth is damned if he eat, because he eateth not of faith: for whatsoever is not of faith is sin.
Rebecca lay in the bed, her face expressionless, her eyes moving without seeming to see. Mose motioned for Reese to come forward. “How are you feeling?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“So much hurt,” Rebecca said.
Reese swallowed hard. Be here now, she reminded herself. Be with the patient now. “I’m sorry. Is the medication helping?” They’d given her morphine for the pain.
She didn’t answer. Reese had spent hours with her colleagues discussing the situation. As doctors, they knew the risks and benefits of treatment. They also knew that when a competent patient refused lifesaving treatment, their options were limited.
“Rebecca, I know we’ve talked about this before, but I want you to know there are medical interventions that could help you.”
“I understand. You’ve told me and told me I might get better with your treatments. You also said I might not. And I’ve told you and told you no.”
“You could have a longer life. More time in this world.”
“More time to be childless. There’s no purpose for me in this life if I can’t have a child. I know that sounds ridiculous to you, but you don’t know my world. You don’t know my life. I would be alive, but I would be revolted by my post-treatment life.”
There was a stir in the doorway. Reese turned and was shocked to see Caleb, dressed as she’d never seen him before. His shirt was white and crisply pressed, his trousers creased down the middle, his shoes gleaming with a shine. He didn’t look at Reese, didn’t acknowledge her as he set a wooden clock on a table at the end of the bed.
“Rebecca, this is for you,” he said. “I have talked it over with your father and the bishop. I’m offering this and my hand in marriage, if you’ll have me.”
Rebecca blinked and winced. “Himmel, what is this nonsense?”
