Blessings (27 page)

Trina laughed. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried either one of those things.”

Andrew grinned. “Well, I guess you won’t know until you try.”

Trina sighed, her laughter fading. “Andrew, I’m worried about how things will be when Graham gets out of the hospital.” It felt good to share her concern with Andrew, the way she would have before he got so angry with her. She let all of the fears of the past days spill out in a rush. “If he can’t walk, how will we live in the upstairs of his parents’ house? Will he need me to stay home and take care of him? Will he still want to marry me? What kind of job will he be able to do? I could provide for him if I become a veterinarian, but how can I leave him to go to school if he needs me to care for him?”

Andrew held up his hand, shaking his head. “Slow down, Trina. Seems to me you’re borrowing trouble.”

Despite herself, she smiled. He sounded just like the old, patient, big-brother Andrew she knew and loved.

He went on. “We don’t even know yet how severely he’s injured. Sure, it will take him awhile to recover—he’ll be having major surgery. But he could very well walk out of the hospital. I say put off all those questions until we get word from the doctor concerning how badly Graham is injured. You’ll make yourself sick worrying.”

Trina sighed. “I know you’re right, but it’s hard.”

“Put it in God’s hands, Trina. Just like you’ve done with everything you needed to accomplish to become a college student.” Andrew bumped her elbow, winking. “He took care of you, right? Now trust Him to take care of Graham.”

T
WENTY-SEVEN

Y
ou have to push R
ECORD
and P
LAY
at the same time, Katrinka, remember?” Beth pointed to the two side-by-side buttons on the 1980s cassette tape recorder. “If you don’t push them both, it doesn’t record.”

Trina’s face fell. “You mean this whole morning’s work didn’t record?”

Beth shook her head. When Andrew had returned Wednesday and mentioned the possibility of Trina’s using a tape recorder, Beth had taken it upon herself to locate one. She’d visited three pawnshops before finding one in good working condition with a built-in microphone. But finding it proved to be easier than teaching Trina to use it.

Twice now, Trina had neglected to push the right buttons to record, and once she’d accidentally overwritten everything by hitting both buttons when she meant to listen to what she’d recorded previously. Although they’d both laughed at the puzzled “Why am I not hearing anything? Where’s the assignment? Oh, what did I do wrong
now
?” that took the place of the work intended to be there, Beth didn’t want a repeat. It took too much time to replace the errors, and Trina was already playing catch-up thanks to the accident.

“I’m sorry, but no. Look carefully and make sure both buttons are all the way down before you start talking.”

Tears glittered briefly in Trina’s eyes; then she blinked them away. “All right. So before I start working on my history paper, I’ll try again to record the grammar assignments.”

Beth smiled at the determined set to Trina’s jaw. “Both buttons!” she said before turning back to the computer. She listened to Trina go through the grammar exercises, her voice steady and enunciation precise. It was good to keep Trina busy today—Graham’s surgery had been scheduled for eight o’clock that morning. His mother had promised to call as soon as he was out. Beth intended to keep Trina too occupied to watch the clock, even if it meant spending the whole day away from the studio. Andrew was capable of running things over there, and she could do whatever planning she needed to do on her home computer.

Computer
. She smiled, sending a secretive glance over her shoulder at Trina. Wouldn’t Trina be surprised when she found out what Beth had hidden in the bedroom? The shipment had arrived late yesterday afternoon, and Beth’s eyes had filled with tears when she realized how perfect the timing was of its arrival. God had met a need before Trina knew it would exist.

Regardless of how the surgery turned out, Graham would need attention for several weeks. If she knew Trina, the girl wouldn’t want to leave him alone in the evenings. Thanks to Sean’s “compromise,” it wouldn’t be necessary for her to come to Beth’s or the studio to use a computer again.

Although Beth suggested a desktop, Sean insisted on purchasing a laptop—something Trina could carry to class with her, if need be. It wasn’t a top-of-the-line model, but it had adequate memory, wireless Internet capabilities, and several programs including word processing, budget helps, and spreadsheet templates that could come in handy when Trina was charting the care given to furry critters later down the line. When Sean returned from his latest trip, they would present the laptop to Trina together. Although Beth itched to do it now, it had been Sean’s idea in the first place, so he should be involved.

Beth suspected Trina would argue about taking the gift, but Beth could be stubborn, too. She’d make Trina understand how much she’d need that computer, especially when she and Graham left Sommerfeld. Suddenly a wave of sadness struck. Of all the people in Sommerfeld—other than Mom and Henry, of course—Trina was her favorite. The town wouldn’t be the same without her.

But she’d be back, Beth reminded herself, turning her attention to the computer screen. With that new veterinarian taking over Dr. Groening’s clinic, maybe Trina could establish her own clinic right here in Sommerfeld. It would be harder starting from scratch, but she had a rapport with the community that would encourage people to come to her. Beth suspected Trina had the gumption it would take to make a brand-new veterinary clinic run successfully, and it would be fun to watch it all happen.

Trina’s voice stopped, and a
click
signaled she’d turned off the machine. Beth swiveled in her seat. “All done?”

“With the English,” Trina reported with a sigh. “Now on to the—”

The telephone rang, and both women jumped, spinning toward the sound.

“It’s probably about Graham.” Trina rose from the table, straining toward the telephone.

Beth snatched it up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hello, Beth.” Deborah Muller’s voice. “We just got the call from Mrs. Ortmann. May I talk to Trina?”

Beth’s hand trembled as she held the phone to Trina. “It’s your mom. She has news on Graham.”

Trina dashed around the table and snatched the receiver from Beth’s hand. Beth leaned close to listen, too. Trina rasped, “Yes? How is he?”

“The doctor said they successfully replaced the damaged vertebrae with a piece of cadaver bone.” Relief carried clearly through the line. “There was a bone sliver dangerously close to the spinal cord, but it didn’t appear to have punctured the cord. The doctor felt confident Graham will eventually regain use of his legs.”

Beth let out a war whoop, and Trina burst into tears. Trina shoved the receiver into Beth’s hands and sank down at the table, burying her face in her arms. Beth asked all the questions she knew Trina would want answered: How long would Graham be in the hospital? Would he require rehabilitation? When might he be able to return to work? Would they be able to proceed as planned for their wedding?

To Beth’s surprise, Deborah responded to each question without a hint of impatience. And when Beth ran out of questions, Deborah said, “Thank you, Beth, for helping Trina and keeping her busy this morning. We appreciate you.” The line went dead before Beth could reply.

She placed the receiver back in its cradle, shaking her head in wonder. Funny how conflict brought people together. . .

Sitting next to Trina, she put her arm around the younger woman’s heaving shoulders.

“I–I’m so sorry.” Her face still hidden against her arms, Trina’s voice came out muffled and broken. “I d–don’t know w–why I’m crying now.”

Beth chuckled, rubbing Trina’s shoulders. “Go ahead and cry. I would imagine there’s a lot of pent-up worry behind the tears. When you’re done, I’ll tell you everything your mom said about Graham, and then we’ll walk over to the café and have some lunch to celebrate a successful surgery.”

A half hour later, Trina splashed her face with cold water, and the two women headed to the café. The dining room was full of excited, chattering Sommerfeld residents, all seeming to discuss Graham’s surgery. Trina got pulled into the conversations, so Beth sneaked into the kitchen to find Deborah.

“It’s wonderful news about Graham’s legs,” Beth said by way of greeting.

Deborah used her apron to wipe her brow and nodded. “An answer to prayer.”

Beth agreed. “But I’ve been wondering. Rehabilitation could take several months. Who knows how long it will be before Graham is able to work? I know Trina is going back to Groening’s clinic on Monday, so she’ll have a little income, but how will they get by?”

Deborah smiled, the lines around her eyes tired. “Beth, haven’t you figured out by now that Mennonites take care of the needs of their people?” Not a hint of sarcasm colored her tone. “It’s kind of you to be concerned, but rest assured Graham and Trina will be all right.”

Beth’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Okay. Thanks. I realize I’m not Mennonite, but I do care a lot about Trina.”

Deborah gave Beth’s cheek a quick pat and turned back to the stove. Beth took that as her hint to leave. She returned to the dining area and sat down in a booth next to Trina, joining in the conversation. But at the back of her mind, a question hovered: How would the community take care of Graham and Trina?

Something poked the sole of his left foot. Graham grunted in frustration. “Chuck,” he rasped through a throat that felt as gritty as sandpaper, “quit it.”

A low chuckle sounded, and then his right foot got the same treatment.

With a snort, Graham opened his eyes and focused blearily toward the end of the bed. “What’re you—” Then he realized Chuck wasn’t in the room. A tall man in a white shirt and rainbow-colored tie stood smiling down at him. “Who’re you?”

The man moved closer. “I’m Dr. Howey. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

The doctor chuckled again. “Are you in pain?”

Graham considered the question. He wasn’t comfortable—a pressure in his back made him wonder if someone had stuffed something under the mattress, and his head felt twice its normal size, but he couldn’t honestly say he was hurting. “No. Not really.”

The doctor moved back to the foot of the bed and grasped Graham’s feet, squeezing his toes. “Are you able to feel this?”

Graham scowled. “Yes. Never have cared much for people messing with my feet.”

Dr. Howey let go and returned to the side of the bed to pinch Graham’s wrist and frown at his own wristwatch for several seconds. While the doctor did his checking, Graham twisted his head and found a clock on the wall. Three fifteen. But morning or afternoon? With the window shades drawn and the lights in the room on low, he couldn’t be sure. The uncertainty left him feeling unsettled.

And something else occurred to him. “What day is it?”

Dr. Howey released his wrist with a pat. “Friday.”

The accident had been on a Friday. Had an entire week passed? Graham pressed his memory, trying to account for the time. He recalled riding in an ambulance, telling his folks to make sure Trina stayed home and studied, but after that. . .nothing.

“Have I really slept away an entire week?” It hurt his throat to talk.

The doctor put his hand on Graham’s shoulder. “It was important for your body’s recovery for you to remain perfectly still. So we used drugs to keep you in a coma, Graham. Keeping you still brought the inflammation down enough that we could do surgery. So early this morning, we replaced your crushed vertebrae. The fact that you can feel me touching your feet is a good sign, but I need you to try to do something for me.” He moved back to the foot of the bed. “Can you wiggle your toes?”

It took great concentration, and sweat broke out across Graham’s forehead, but he waggled the toes of both feet up and down.

“Wonderful!”

Graham closed his eyes, exhausted from the effort. Sleep claimed him. When he opened his eyes again, instead of the doctor, he found his parents and brother lounging in plastic chairs. The clock read seven forty-five. He swallowed against his sore throat and managed a weak greeting. “Have you been here the whole time?”

His parents leaped from the seats and rushed to the bed, leaning over him. His mother stroked his hair. “And where else would we be with you here?” Her scolding tone let Graham know the depth of her concern.

“But a whole week. . .” Guilt struck as Graham realized how worried his parents must have been. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, son,” his dad said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Graham hoped that was true. The details of the accident were fuzzy, other than trying to get out of the way of the truck and praying Trina wouldn’t be hurt. He hoped there wasn’t something more he could have done. Fear made his heart pound, but he managed to ask, “Is Trina. . .?”

His mother squeezed his shoulder. “Trina is right as rain. A sprained wrist, some bruises, but nothing serious.”

“Thank the Lord.” Graham released a heavy sigh. “She hasn’t been here, has she?” He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted.

“In and out a couple of times,” Mom said. “She’s been studying, just like you wanted her to.”

Relief flooded Graham that the accident wasn’t putting her behind on her course work, yet he admitted to a prick of disappointment that she wasn’t here when he opened his eyes. “Good.” The word grated out without much enthusiasm.

“Lots of people have been in and out,” Dad reported, his hand on Graham’s arm. “We kept a book and had them write their names down so you’d know. Your uncle John and cousins have kept the lumberyard going, and they said they’d work as long as we need them to. The doctor said we’ll spend at least a couple of weeks in Nebraska at a rehabilitation clinic to help you get on your feet, but then your job will be waiting for you.”