For Every Season (25 page)

As if she were roused by smelling salts, he saw her come to herself.

“Can I let go of you now?”

She took a step back. “I’m sorry. What do you need me to do?”

“Use the two-way. Get someone at the farm to call for help.” He pulled himself back up on the horse. He needed the extra height to see into the car without going down into the ditch. “I’m going to stay away from the wires and do my best to talk to Camilla.”

He thought about sending Rhoda to Camilla’s house to get Bob, but he feared she was too dazed to think about safety and precautions.

As he nudged the horse to move in closer, he saw Camilla trying to open her eyes. He knew nothing about electricity and utility poles other than what he’d read in the newspapers—that going up to a car or getting out of one where there were live wires could result in serious injury or death.

As Camilla became more conscious, her movements increased.

He prayed she would be easier to reason with than Rhoda had been. “Camilla, just stay where you are. Help is on the way.”

She screamed and pushed against the car door even as he told her to stay put. He had to do something, but what?

Rhoda.

He spurred the horse and went back to her. “Kumm.” He hooked his foot, and she used it like a stirrup. Between that and pulling her by the hand, she was soon situated behind him on the horse. They stayed on the road, well out of range of the wires.

Rhoda grabbed the back of his shirt for balance. “Camilla.”

“Get me out of here!” She slammed her body against the door of the car.

“Camilla, it’s Rhoda. I’m here with Samuel. Listen to me. You have to stay away from the car door. There are live electrical wires touching the car. You have to stay still. Please. Help is on the way. Until they get here, we’ll talk. You can ask anything, and I’ll answer. It’s your dream come true. Right?”

Camilla brushed her gray hair out of her face and laid her head against the headrest. “Yeah, okay.” She rubbed her forehead. “But I can’t think.”

“What happened? Do you remember?”

“A driver broadsided me, knocked me into this pole, and then just kept right on going.”

Samuel turned, needing a glimpse of Rhoda’s face. The pain and confusion in her eyes made him ache for her as much as for Camilla, and he realized this was her Achilles heel—others being hurt. As strong as she was in the battles life dished out—church leaders who were against her, hateful people like Rueben, liars who accused her falsely, and even mother nature threatening to
ruin her crops—she could get her feet under her quickly and cope. But illness, injury, or the death of her loved ones shook the foundation under her.

Oh, dear God, how much I love this woman
.

Her attention was glued to Camilla, but her eyes silently begged for answers as to how someone, anyone, could do such damage to another person and then abandon them.

“Samuel, I’m seeing images.” Her voice trembled.

“Of what?”

“Hello?” Camilla called.

“We’re right here.” Samuel answered. “Rhoda?”

“I’m fine. We’ll talk later.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Watch out for your ears.”

He leaned a little to his left, and Rhoda leaned a tad to her right. “Do you have a question for me, Camilla?”

“I want to know …” Camilla angled her mouth toward the half-opened window. “I see things in the Amish community I don’t agree with. I want to know if you really want to be Amish or if you’re doing so to please your parents or Samuel or your boyfriend.”

Samuel could see Rhoda only in his peripheral vision, but he thought she smiled.

“I believe in the Old Ways, and I’ve never wanted to live any other way. It has its problems—I know that. I’m faithful, not blind. But life has its troubles no matter what beliefs or culture a person embraces.”

Camilla relaxed, appearing to think about what Rhoda had said. The horse shuffled sideways, and Samuel tried to steady it.

Rhoda grabbed the back of his shirt again. “I see three people on a sidewalk outside a medical building of some sort—a young man and woman and Camilla. The man is crying. The young woman doesn’t look it, but she’s pregnant. Arguments are flying between Camilla and the man. The woman is screaming at Camilla to leave them alone.” Rhoda paused. “Samuel, she knows. Camilla knows the girl is pregnant. But they go into the building and leave Camilla on the sidewalk, crying.”

Samuel tried to shift in order to see Rhoda. He barely glimpsed her before the horse moved and he had to regain control. He had no way of guessing what their next steps concerning these images should be. Maybe he should get her to wait until Jacob was home.

Sirens could be heard in the distance. Camilla’s car had all sorts of airbags, and Samuel imagined that, with good medical help, her injuries would heal fairly quickly. But what’d happened here would take him and Rhoda a while to work through emotionally.

Why did so much have to happen whenever Jacob was gone?

TWENTY-THREE

A cold blanket of air closed in with the night. Rhoda drove the wagon between the rows of trees, stopping at every barrel. Her mind and heart remained with Camilla. It’d been terrifying to see her friend in that wreck, trapped by downed wires.

Rhoda shuddered, running her fingers over the old quilt on her lap, which kept her reasonably warm. Phoebe’s grandmother had made it, and Rhoda was sure at one time it’d been beautiful, but it was worn and frayed now. She noticed the stitching that held each patchwork piece in place was precise in detail. But even an intricately sewn quilt made in love didn’t look all that special unless one cared about its history or took the time to really study the fabric and stitches. Did a new perspective make everything appear different?

She was certainly seeing Camilla differently right now—more vulnerable than the guarded woman who issued warnings like a wise owl. More of a fighter than the abused housewife depicted in the police reports Landon had found on the Internet.

Nothing seemed to be as it had first appeared.

Zara walked beside the wagon, looking up at her every minute. Steven stood in the back of the wagon, pitching wood into the barrels or onto the ground beside them as Rhoda paused at each one.

Her hands still shook a bit, and she couldn’t block out the image of Camilla’s car in the ditch. But the police, fire department, and ambulance had arrived within twenty minutes.

Once Camilla was in the ambulance, Samuel had escorted Rhoda back to the farm, because they wouldn’t allow her to ride in the ambulance, and then
he had ridden to Camilla’s house to find Bob. Samuel had said if he ended up not returning to the farm right away, he’d call the office and leave a message.

When he’d called, Rhoda had been in the barn, getting a fresh horse. She managed to grab it before the answering machine picked up. Bob had been at home when Samuel arrived, and he was understandably upset, so he asked Samuel to accompany him to the hospital. Samuel didn’t say what he was feeling, but she heard it in his voice—people, not the crop, were the top priority—and he couldn’t say no to Bob.

That was the last she’d heard from anyone—five hours ago.

Maybe someone had called the office with an update, but no one could spare the time to check, not with the scant night crew of Landon, Leah, Steven, and her.

She glanced into the back of the wagon. It was almost empty. Soon they’d head for the barn to reload—if there was any wood left to fill it. But either way she could check the messages.

“Rhoda?”

She unclipped the two-way to answer Leah. “Ya?”

“What quadrant?”

“Lower east. You?”

“At the barn. There’s less than half a cord of wood left. Is your wagon full?”

“Almost empty. But the fires and woodpiles next to them are in good shape for now. We’ll have enough to last through the night.” She hoped. “Take half of it.”

“Okay.”

What if they had done all this work only to run out of wood in the last few hours of the cold snap? She clicked her tongue, and the horse moved forward. “You hanging in there?” she called over her shoulder to her brother.

“Ya. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” For all his assurances, Steven sounded exhausted.

They continued on to the last barrel in this quadrant. When she turned the rig toward the barn, Steven crawled over the bench seat and sat beside her.
They rode in silence. Sometimes when she was weary and wanting to be near the house, these eighty acres felt as large as the state of Maine.

Zara started barking and took off running. Steven pointed to a silhouette of a man on horseback topping a hill on the horizon. Samuel was finally home.

Steven held out his hands, offering to take the reins. “He’s a good man.”

Her shoulders ached, and she gladly put the strips of leather in her brother’s control, but she bristled at his statement. “He is, and so is Jacob.”

Steven’s face was void of any reaction, but she wasn’t fooled. He favored Samuel over Jacob.

“I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks of Jacob. I know the truth about him, and I love him.”

Steven kept his eyes straight ahead. “Don’t kid yourself, Rhoda. You do care what we think. You’ve tried to hide from Daed and Mamm just how out of sorts Jacob is with the Amish ways.”

Ire ran through her blood, making her body flush with heat. She jerked the quilt off her legs. “I’ve never lied to anyone to cover for him. He’s the one who said I must never lie for him, and his past is being wiped clean by what he’s doing right now.”

“Never—”

“Hey.” Samuel waved as he rode toward them. “Leah said you two were out here.”

Rhoda was glad Samuel had arrived in time to stop Steven from finishing his sentence. Moreover, she longed for news. “How’s Camilla?”

Even as the woman’s name crossed Rhoda’s lips, she saw patchwork images—Camilla begging her son, her purse overflowing with money, her son turning his back on her. Rhoda knew the money was symbolic, not literal, but what did it mean? What was that medical building they were standing in front of? And why couldn’t anything simply look like what it was?

Steven brought the rig to a stop just as Samuel halted beside them.

Samuel fidgeted with a large brown bag in his hand. “She’s good and improving, but they’re going to keep her overnight. Aside from the shock she experienced, she has first- and second-degree burns from the lobster stew she was
bringing us. She sent Bob home to get some sleep, so he dropped me off.” He slid off his horse, still clutching the bag. “I went into the house before coming out here. Phoebe was sitting in the kitchen, just staring at the fire.” He held the reins to his horse out to Steven. “I think you should go inside for a bit.”

Steven climbed out of the wagon. Once his feet were on the ground, he looked up at her. “To finish what I wanted to say. You didn’t lie to anyone? How about to yourself?”

A dozen retorts came to mind, but she bit her tongue. Besides, in what way did he think she’d lied to herself? But Steven was exhausted, concerned about his wife, and grieving their loss. Otherwise, he would’ve kept his opinion to himself.

Samuel climbed onto the bench beside her. “What was that about?”

“A brother under stress, saying things he doesn’t mean.”

“Really? I’m a brother. I have two of them. I’ve never known any of us to behave that way.”

She picked up the reins. “Speaking of liars.”

He smiled. “Did you ever eat?”

“No. I wasn’t hungry.”

“Hungry or not, you’re stopping to eat.” He held up the brown bag.

Despite her stomach rumbling with emptiness, his commands irked her. “I hate it when you get bossy. You know that, right?”

“I do. Now set the brake. We’re pausing to snack.” He put the bag between his feet.

She stifled a laugh. “Why do you do that?”

“What? Dare to say what needs to be said?” He glanced up, a smile in place. “Because you need someone who’ll do it.” He opened the bag, looking into it. “You want to get angry with me? Do so. But just so we’re clear, I’m no bossier than you.”

“Ya, but when I’m doing it, I’m not annoying.”

He froze for a moment, looking perplexed that she’d say such a thing. Apparently he hadn’t realized she was teasing. A moment later amusement danced through his eyes.

“Uh-huh.” He pulled out several small plastic containers. “Bob stopped by
a store, and I bought some slices of cake. Do you prefer carrot cake, red velvet, chocolate, double fudge, or yellow cake with chocolate frosting?”

The slices were huge—large enough to serve three or four people. Her stomach rumbled. “Carrot cake, please.”

“I would’ve guessed something with chocolate.” He held it and a fork out to her. “So how are you?”

“Exhausted and irritable.” She took the items. “You?”

He chuckled, seeming different from before. That thought caught her off guard. Different? How? It’d take some pondering to know those answers, and she wasn’t going to do that. Other than their getting along and keeping their relationship from veering off course, it didn’t matter what differences she saw in him.

Samuel opened a container for one of the other cake slices. “I’m feeling the same. After the temperature warms up and we get some rest, I’m betting everyone will be arguing or tempted to complain over anything and everything—at least for a few days.” He dug his fork into the double fudge cake.

She stared at the dark sky. The stars were so bright it looked as if she could touch them if she only reached up into the sky. “How long would it take to get to the closest star?”

Samuel propped his foot on the footrest. “The sun is the closest, about ninety-three million miles away, if I remember correctly. I once read that if you traveled a hundred miles per hour, it’d take more than a hundred years to reach it. Of course, that same article said that even with current spaceship and spacesuit technology, you’d be ashes while still something like three million miles away from it.”

She studied the sky’s brilliance. Its beauty was unmatched at night. During the day the orchard was a close rival, especially at picking time, but nighttime views outdid the daytime sky regardless of the season. “Seems so odd they fade to nothing during the day.”