“Is this Naomi?”
“Yes.” His immediate use of her first name was reassuring. Doctors unfamiliar with the Amish tended to call her Miss Schrock.
“This is Dr. Lawson. I’ve reviewed the results of your tests, and I’m afraid we do have some areas of concern. It’s a good thing you came in when you did.”
“Oh.” Naomi found it difficult to breathe. “It’s serious, then?”
“Fairly serious, yes.” The doctor hesitated, and she heard him sigh. “Normally I’d ask you to come in so we could discuss this in person, but my grandparents are Plain, and I understand how difficult it might be for you to get to the office. I’ll tell you as much as I can over the phone, so long as you agree that you’ll come in for another appointment as soon as we can arrange one. All right?”
“All right.” Naomi swallowed. “Is it the Wolff-Parkinson-White again?”
“No, I believe you have a damaged heart valve. I can’t be sure, of course, but I’d guess it was damaged during the ablation procedure. Nicked just the tiniest bit, maybe. It happens.”
“But that was two years ago. I only started having these symptoms within the past few months.”
“That could make sense. It’s like a tiny tear in a piece of fabric. At first, it’s not so bad, but over time, the tear widens and it becomes more of a problem. Especially if you’re giving your heart a workout. The nurse said that you had been more active lately than you’ve been in the past, right?”
“Ja. That’s so.” She took a deep breath. “What does this mean?”
“You’ll have to have another operation. But,” he hurried on, “that’s the bad news. The positive news is that, if we replace the valve, there’s a good chance that you can go on to live a normal life.”
“A good chance.”
“Yes.”
“But it might go poorly, this operation? I might not recover fully?” Or at all?
The doctor paused before he answered. “There’s always that possibility, but I’m optimistic.”
Optimistic. The pediatric cardiologist had been optimistic about the first procedure, too, so optimistic that he’d swayed her bishop to agree to it. In fact, he’d presented Naomi’s recovery to health as a sure thing.
Obviously, it hadn’t been, and she hated the idea of asking her family or her community to fund another operation. Communities worked together to shoulder such hospital bills, and Naomi’s had been substantial—and only recently paid off.
Which brought up another question. “This valve replacement surgery—is it more complicated than the first procedure I had?”
“Yes. Much.”
Naomi’s heart sank. Complicated in medical jargon was another word for expensive.
“And if I don’t have this operation? What will happen then?”
“You’ll die,” Dr. Lawson told her bluntly. “Not right away, but soon enough. Sooner if you keep on working like you’ve been doing. The symptoms you’re experiencing will get worse until the valve quits working altogether.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry, Naomi. I know this is hard to hear but try to focus on the positive. It’s likely that we can fix this. I understand there will be some financial difficulties to overcome, but I’ll work with you. I’m sure the hospital will, too.”
“Denki.” Her doctor and hospital in Kentucky had done that as well, but even so, the amount owed had been huge.
“Do you have any more questions for me right now?”
“Nee.” He had answered them all, just not in the way she’d been hoping.
“I’m going to transfer you to the receptionist now so she can make you a follow-up appointment. You agreed to that, remember? We’ll talk more then and get this surgery on the books. Okay?”
Smart of him to get her to agree up front, and to remind her of that now. He really was familiar with Plain folks. There was nothing to say but, “Ja, I will come to the appointment.”
The earliest one she could get was two weeks out. The receptionist apologized, but Naomi wasn’t upset about the wait. She had plenty of things to sort out in the meantime, like how she was going to tell Joseph about all this. She sank onto the wobbly wooden stool, looking out the shack’s window at the quiet road as she tried to think things through.
She didn’t waste time wondering what Joseph would say. She knew him well enough to know. His face would go white and tense, the way it had been those first weeks after his parents’ deaths, but he would tell her it was fine. He’d say they would be married as they’d planned and figure the rest out as they went. He’d take this new trouble onto his shoulders just as he’d taken the ones that had come before, quietly, doggedly.
Faithfully.
Hot tears prickled, and she dabbed at them with her sleeve as resolve built inside of her. She’d been a real help and a comfort to Joseph. He’d said so himself. She hated the idea of becoming a burden to him now, of seeing his eyes change when he looked at her . . . not full of hope and sweet affection anymore but filled with duty and resignation.
She’d seen that on the faces of her brothers every time they opened the bills for their monthly installment payments on her hospital debt. They’d never once complained, at least not in front of her. They weren’t bad folks, and they’d look after Naomi for the rest of her life if it came to that.
Still, she’d hated causing such trouble for the people she loved best. She’d tried to help all she could, and she’d been so relieved when that account had finally been paid off. Even afterward, though, her brothers tended to look at her with a certain grim, kindly patience that reminded her silently of the sacrifices they’d made on her behalf.
She couldn’t tell Joseph the truth about this. She couldn’t stand the prospect of Joseph thinking of her the same way her family did. Maybe that was selfishness, but since she knew how he’d react to this news, there was another side to consider. She couldn’t in good conscience bring more troubles into Joseph’s life right now, not if she could help it.
And of course, she could help it. They weren’t married yet.
She clenched her hands together and bowed her head. She’d spend some time praying here, seeking Gott’s guidance and resigning her will to His. Then she’d go back to the Hochstedlers and try to find some truthful, but vague way to explain to Joseph that she couldn’t marry him, at least not right away.
And unless Gott surprised her with a miracle, quite possibly not at all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joseph blew tiny curls of wood away from the project he was working on and frowned. The oak leaf he’d been carving had come out lopsided. It was going to take a lot of thought and some careful, tedious work to get it fixed so that it would match the others twining up the sides of the headboard.
He sighed and set the small chisel on the workbench. A local Englisch couple had ordered the piece three months back, and he’d hoped to get the carving finished today. As frustrating as it would be to set this piece aside, he’d best not work on it anymore this afternoon. He’d been trying to keep himself busy while he waited for Naomi to return, but he’d gone featherheaded, his normally nimble fingers stiff and clumsy.
That was all right. He’d spent his time cleaning up the woodshop. Likely it wouldn’t be long until Naomi was back.
Funny how that thought perked him right up. He whistled tunelessly under his breath as he brushed shavings onto the floor and put tools back in their appointed spots. As he reached for the old broom slanted in one corner, he paused.
The broom had been discarded from Mamm’s kitchen, the red paint on its wooden handle worn off where she’d gripped it. A memory of his mother sweeping out her kitchen in that ferocious, energetic way she’d had washed over him. The sharp pain he’d begun to anticipate whenever his parents came to mind jabbed hard, but then it subsided quickly.
He halted, broom in han
d, and poked at his grief as he’d poke at a sore tooth, gingerly, carefully. He missed his parents. He would miss them always, but the raw edges of that sudden wound had scabbed over. His brutal grief had softened into a gentler sadness. It could be he had simply gotten used to his sorrow, but he thought maybe there was more to it.
His gaze drifted to the sheet-covered surprise against the wall, waiting on Naomi, and a bubble of joy freed itself from his sore heart and tickled upward.
Naomi had made the difference. She—and the future he was planning with her—had shifted his heart forward into hope. No man could keep grieving for lost days when the days to come beckoned him with such sweet promise. Gott had been merciful for sure, and Joseph was deeply thankful.
The door creaked, and he turned, instantly alert. Naomi peeked in.
“Joseph? I’m back. I am sorry it took me so long.”
His welcoming smile faded as his eyes skimmed her face. She looked pale, and there were fine lines across her brow and around the corners of her eyes. Something was troubling her.
He started to ask about it, then stopped, unsure if he should. Lately Naomi had seemed shy about answering questions. She’d even been cagey about the reason for today’s trip to the phone shack, and Joseph had dropped the subject. He wasn’t sure what sort of personal wedding preparations women made, and he didn’t want to pry.
He didn’t want to step wrong, and whenever he opened his mouth, that was likely to happen. The hopes building in his heart felt fragile and teetery, as if he were balancing eggs, one on top of the other. He needed to be careful.
“There was one message on the machine for you,” Naomi was saying. She slipped a hand beneath her apron and came out with a folded scrap of paper. “It wasn’t from Emma, though.”
A message. His heart went oddly cold and hot at the same time. A message, but not from Emma? He could guess who’d called—and that explained the strained look on Naomi’s face. “Whatever Melvin said, don’t pay it any attention. I’d not have asked you to check the messages if I’d thought he’d call. He usually mails his nonsense.”
“The message wasn’t from Melvin.” She wiggled the scrap until he took it from her. “It’s from the real estate agent. She needs you to meet with her.”
Then what’s wrong? Why are you sad? He wanted to ask her, but he couldn’t think of quite how. The questions felt as clumsy in his mind as the chisel had felt in his hand a moment ago.
He glanced only briefly at the paper before pocketing it. Whatever Mona wanted, he’d deal with it later. His eyes refastened on Naomi’s face as he tried to guess what was troubling her.
She was looking around the workshop. “Did you say there was something you wanted to show me?”
“Ja.” He’d been waiting for this all afternoon, but now that the moment had come, he was reluctant. Something felt off.
He didn’t like it.
A tiny smile curved the corners of Naomi’s lips as she watched him. “So then?” she prodded. “What is it?” Her eyes lit on the headboard. “Is it the bed for the Johnsons? That’s coming along real well, ain’t so?”
She brushed past, leaving a fresh scent of clean laundry and starch behind. She walked to the piece and traced the carving, her finger lingering on the awkward leaf.
“I know,” he assured her quickly. “That one hasn’t come right for me yet, but don’t worry. I’m going to fix it.”
“I wasn’t worried, and nor should you be,” Naomi retorted right away. “Maybe you shouldn’t fix it at all. My grossmammi always left one little mistake in every quilt she made, on purpose. She told me it was a reminder to both herself and the people who bought her quilts that perfection belongs only to Gott.”
“Your grandmother sounds like a very wise woman.”
“She was.” Naomi tilted her head, studying the deformed leaf. “Besides, this one crooked one makes the others look even more beautiful.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. In that angle, in that moment, there was something so graceful about her, so sweet, that his heart stalled in his chest. “I knew you were a skilled woodcarver already. But do you know, Joseph, it is not until now, when I see your best work next to this little bumble, that I understand how fine your carving really is.”
His eyes connected with her gray-green ones, and his stilled heart jolted back to life with a painful thump. Suddenly, more than anything in the world, he wanted to take this woman in his arms and kiss her.
Lately he’d been feeling that way pretty much every time Naomi was within arms’ length. Earlier on the back porch, he’d babbled on about Miriam just so he could keep from gathering Naomi close and tasting her sweet mouth again. It was a good thing—a very good thing—that Isaac had given them permission to be married soon. How did young folks wait for months to be married?
He’d have gone crazy if he’d had to wait that long.
He cleared his throat. “Denki-shay, Naomi, but that headboard’s not what I wanted to show you.” He edged around a worktable and picked up the covered piece, plunking it in the middle of the sawdust-littered floor. “This is.”
As Naomi came near, he yanked off the old sheet. The stinging scent of fresh varnish clouded the air as the glossy cradle he’d finished just last night came into view.
“Oh, Joseph!” She bent to inspect the intricately carved wood. “Du hosht gut gedu! What beautiful workmanship! I’ve never seen finer!”
“I am glad you like it. It’s yours.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Mine?”
“This is my wedding gift to you.” He smiled at her confused expression. “I know we talked about a rocker, maybe, but . . . The husband is supposed to give his fraw something useful, ja? I pray this will be useful to our family. Soon, if Gott wills it, and often.”
Her cheeks pinked up, and she looked down at the cradle, caressing the wood with a gentle hand. “You must have worked very hard to finish it so quickly, and when you have so much else to do.”
Naomi’s voice was choked with emotion. It didn’t sound much like happiness, though, and he didn’t like the way she wasn’t meeting his eyes. Joseph frowned.
“Vass is letz, Naomi? Something’s troubling you. Tell me and let me help.”
“Ich kann naett.” The whispered refusal was so unexpected that it hit Joseph like a slap. What did she mean, she couldn’t?
“Of course you can. And you should. Your problems are my problems now.”
“Nee.” She spoke sharply. It was strange, hearing that tone in Naomi’s soft voice. She was breathing fast, her small bosom rising and falling rapidly. “We are not married yet, Joseph.”
Joseph’s heart constricted. Him and his stupid, clumsy ideas.
“Naomi, if I’ve stepped wrong somehow with this cradle . . .” He floundered to a stop. As usual, he had no idea how to put what he wanted to say into words. “Ich binn sorry. I’m just happy to be thinking about the future again. To be expecting good things ahead instead of being sad about the past. But I sure didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She looked up at him then, one quick shy glance that had his heart pounding. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Joseph. The cradle is a beautiful gift.” She looked back down and murmured, “Even sweeter than a whistle.”
Her words were reassuring, but she still looked like she was about to cry, and he had no idea what she meant about a whistle. He started to ask, then decided he’d better not wander off on any rabbit trails, not until he had this settled. “Then what’s the trouble?”
She took a halting, raggedy breath. “I think . . . I think we need to slow things down a bit, Joseph.”
His frown deepened as he worked to decipher the expression on her face. “Slow things down? What things? You mean the marriage?”
“Ja.” She was avoiding his eyes again and twisting her hands together nervously.
“I
thought speeding up the wedding was all right with you, that we were agreed.” He paused to gather his courage before adding, “Are we not agreed, Naomi? Do you want me to tell Isaac we’ve changed our minds?”
She didn’t answer. She only stood there, looking at her feet. Tension and hurt stole what was left of his patience. “Speak up, Naomi, and tell me what you want to do.” He gestured roughly at the cradle between them. “I’ve been honest enough with you about what I want, I think. Now you need to be honest with me about what you want . . . or don’t want.”
“I don’t want us to make a mistake, Joseph, by rushing into something too quickly.” She still wasn’t looking at him. He wished she would. He couldn’t find his feet in this conversation, and he needed to see her eyes.
“Do you need more time? I can tell Isaac to wait until the next church meeting to publish us. We can be married at the meeting after that just as well.”
“But—”
“Naomi.” He couldn’t stand much more of this. He needed to know. “If you don’t want to marry me, you can tell me so.” He gave a short, hard laugh. “It’s not like I haven’t had this happen before, after all. At least you’re not marrying my brother, so I reckon that’s something to be thankful for.”
“It’s not that.” She looked into his face then, and he saw tears shimmering in her eyes. “I do want to marry you, Joseph. Only you.”
She sounded sincere enough. His annoyance and fear fell by the wayside, and suddenly he’d had enough of the distance between them. Maybe he didn’t know how to draw her close with words, but there were other ways.
Better ones.
He closed the gap between them in two strides and gathered her into his arms. At first she held herself stiffly, but then she relaxed against his chest, although he could feel her shaking. He rested his cheek on the top of her bonnet and spoke quietly, as he would to a spooked calf.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, Naomi, so I’m not sure how to fix it. But I’m here, as long as you want me to be.”
Shelter in the Storm Page 24
