Brush of Angel's Wings (34 page)

“
Mei fraa
—my wife—was taken to the hospital. Can you please drive me there?”

Simon reached into his pocket. Keys jingled in his hand as he started to his truck. “Let's go.”

Rachel called out, “I'll bring your
mamm
and mine.” She doubted Timothy heard her comment as he slammed his door closed.

Mary appeared in the doorway. “Is there an emergency?”

“Jah!”
she called. “Sadie was taken to the hospital by an ambulance.”

“I'll get my keys and drive your family into town.”

Directed to the second-floor waiting room by a hospital staff member, Rachel,
Mamm
, and Anna King found Timothy alone in the room.

He lifted his head when they entered. “Sadie's in the operating room.”

Mamm
covered her mouth, and Anna placed her arm around
Mamm's
shoulder. The two mothers leaned toward each other, pushed together by mutual fear.

Nathaniel unfurled his wings and moved beside Rachel as she eased closer to Timothy.

“What did the
dokta
say?” Rachel practically held her breath.

“I didn't understand the fancy words. Something about her blood pressure and toxemia. I didn't even get to see her before they rushed her to surgery.” He stopped, attempting to get his emotions under control. “They had me filling out paperwork.”

The wait drained all of them. If they spoke at all, it seemed to be more of a mumbling to themselves rather than something important to be heard. Timothy paced, his hand to his bearded chin, eyes cast to the ground, lips still moving in near-silent prayer.

Finally, a white-coated man appeared in the waiting room doorway. “Mr. King?” The doctor stepped into the room and approached Timothy. Everyone froze.

“This is what I've been waiting for.” Tangus sprang off the ceiling and landed next to the doctor.

“Jah?”

“You have a daughter,” he pronounced with a grim smile. “Five pounds eleven ounces.”

Tangus spun gleefully. He edged closer to Rachel, but Nathaniel's protective covering prevented him from sidling up next to her ear.

Mamm
and Anna brightened, chattering about the baby being a girl, her weight reasonable for a preemie. “Is she okay?”

Mamm
asked. “The
boppli
. Is she okay?”

“Timothy, didn't you hear? It's a girl.” Rachel touched his arm, but he stiffened. She followed his pinned stare. Her breath caught in her chest. The doctor held her sister's prayer
kapp
. Why would he have—

Timothy cleared his throat. “And Sadie?”

The doctor paused, pain and sadness in his eyes. “I'm sorry. She didn't make it.”

Mamm
gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

Timothy backed up until he nearly stumbled over a steel chair. He sat and dropped his head into his hands, his head wagging in disbelief.

Rachel's surroundings blurred. In a slow-motion delay, she moved from
Mamm
, smothered in Anna King's embrace, over to Timothy—whitewashed and speechless—over to the doctor, still dangling Sadie's prayer
kapp
as if he'd pulled it out of a lost-and-found box.

“What happened?” Rachel's voice cracked. “She
kumm
to have a
boppli
. A baby.”

“You only prayed for the baby, remember? Not your sister. Now she's dead. If you had prayed for her, things might have been different!” Tangus strutted toward Rachel. “Now what do you think of your God?” His chest inflated and he flexed his wings with pride and self-empowerment.

“My job will be easier now,” he said to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel steadied his hand on his sword and waited for word sent from God.

The doctor stepped into the center of the room. “Mrs. King suffered from a syndrome called HELLP. The toxemia caused her liver to rupture; we couldn't save her.” He paused, allowing Timothy to soak in the news.

“Suffered. Did you hear him?” Tangus closed his eyes to block the glare radiating from Nathaniel's iridescent form and weaseled through an opening to get closer to Rachel. “Sadie suffered,” Tangus repeated.

Rachel gasped.

The doctor extended Sadie's
kapp
to Timothy.

“Would you like to speak with a member of the clergy staff?”

“Nay.”

Rachel opened her eyes as she heard Timothy's choked reply. He stared at the prayer
kapp
, his eyes budding with tears.

“If you have any questions, the nurse can page me.” He waited a moment. “I'm sorry about your loss, Mr. King. I did everything I could to save her.”

Rachel swallowed hard. “What about the baby?”

“The pediatrician is still examining her. The neonatal intensive care unit is located on the third floor.”

Rachel's numbed senses couldn't distinguish between the hum of the Coke machine and
Mamm's
muffled cry. She already struggled to live without James. How could she possibly live without her sister too? Rachel's knees weakened. The room spun. Suddenly her legs went limp, and she wobbled before a firm hand caught her and supported her weight. For a brief moment she saw someone whom she conceived in her mind as Jordan.

“Rachel, you better sit down.” Timothy guided her into the cold steel chair.

Mamm
slid into the seat beside Rachel. They clung together for what seemed like hours, sobbing.

Jordan paused at the restaurant's entrance. Since the eatery and the truck stop shared the same building, truck drivers made up the majority of patrons. Among the array of different ball caps, dingy T-shirts, and men with the common trademark of an oil rag tied to their belt loop, finding his father might prove difficult.

He scanned the crowd. One person made eye contact with him, but Jordan ruled him out. The man's polo shirt didn't fit what he imagined a trucker would wear.

“Take a seat wherever you can find one,” said the waitress pouring coffee at one of the nearby booths.

“Thank you,” Jordan replied.

The nicely dressed man slid out of his seat and approached.

“Jordan?” He extended his hand.

Jordan stared. They were the same height; the man's eyes were the same shade of green as his. His hair, although strewn with gray, was wavy like he remembered.

“You look how I imagined,” the man said.

Jordan pulled himself from his surreal trance. “And you . . . ,”

Jordan said, unable to complete his thought even in his own mind. He lifted his hand and grasped his father's with a firm grip.

“I'm Clint—your father.” He motioned to the booth. “Are you hungry? I haven't ordered yet.”

Jordan nodded, although he doubted he could eat.

Clint stepped aside to allow another patron to pass through the entrance. “Let's get out of the walkway and sit so we can talk. It's good to see you.”

Jordan smiled. For someone who hadn't tried to make contact over the years, his father sounded genuinely pleased to meet him now. Jordan followed him to the booth and slid onto the seat opposite him. He glanced out the window at the rows of parked trucks. A mix of excitement and panic sped through his veins.

“I took you for a ride when you were about five. Do you remember?”

Jordan tried to dredge up the memory but couldn't.

“You were young.” He leaned to the side and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He flipped open the bifold and smiled as he removed a photograph and passed it to Jordan.

“You carry a picture of me?” Jordan stared at the old photo of him as a child kneeling on the seat holding the steering wheel. He wished he could remember that day. He wished he could remember a lot of things.

His father looked delighted with the memory. “You couldn't see over the dashboard.”

“Where did we go?” He handed the picture back.

“You rode with me to fuel up, then we ate lunch in a diner something like this.” He seemed warmed by the memory. “It was only ten miles but we had a great time. You pretended you were the truck driver ‘going far, far away.' ” Before he replaced Jordan's photo in the wallet, he paused to look at another picture and Jordan caught a glimpse of his mother's photograph before his father slipped Jordan's picture over hers.

His father cleared his throat. “Now look at you. You don't need a booster seat to reach the table.”

“Nope. Haven't needed one for a couple of years now.” Jordan felt so off balance. He studied the stranger across the table. “What do you want me to call you?”

His father crossed his arms on the tabletop. “Clint is fine with me.” He winked.

Chapter Twenty-Five

R
achel slipped her hand into the incubator glove and stroked the crying baby's cheek. Since Sadie's death, the days crept by at an incredibly slow pace.

“She's responding to your touch,” the nurse said when the infant quieted.

Rachel marveled at how strong the newborn's lungs had become in her five days of life. “I wish I could hold her all the time and not just for her feedings.”

The nurse patted Rachel's shoulder. “It won't be long. This little girl is a fighter. She's gaining strength every day.”

“He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength.” Rachel had quoted the verse from Isaiah multiple times in her mind. Today was the first time she'd verbalized the scripture aloud.

Nathaniel towered over the incubator. Since the infant's birth he had maintained his post. Hearing his charge quote the same words that inspired Isaiah filled Nathaniel with praise. “Indeed, God will increase the babe's strength and yours as well.”

Rachel glanced at the nurse. “What did the doctor say about her being released?”

“If she maintains a normal temperature and the blood tests return within normal limits, I think the doctor will clear her for discharge in the next day or so. She's eating and has gained a few ounces.” The nurse smiled. “I'll get a bottle ready and you can feed her.”

“Thank you.” Rachel loved feeding time. It meant that she could cuddle the baby in her arms and rock her in the chair. She wished Timothy spent more time with his daughter, but she also understood he needed to make funeral arrangements.

With the funeral set for the day after tomorrow, Fanny and Iva had time to make the trip home from Wisconsin.
Mamm
hadn't been allowed to spend time with the baby since she had developed a fever and sore throat. At least with her sisters' arrival, the sad occasion would have a glimmer of comfort for
Mamm
.

The nurse returned with a small bottle of formula that she handed to Rachel. “If you'll take a seat in the rocker, I'll bring the baby to you.” She unlatched the door of the incubator and opened the hatch.

Rachel sat in the cushioned rocking chair and spread out her arms to accept the fragile bundle. She nestled her niece in the crook of her arm as best she could while wearing a paper gown.