by Loree Lough
“Several birds with one stone?” Hannah asked.
Sarah grunted. “I expect that is true. Making things easy on himself—while calming his guilty conscience—with one trip to Pleasant Valley.”
His demeanor changed, instantly, from somewhat relaxed to tense. Phillip did his best to hide it.
“Gather your things,” he told both women. “The sooner we leave, the sooner I can get back to Gabe.”
“Yes. We know that is the most important thing on your mind.”
Hannah gasped quietly. “Maemm!”
“It’s all right,” he said.
But it wasn’t. Emily saw the hurt and disappointment on Phillip’s face, in his fatigued stance. She’d seen this far too often in the behavior of relatives who, unable to express their worries, let fear and frustration guide their words. She wished Sarah could manage to demonstrate proof of her faith in God’s will, for her own well-being as well as for Gabe and Phillip.
He checked his watch, gave the winder a few turns. “I should be back in a couple of hours,” he told Emily, re-pocketing it. “Can I bring you a sandwich or something?”
“No, but thanks. I’ll grab something at the café.” She winked at Gabe. “I might even bring back a couple slices of Hobe’s famous apple pie.”
It made her feel good, seeing the smile on the boy’s face. On his father’s face, too. They deserved to be happy and healthy.
“We are ready,” Sarah announced, hanging her sewing bag over one arm. Adjusting her bonnet, she stood beside Phillip at Gabe’s bedside. “How long will you be in Baltimore, Son?”
“I can’t say for sure. Three days? A week?”
“God willing, no longer!” Sarah quickly added, “I only ask so I am sure to pack enough clean clothing for the two of you.”
Sarah and Hannah took turns hugging Gabe. “We love you, little one, and you will be in our prayers,” Hannah said. “Do everything the doctors tell you to do so you can come home to us soon. John and Paul will want to play many games with you!”
“Well,” Sarah interrupted, “are we leaving or are we not?”
He wrapped Gabe in a long, protective hug. “I know it won’t be easy,” he said, pressing a kiss to the boy’s temple, “but try and take a nap while I’m gone, all right?”
“Yes, Dad. I will try.”
Phillip followed his mother and sister to the door, and as they stepped into the hall, he mouthed, “Sorry,” and pointed toward Sarah.
“Drive safely,” she said, and grinning, mouthed back, “Good luck.”
If she got any sleep at all tonight, Emily knew she’d see that handsome smile in her dreams.
Chapter Eleven
Hannah insisted on sitting in the middle of the pickup’s bench seat. “It is easier for me to slide over,” she explained.
Phillip helped Sarah into the truck and hoped his sister could read the gratitude in his eyes, because their mother had made it clear that she had no intention of easing up on him.
“In case I forget,” he told his sister, “be sure to thank John and Paul for sending Gabe the toy trucks Eli made. I’m sure he’ll appreciate having things nearby that remind him of home.”
“You should have seen all the other things they wanted to send. Why, it would have taken a wagon to hold them all!”
“They’re good boys. No surprise there. You and Eli are good parents.”
She gave him a playful elbow jab. “Why, thank you, little Brother!”
Perhaps hearing about her other grandsons would get his mother’s mind off his transgressions.
They’d barely reached the highway when Sarah said, “You behave as if you are the only person to suffer loss, Phillip.”
“Maemm, please, not now. He already has enough on his mind.”
“I do not recall asking for your opinion, Daughter. He needs to admit that his burden is no heavier than anyone else’s.”
He patted his sister’s knee. “Thanks, kiddo, but it’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”
Sarah continued by reminding them of the many life events she’d trusted to God: her parents, killed in a buggy accident during her teens; her sister, succumbing to pneumonia shortly before her first child was born; her own husband, dying of infection after the barbed wire he’d been stretching snapped.
“I endured it all without complaint or anger,” she told her children, “even when your brother Samuel died three months after his fall from the barn loft.”
And the Baker family wasn’t alone, Sarah pointed out. Many in the community had suffered similar horrors. “The sorrow brought all of us to our knees, but we accepted God’s will without question. Anything less was . . . is . . . unacceptable!”
They rode in silence for the better part of a mile. And then Hannah turned slightly.
“I feel I must say something.”
Sarah clucked her tongue, but Hannah ignored it.
“I do not agree with Bishop Fisher, that all suffering is God’s will. In your shoes, Phillip, I would feel exactly as you do. And I believe that many who have loved and lost do, too.”
Sarah leaned forward and looked around her daughter. “See there, Phillip? Your defiance is like a contagious disease. I hope you are happy, leading your sister into temptation.”
He didn’t bother pointing out that Hannah, nearly two years older, had led him on many late-night escapades, like sneaking into town for ice cream, paid for with coins she’d found after church services. She’d shown him how to tamp tobacco into their grandfather’s pipe, and how to light and smoke it. It had been Hannah who’d led the way as they pounded on neighbors’ doors, then hid in the shrubbery to snicker at the exasperated reactions. Remembering the fun, adventuresome girl she’d been made him grin a bit.
“Phillip is not to blame for the way I feel, Maemm. My heart is! Eli and the boys are my life, my world. If anything happened to them . . .” She shook her head so hard that her bonnet fell off. “Which would you have us believe, that bad things, like sickness, accidents, death are God’s will? Because if you do, how can we believe that all good things are His gifts to us?” She jerked the hat back onto her head. “As for me, I do not believe the Father deliberately sends heartache to His children in order to teach them to trust, to have faith! I believe that bad things just . . . are.”
Although Phillip agreed with everything Hannah had said, he felt obligated to put an end to this discussion. For as long as he could remember, his mother and sister had behaved more like friends than mother and daughter, laughing, sharing secrets and shortcuts as they sewed and baked things for Hannah’s shop. His situation was directly responsible for the hard feelings between them now, and he felt bad about that. Give me the words, he prayed, to bring them together again. . . .
“Maemm, Hannah,” he began, “it breaks my heart that my problems have made you doubt each other. Please forgive me?”
Neither woman spoke for a long moment, and then Sarah said, “There is nothing to forgive, Son. You are a grown man with a mind of your own. God will work in your life as He sees fit. Only He can change your heart. I pray it happens soon, though, so that Gabe will—”
“Maemm,” Hannah interrupted, “if you are about to say that if Phillip does not come around before the operation, God will use Gabe to punish him, I cannot be responsible for what I might say.”
“Your vodder and I raised you to believe you need not fear such things . . . when you live the Amish way.”
Hannah squeezed his knee again. “I give up,” she said.
His mother had sacrificed much to help out after Rebecca died. She performed every chore—laundry, cooking, cleaning, tending Gabe and himself, too—often anticipating their needs, all without grumbling. And all she asked in return was that he live, as she’d put it, the Amish way.
But the Amish way had cost him the brother who’d been friend, confidant, advisor, instructor. Cost him the father whose patient tutelage had fortified Phillip with the confidence to open his own business. A handful o
f others in the community might have disagreed with her, had Sarah decided to seek medical attention for her husband and son instead of relying on faith alone, but they wouldn’t have stood in her way. If she hadn’t weighed him down with doubt and guilt after his first mention of bringing Rebecca to a doctor, would he have acted sooner?
To acknowledge it, even in the privacy of his mind, was to admit his anger should be directed toward his mother, not God the Father. The thought that came next did nothing to ease his anxiety:
You are a full-grown man; it was your duty to do right by your wife, not your mother’s.
He couldn’t blame his mother. Or God. The responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders, and his alone.
If only he’d been man enough to do the right thing, to admit that he shared Hannah’s conviction: God did not calculatedly send heartache to His children in order to test and teach them about trust and faith. He’d been taught that God absolved all sin, even the sin of misplaced anger.
He pulled the truck into Hannah and Eli’s long, winding drive, stopping near the big covered porch. Phillip jumped down from the cab and hurried around to the passenger side, intent on helping his mother and sister onto the gravel.
Sarah stood aside as Hannah joined them.
“Come in,” Hannah said. “I’ll fix you both some lemonade. And if there are any left, I’ll put out a plate of sugar cookies, too.”
“Thanks, but I need to get home, throw a few things into a bag, and get back to Gabe.” He gave her a hug. “Can we put off the gathering until he’s home from Baltimore?”
“Of course. The boys will be disappointed, Eli, too, but you did promise not to be away too long.”
By the time he turned around, Sarah had already climbed into the truck.
“Maemm, you should stay with us, save Phillip having to come back to drop you off after he packs.”
Staring straight ahead, their mother shook her head. “I am not coming back. I will be perfectly fine on my own, at . . . at home.”
Brother and sister exchanged a glance before Hannah added, “But will you not get lonely, over there all by yourself ?”
“I will use the time to pray.” She turned just long enough to glare at Phillip. “The good Lord knows I have much to pray about.”
So much for her “there’s nothing to forgive” line, he thought.
Hannah exhaled an audible sigh. “Can you at least come in long enough for me to make you a sandwich, Phillip?”
“Thanks, you’re a sweetheart, but I’ll grab something from the cafeteria.”
“It will be closed by the time you get back.”
How long would this stalling last? he wondered. “There are plenty of vending machines.”
“Ah, now your pockets are lined with money, and your stomach is lined with steel,” Sarah put in.
For decades now, she’d been in full command of her own life and the lives of her children and grandchildren. Gabe’s condition, however, was out of her control, and it seemed to Phillip that not even leaning on faith and God’s will had helped her cope. That, he believed, explained his mother’s cantankerous attitude. She’d always been there for him. Supporting her now was the right thing to do, no matter how difficult or, to use Hannah’s word, challenging.
Drawing her into a light hug, Phillip smiled. “Hannah’s right, there is a lot on my mind right now. But I’m fine, and spoiled as I am by your fine cooking, I’ll still be fine, even if my meals come from a machine for a couple of days.”
Seconds before she walked away, he felt her stiffen. His mother didn’t get into a mood like this often, but when she did, he’d learned to let it take its course. As she climbed into the pickup’s cab, he walked around to the driver’s side. “I’ll call your shop when I can, to give you updates,” he told Hannah. “Hug the boys for me, okay?”
“You know I will.”
He slid the gearshift to reverse and turned the truck around. Would his mother give him the silent treatment during the drive between Hannah’s house and his?
Not if he had anything to say about it.
“I’ll take care of Gabe,” he said. “I’ll take care of myself, too.”
“Your bodily health does not concern me. The state of your soul does.”
“I’m right with God, Maemm, so please stop worrying.”
“Easy for you to say. Your son has no plans to leave the community.”
He hadn’t told a soul of his dreams of opening a shop in town, where he could double his income and pay the bills already stacked on his desk as well as those not yet delivered from the hospital. It would mean staying in Pleasant Valley longer than he’d hoped, and that wouldn’t be easy. But then, what in life was?
Staying in the community held another advantage: He’d have time to figure out how he’d explain the move to Gabe . . .
. . . and how he’d live with the shame and pain his potential shunning would cause his mother.
Chapter Twelve
Pete dipped a French fry into ketchup, then used it as a pointer.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to drive you, and the Baker guy, and his sick kid, all the way to Hopkins. In an ambo. Tomorrow. For free.”
“I volunteered to take them in my car, but the more I think about it, the more I realize what a bad idea it is.”
He bit off the tip of the fry. “Yeah. Good point. The kid would be miserable in that boxy li’l four cylinder.” He finished the fry. “Besides,” he said around it, “no medical equipment—not that he’ll need it—but still. And no power doors. No power seats. Getting him in and out? Sheesh. Talk about uncomfortable.”
He never passed up a chance to tease her about her inexpensive but serviceable car. Grinning, Emily rolled her eyes.
“And how will you keep him entertained for three hours?”
In past discussions, she’d defended her choice to omit a multifaceted entertainment system from the options package. Instead of taking the bait this time, Emily said, “Takes me four to get to Baltimore.”
“Because you drive like an old lady.”
She pretended to scowl. “If the speed limit signs say sixty-five—”
“Last I heard, it’s seventy.” Pete squirted more ketchup onto his plate.
“Would you like some fries to go with your ketchup?”
Now it was Pete’s turn to roll his eyes. “It won’t be easy, since you waited until the last minute to spring this on me, but I’ll reach out to a couple of pals. Maybe I can call in a favor.” He picked up his burger. “But you know what that means, right?”
“That now, I’ll owe you a favor.”
“You betcha. A big one. A really big one.”
Despite his tendency to play the tough guy role to the hilt, Emily trusted Pete. With good reason. She predicted he’d claim payback in the form of a meal, much like this one, and knew without a doubt that she’d guessed correctly. His training made it easy for him to understand the importance of Gabe’s traveling in a vehicle equipped with all the drugs and instruments required for airway management, oxygenation, ventilation, hemodynamic monitoring, and resuscitation. Equally important, at least one skilled EMT on board, capable of tracking Gabe’s physical and emotional stability during the trip, since something as seemingly innocuous as vibration could cause nausea, headaches, and more.
“Even if an ambo is available, it might cost a good bit,” Pete said. “How will Baker pay for it?”
She was well aware that Phillip had no insurance, and that he’d probably already drained whatever savings he might have had. “You can assure your friend that he’ll be paid, in full.”
“A thousand bucks. Maybe more?”
Emily shrugged. A healthy rainy-day fund was one of the perks of being single and living frugally . . . and alone.
“Baker doesn’t strike me as the type who’ll accept monetary help. What’ll you do when he refuses to let you pick up the tab?”
“I’m not going to tell him there is a tab.” It was her tur
n to use a French fry as a pointer. “And neither will you.”
Pete’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re gonna lie to him? And expect me to do the same? And you think he’ll accept our stories?”
“I’ll find a way to explain things so that we won’t have to lie, not outright anyway, so he won’t feel beholden. Because Phillip would see it as charity. He’s honest as the day is long. And despite being Amish, he’s proud. Too proud to let me help, even if I pretend it’s a loan.”
“Pretend?” Pete shook his head. “Aw, I knew it.”
There were two reasons she didn’t need to ask what he knew. One, he’d always been able to read her like the proverbial book. She knew him pretty well, too, so two, he’d tell her, even if she didn’t ask him to.
“Em. Sis. C’mon now. Really? Are you crazy? Yeah, sure, he’s a nice enough guy. But he’s Amish. You’re not. No way you two could have a future together. No way.”
“You’re misreading the situation, just like his mother. I told her, and I’ll tell you, Gabe is the only connection between Phillip and me.”
Pete snorted. “At the risk of sounding crude, that’s hooey.”
Emily laughed. “Hooey?”
“Garbage. Baloney. Hogwash. Call it what you will, it’s still nonsense.”
She felt the heat of a blush rush into her face. “I ought to know how I feel, Pete.”
“Yeah, well, you know what Abe Lincoln said . . .”
“Yeah, well, as I’ve said before, many experts believe that his ‘fool me’ quote is”—she smirked—“hooey.”
In place of the rebuttal she’d anticipated, Pete scrolled through the contacts list on his cell phone. Emily heard the unmistakable sound of ringing on the other end, and then Pete said, “George. Pete White here. Got a favor to ask ya. Kinda big one. You sittin’ down?”
Please, Lord, let this George guy say yes. And while you’re answering prayers, help me find an above-board way to tell Phillip about this....
* * *
“Dr. White!”
Gabe was sitting up, smiling and pink-cheeked, and looked genuinely pleased to see her. If she didn’t know better, Emily would have said he was recovering from a tonsillectomy, instead of awaiting major heart surgery.
