A Miracle of Hope (The Amish Wonders Series) (33 page)
Lindie frowned. “You used to spend more time in the
haus
.”
He missed those long afternoons too, when he didn’t rush back to work after lunch.
She lifted her hand to his arm. “When are you going to get this lump checked?”
He backed away from her. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around the
haus
much.” He looked at the sawdust on the floor. “It’ll probably be that way . . . for a while.”
“Are the orders so urgent that you feel you must work day and
nacht
? Don’t you think it’s important that you find out about that lump?”
This was hard. He wanted more than anything to keep her from worrying and she was doing it anyway.
“Your
dochder
is concerned about you too.”
He looked at her. “Does she know about the lump?”
Lindie shook her head. “
Nay
, I haven’t said anything.”
“Things are okay between you two, though, right?”
“
Jah
, but why do you keep asking me that?”
“I need to know that things are still working out. That she’s accepted you as her
mamm
. That if something should happen—”
“Please, Josiah, you’re frightening me.” Lindie winced and, bending slightly, held her belly.
“What’s wrong?”
“It isn’t anything.” After a moment, she straightened, her face strained with a smile.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “The
boppli
kicked, is all.”
He placed his hands next to hers on her abdomen and smiled. “His kick is as strong as a horse.” If he could freeze time, it would be in this moment. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“
Nett
lately,” she said, frowning. “I was beginning to think . . .”
“You were beginning to think what?”
“That I was too fat—too pregnant.”
“What?” He chuckled until he realized her frown was real. He cupped her face in his hands and peered into her eyes. “I think you’re beautiful pregnant.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you. I should tell you so every day.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “Because I do.”
She smiled. “I love you too.”
“I’m going to tell you every day for the rest of
mei
life.”
T
he sun peeked over the horizon as Josiah reached the doctor’s office. With the routine questions about how he was feeling and his blood pressure and pulse recorded, the infusion was started.
He was told the medication might burn and it did. Like someone jabbing a branding iron through his veins. Josiah closed his eyes. He refused to complain. He appreciated Doctor Ethridge agreeing to do the infusion in his office. Six years ago it took heavy convincing to receive the treatments in the office instead of at the hospital. Josiah couldn’t afford what the hospital would charge for therapy then, nor could he now. At least Doctor Ethridge offered trade for payment. There weren’t many small-town doctors like him, and the Amish were blessed to have such a caring and godly man.
“This will take a couple hours to infuse,” the doctor said. “Would you like the lights turned off?”
“Yes, please.”
Josiah rested as best he could on the stiff cot. Although his body relaxed, his mind didn’t. Images of Hannah and Lindie
flashed before him. He didn’t want to leave them.
Lord, I want to live. I want to grow old with Lindie surrounded by our
kinner. A warm stream of tears spilled down his face and soaked into his beard.
It seemed forever before the doctor returned. He checked the IV fluids and disconnected the tubing. “I want you to stay another hour or two so we can monitor your blood pressure.” He handed him a plastic basin. “In case you need to be sick.”
It wasn’t if, but when. The rolls of nausea had already started. He’d hoped to leave before his stomach revolted. He had skipped breakfast for that very reason. The nurse entered the room, took his blood pressure, and asked him a few questions. Shortness of breath, itching . . . he answered no to all of them. She left him alone, only to return an hour later to repeat them again. After the third recheck, the nurse removed the cuff from his arm.
“Your blood pressure is good,” she said.
“Does that mean I can leave?”
“Let me ask the doctor.” She left the room and returned a minute later. “He will see you at the same time tomorrow.”
Josiah pushed off the cot. When he stood, his legs wobbled and his knees threatened to buckle. Driving home would be a challenge.
“Can I take this?” He lifted the plastic basin. He hadn’t used it yet, but he wasn’t sure he could hold back his ratcheting stomach once the buggy started down the bumpy roads.
“Yes, you can.” The nurse walked beside him.
He was grateful for the help, until he came face-to-face with Ada Fisher.
“I noticed your horse out back.” Ada scrutinized him a little closer. “
Ach
, Josiah, you don’t look well.”
He tried to smile but couldn’t get his lips to curl upward.
“Is Lindie here with you?”
“
Nay
, she’s home with Hannah.” His stomach churned. If he didn’t leave soon, she would figure out he wasn’t here for the flu. He wouldn’t be able to hide anything from Lindie now. He had to tell her today. Later. He couldn’t do it looking or feeling like this. He ambled slowly out the door as Ada’s newborn infant started to cry. Loud. His sensitive ears rang with the high-pitched shrill.
He stopped twice to vomit on the ride home. Both times his rib muscles ached as through they’d been pressed through a meat grinder. Once home, he unharnessed the horse but didn’t have the strength to hang the equipment on the stud and left it lying on the barn floor in a heap. It didn’t matter. He needed to lie down and wait for the queasiness to pass.
Josiah shuffled to Simon’s place. The room reminded him of the
icehaus
. Cloudy breaths escaped his mouth as he opened the woodstove. He balled the newspaper around the kindling and chose a log with the most bark, hoping the fire would take off immediately. It did. The light-headedness would soon pass. Josiah pulled the covers back on the bed and collapsed.
Bright afternoon sun glittered on the freshly fallen snow and provided the perfect amount of light in the sitting room by which to do the mending. Lindie demonstrated to Hannah how to thread the needle, then made a few stitches while Hannah watched. Lindie handed a sock that needed darning to Hannah and helped her weave the needle through the material.
“Very good,” Lindie said.
Hannah beamed.
Lindie selected another sock from the pile. The material was
so threadbare, even closing the holes wouldn’t make the sock usable. She tossed it into the rag pile and grabbed another one as someone knocked on the door.
Rebecca stood at the door, holding a food dish.
“
Gut
afternoon.” Lindie opened the door wider.
“I know this probably isn’t a
gut
time, but I wanted to stop by and lend support.”
“Denki.”
Normally people brought food
after
the baby was born. Lindie pushed a strand of hair over her ear. “I was just teaching Hannah how to sew.”
Rebecca only glanced in Hannah’s direction before looking back at Lindie. “How are you doing?”
“I feel fine.” She straightened her dress apron.
“Is there anything I can help you with? I could take care of Hannah.” Rebecca reached for Lindie’s hand. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“What do you mean?
Mei boppli
isn’t due yet.”
Rebecca looked around the room. “Is Josiah resting? I don’t want to wake him.”
“He’s out in the barn.” Where he’d been all week.
“Ada said she saw him at the
doktah’s
office. He had the same paleness as when . . .”
“When what?”
Rebecca cringed. “When he . . . first had lymphoma.”
The air left Lindie’s lungs in a whoosh. “Wha—” She choked on her words.
Rebecca pulled a chair out from the table and coaxed her to sit, then filled a glass with water. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew,” she said, handing Lindie the glass.
She sipped the water, too stunned to talk. After a moment, she rose from the chair. “I’m truly grateful,” she said, going
to the window. Josiah’s buggy sat next to the barn. She hadn’t thought anything about him working all day. But if he was sick, he shouldn’t be in the drafty barn.
“The entire settlement feels bad. The last time he was sick we all had our blood tested to see if any of us could donate our bone marrow,” Rebecca said. “But none of us were a match.”
Lindie couldn’t grasp the information. She continued to stare out the window.
Rebecca placed her hand on Lindie’s back. “If he didn’t say anything to you, then maybe it’s just the flu.”
“That’s why you asked if he was feeling okay during the
nacht
of the sleigh ride? That was over a month ago.”
“I thought he looked a little run-down.”
“I didn’t pick up on any of it,” Lindie said softly.
“It still might only be the flu.”
Whatever was ailing him, Lindie had to know. “Would you mind taking Hannah for the
nacht
?”
“I can take her longer if needed.”
“
Denki
, let me go tell her.” Lindie blotted her eyes with the corner of her dress. She didn’t want any trace of tears to alarm Hannah. At least she wouldn’t hear if her voice cracked. Lindie cleared her throat anyway and tapped Hannah’s shoulder.
The girl looked up from her sewing.
Lindie faked a smile and made the hand gestures to pack some clothes. She motioned to Rebecca and explained that the bishop’s wife wanted Hannah to spend the night.
Hannah stared a long moment. Lindie repeated the gestures, but Hannah shook her head slowly.
“I love you. But you must do as you’re told.”
Hannah stood, left the sock on the chair, and went toward her bedroom. A few minutes later she returned, clothes in
hand. Rebecca placed her arm around the child’s shoulders and guided her toward the door, but Hannah stopped in front of the desk. She stared at the picture she drew of the hands hanging on the wall.
Lindie’s throat constricted. She willed herself not to cry. As Hannah walked with them to the buggy, she glanced over her shoulder. Her large brown eyed bore into Lindie’s.
Once the buggy pulled out of sight, Lindie proceeded to the workshop. Josiah wasn’t around. She called for him, but he didn’t answer. She went to the rear of the building and tapped on the door. “Josiah?”
No answer.
She eased the door open and tiptoed inside.
Huddled under a heavy quilt and overcome by tremors, his eyes opened a crack, then closed.
“Josiah,” she whispered. She sat on the edge of the bed and pushed his hair off his forehead. His ashen skin was dotted in sweat. She rested her hand above his brow. Hot. Clammy. “Josiah.” Her voice cracked.
“Go back.” Racked with shivers, his voice shook. “Too . . .
kalt
.”
“What are you doing out here? Alone?” She buried her face in the pillow beside him and sobbed.
He pulled his arm out from under the covers and patted her back. “Don’t cry.”
She lifted her head. “Tell—me. What’s—wrong—?” Her voice broke. “Is it true? Do you have lymphoma?”
His eyes welled with tears.
S
ometime during the night the adverse effects Josiah experienced from the medication wore off, but another sickness overcame him. The possibility of death. Leaving this woman he had come to love carried more fire through his veins than the toxic infusion of chemicals.
The bedsprings squeaked when he crawled out of bed. Lindie stirred.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered.
She moaned softly and rolled to her other side, then flipped back over. “You’re
nett
going without me.” She bounded out of bed before he could object.
“Lindie, I think it’d be best if—”
“I’m going to the
doktah’s
appointment with you.” She grabbed a dress from the closet. “Rebecca has already said she would watch Hannah longer.”
“It’s a long day.”
“And I want to spend it with
mei
husband.”
“Fine.” It would take too much energy to stop her. Besides, she could drive home. “I’ll get the buggy ready.”
“Don’t you want to eat something first?” She slipped on her dress and grabbed a handful of straight pins from the top of the dresser. “It’d only take a minute to make eggs.”
He spoke over his shoulder as he left the room. “I’d rather
nett
eat.” He didn’t want to alarm her, but today’s dose was supposedly stronger, which probably meant more violent side effects. After uncontrollable shakes had racked his body yesterday, he dreaded what effects the infusion would have today.
“You need your strength, Josiah,” she called out behind him.
“If it makes you feel better, you can make me a sandwich to eat afterward.” He shoved on his boots. He wouldn’t be surprised if she made him four sandwiches to make up for no breakfast. She would find out soon enough why he had no appetite. He pulled on his coat and grabbed his hat from the hook.