The Hallowed Ones (7 page)

A wheel caught in the ditch and shrieked as the buggy pitched right. I clutched the rail as the buggy tipped and lurched. It landed on its right side in the ditch with a crash. I tasted dirt and blood and grass.

I’d been thrown. I could feel the impact in my ribs and spine. I pulled myself up on my palms in the grass, drew an aching breath to shout: “Elijah!”

With the buggy caught in the ditch, Star stopped dragging it, rearing with a scream of fear. I saw Elijah’s white shirt behind a wheel, saw him stumble from the wreck, and breathed a sigh of relief.

I looked beyond him at the road. The caravan of police cars kept charging on as if the Devil himself were after them.

“Are you hurt?”

Elijah picked me off the ground. A cut glimmered red above his eye, and his hat was missing. I touched his brow, and he winced.

“Nothing broken,” I said as my fingers felt my ribs under my dress. “You?”

“I’m all right.” But I could see that he was putting no weight on his left foot. “I’ve got to get this shoe off before my foot swells into it, and it has to be cut off.”

“Sit down,” I ordered. Elijah obligingly sat on the grassy embankment over the ditch while I stripped off his shoe. He was right: his ankle was hot and swelling already under his sock. He flinched when I touched it.

“Do you think it’s broken?” I asked.

“Not sure.”

I attempted to feel his bones through the swelling. Though I couldn’t feel anything jutting out, it didn’t mean that there wasn’t a fracture in there somewhere. I took off my apron, rolled it lengthwise to form a bandage, and wrapped it around the ankle to stabilize it.

Elijah groaned as he looked at the wrecked buggy. “So much for sneaking out.”

I walked to Star, speaking quietly. She let me touch her nose and her head. I stroked her sides, ran my fingers over her withers and legs. I unhitched her from the buggy and led her up the slope to a fence that I could tie her to.

Nothing seemed to be broken on her either, but I could see that she’d thrown a shoe. She let me pull out a piece of nail that remained in her back hoof, and she calmed down enough to lip at some clover that sprouted around the fence post.

I walked down the embankment to where Elijah hobbled. He hopped on one foot and circled the buggy, bracing his hands on the frame as he examined it.

“Star’s okay. But she needs a trip to the farrier. How’s the buggy?”

Elijah grimaced. “It’ll take more than a trip to the wheelwright to fix it. But it might be drivable.”

“Let’s get it righted and find out.”

We scrabbled to get a grip on the side of the buggy that was aimed skyward. It was streaked in mud, and purchase was difficult. Finally, we succeeded in rocking the buggy right and left, creating enough momentum to allow it to fall back on its wheels with a clatter and a crash. We scrambled back to avoid being trapped beneath the undercarriage.

The buggy stood, bent and creaking. I could already see that the right wheel was badly warped. Elijah limped over to it and ran his fingers over the rim. He put his shoulder to it, trying to straighten it out.

The back was dented, and one light cracked out. I didn’t think that it mattered that the safety lights were out; no one was out here who would pay attention to them, anyway.

I found my comic book blown up against the fence, caked in dirt. But there was no sign of my bottle of Coca-Cola. I looked for it for a few moments but gave up and returned to the buggy.

“Is it drivable?” I asked.

“I think so.”

Elijah brushed the worst of the dirt from the seat. It took several tries and many promises of oats to get Star to back into the harness. I insisted that Elijah sit before he made his foot worse. Reluctantly, he climbed aboard while I finished cooing to Star and fastening her into the harness. I climbed up into the buggy beside him, and he stared between the horse’s ears morosely. He elevated his sore foot over the front rail.

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” he warned.

He was right. He started the horse out at a very slow walk. The bent wheel, on my side, wobbled along, knocking my teeth together. I felt bad for Elijah, his foot thumping along the front rail, with his broken buggy and thinking of his missing brothers.

I reached out and patted his sleeve, though it seemed an ineffectual gesture.

It was afternoon by the time we’d made our slow progress back home. I’d hoped that we’d be able to slip back into the barn unnoticed, that Elijah would be able to break the news to his father about the buggy slowly.

But dozens of Plain people had clustered around Elijah’s house. I swallowed as they turned to stare at the mangled buggy as it creaked along the dirt road.

“Elijah!” Herr Miller broke free of the group. “Where have you been?”

Elijah’s jaw was set in a hard line. “Looking for Seth and Joseph.”

Herr Miller blinked, running his hands over the buggy and taking in our battered appearances. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“We were run off the road by policemen. Six cars.”

“Elijah’s hurt,” I interjected. “His ankle . . .”

Herr Miller and I shoveled Elijah out of the buggy. He leaned heavily on my shoulder.

“I’ll take care of the buggy and Star,” Herr Miller said. “Will you see to him, Katie?”

“Of course.”

I supported Elijah as we limped through the throng of people. I spied my mother and father at the edges.

“Katie . . .” My mother tied my askew bonnet strings firmly under my chin. It was a gesture she’d repeated since I was a little girl, whenever I made her nervous. “Are you all right?”

“Just bumps and bruises.” I looked over her shoulder at my father. His expression was a combination of worry and disapproval. That expression punished me more than any verbal reprimand.

“I must attend to Elijah,” I whispered, feeling guilty.

“I will help you,” my mother said.

“And I will help Herr Miller with the buggy,” my father said.

My mother and I got Elijah up the steps of his house, through the living room, and upstairs to his bedroom. Elijah shared a large room with his two brothers, and it seemed very empty without them. Too quiet. The three beds were covered with quilts my mother had made. Elijah’s was in the middle and received the most sunlight from the thick-paned window above it.

Elijah groaned as we set him upon the bed. My mother began unwrapping his foot.

“Bring me some water, Katie,” she said. “And take a moment to clean yourself, too.”

I nodded, then scurried away to the kitchen. I carried the washbasin out to the pump in the backyard.

I spied Mrs. Parsall, lurking awkwardly at the fringes of the crowd. I waved to her, and she made her way to me. She looked distressed.

“Where did you go?” she hissed.

“We went looking for Elijah’s brothers.”

She paused. “You went to the furniture store?”

“Yes.” I looked away, trying not to remember the stained keyhole saw and the broken glass. “We tried to call the police but couldn’t reach anyone.”

Mrs. Parsall reached out and grasped me in a fierce hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Does anyone know what’s happening?”

She shook her head against mine. “I don’t know. I can’t reach Dan or the kids. I think . . . it’s something big. I don’t know . . .”

I muffled a sob against her shoulder, and she stroked my mussed hair under my bonnet. But I felt like I should be soothing her, with her husband and children unreachable. I hiccupped, then asked her, “Are all these people here . . . to form a search party?”

I saw some of the Elders talking in a tight knot. They would have a plan, surely.

“I think that they’re waiting for the Bishop. To decide what to do.”

“That’s best.” I clasped Mrs. Parsall’s hand. “Stay with us. Until it’s over.”

She wiped her eyes beneath her glasses. “Your parents have already insisted.” She tried to smile, but it came off crooked. “Your mother has offered me some of her clothes.”

The corner of my mouth turned up to imagine her in our style of clothes. “You’ll be a lovely Plain woman.”

“You’ll have to teach me about the bonnet thing,” she said self-consciously, reaching up to smooth her hair. Hers would be black, for a married woman, not a girl’s white one.

“I will,” I promised. I worked the pump until water rattled forth into the washbasin. I quickly scrubbed my face, hands, and arms in the frigid water, emptied the basin, and then refilled it with fresh water.

I carefully carried the basin back upstairs to Elijah’s room and set it down on the floor at the foot of the bed. My mother was perched on Elijah’s bedside like a sparrow, clucking over his injuries.

“Is it broken?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just sprained, I think.” She dipped a rag into the washbasin and cleaned his foot, to prepare it for some of her homemade liniment. I took one of the other rags and began to scrub Elijah’s face and hands.

He made faces under our ministrations. “Don’t fuss over me.” But I could tell that he secretly enjoyed being petted like a prize calf.

“Will he heal well?” I asked my mother.

She nodded, showing me the ankle as one of her teachable moments. She believed that a mother should know the basics of first aid. She had helped Frau Gerlach at the births of many babies, and she knew almost as much as the midwife did about the body. “He should. The skin isn’t broken, so there is no place for infection to set in. If it was infected, we’d need to take him to see the doctor to get some antibiotics.”

“How would I know it was infected?”

“If there was an open wound that failed to heal quickly. If there was pus, red runners streaking toward the heart. Fever. Ripe swelling, skin hot to the touch.”

I nodded.

“In bad cases, delirium sets in. Never let it get that bad with one of your children, Katie, especially the small ones. Find a doctor before that happens and ask for the antibiotics.”

“I can always find you,” I said, smiling at her.

My mother laughed. “You can, but I will tell you when it’s bad enough to go see the doctor.”

Elijah swallowed, probably remembering his mother, who hadn’t gotten to a doctor in time to be saved.

Plain people avoided going to English doctors wherever possible. We did what we could with simple medicines and the knowledge of our families and midwives. Illness was God’s will. Yet when an injury or illness presented itself in one of our loved ones that we could not cure with our own knowledge or tools, we often sought Outside help. Fortunately, this did not seem to be one of the times it was needed. Not that we could have found an English doctor to help us under the current conditions.

My mother admonished Elijah to stay off the foot for a few days, coated him in eucalyptus liniment, and bound his ankle up tightly. Elijah nodded solemnly, but I guessed that he wouldn’t take her advice. The instant he was out of her sight, he’d be hopping and pacing the room.

I didn’t blame him. I went to the open window and looked down at the throng of people. There was easily at least one person from each family in the community here, and more seemed to be trickling in. I spied the Bishop with his white beard and dark hat, approaching the whispering Elders. They looked like the ravens from this morning on the grass, black and just a bit ominous.

After conferring for several minutes, the Bishop stepped away from the Elders and raised his arm for silence. The chatter of the rest of the Plain folk shut off, just as if someone had turned a faucet. Black hats, straw hats, white bonnets, and black bonnets turned toward him.

When the Bishop spoke, his bass voice carried. I’d heard him speak many times on Sundays, knew that he could make it a gentle rumble. But not today.

“The Elders and I have gathered as much information as we can about the situation Outside,” he boomed. The Bishop nodded to Mrs. Parsall. “We have learned that there is unrest Outside and have concluded that this unrest poses a danger to our community. It may be disease, terrorism, war . . . We simply don’t know.”

A worried gasp lifted in the throng.

“As a result, we are closing our gate. No one will be permitted in or out until the situation is resolved.”

Herr Miller stepped forward, and I could see his hands trembling. “But my sons . . . my sons are out there.”

The Bishop inclined his head. “And we will pray for them. Just as we will pray for the Yoder girls and Frau Fisher. They have not returned, either.”

“But if it’s not safe here . . .” someone began.

“There’s no point in considering leaving. This is our land.” The Bishop scanned the crowd. “We must do as we have always done. Keep faith. Trust in God. We will be safe.”

His eyes were dark, and I thought that he looked up at me as he said, “And no one goes beyond the gate.”

***

“You should not have gone.”

My father doubled my evening chores to keep me busy. He gave me mine as well as Elijah’s. I would have offered to do them anyway, but my father wanted to make a point.

I glanced back at him from my milking stool to where he sat on his own. My father had taken on Seth’s and Joseph’s chores. I could never say that he’d ever punished me in a way that he was unwilling to undertake himself, and he was never cruel. I could not resent him as we sat milking the cows in the cool silence of the Millers’ barn.

I averted my gaze from the wreck of the buggy. “I know that you worry.”

“And I know that your heart was in the right place,” he said. “Seth and Joseph are like brothers to you.”

I nodded, casting my eyes down at the bucket. “I couldn’t let Elijah go alone.”

I heard the smile in my father’s voice. “And your mother would not have let me go alone, either.” I heard the smile fade. “But times are different now. You must be careful. You both could have been killed.”

I understood his concern. But I couldn’t convey to him that, no matter how sore my ribs were now, I somehow felt indestructible. Nearly immortal, though I would have never uttered that thought to any living person. It was blasphemous.

“You’ve had enough of the Outside world for now, I think.”

I glanced sidelong at him. “
Ja.
The Bishop has closed the gate.”