A Reluctant Bride (6 page)

“I'm with the sheriff's office.” He took in a deep breath and laid his hat on the counter.

And that's when Sadie's world came crashing down.

Aden stood in shock as the officer spoke to Sadie.

“An accident?” Sadie's beautiful brown eyes grew round. “What do you mean, an accident?”

“A car hit your parents' buggy. Your sister was thrown from the vehicle.” He paused, glanced away, and ran his finger across his mustache in a nervous gesture.

“What about
mei
parents?”

The officer hesitated. With each passing second Aden's chest seemed to grow heavier. “I'm sorry,” the man said, barely able to look at Sadie. He picked up his hat from the counter and started fumbling with the brim. “They . . . they didn't survive.”

Sadie's lips turned stark white.

“
Nee!
” Abigail rushed at the officer, halting right in front of him. She looked up, her complexion as ashen as Sadie's. “That can't be true.”

He turned, looked at Abigail with sympathetic eyes, and slowly nodded.

Abigail put her hands over her face and burst into tears.

“We'll do our best to find the driver,” he said. But he didn't sound confident.

“You don't know who hit them?” Sadie asked, her voice surprisingly steady, her expression disturbingly calm.

“They fled the scene.”

Sadie didn't move. She didn't shed a tear. Aden gazed at her, taking in her stoic face, her beauty marred by pain that she was trying so hard to hide.

“C'mon, Aden.”

He felt Sol tug at his arm. In slow motion he turned toward his brother. “What?”

“We need to get out of here.”

“But—”

“
Now
.”

Aden's feet wouldn't move. How could they leave Sadie and Abigail alone at a time like this? But what could he say that Sadie
would want to hear?
I'm sorry
wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't scratch the surface. If anything, he would make everything worse. But what choice did he have except to leave?

Reluctantly, Aden followed his brother out of the store and hurried to catch up with him. “We have to tell
Daed
,” he said, matching his brother's long-legged stride.

“
Daed
will find out soon enough.”

Aden halted. “So what are we gonna do? Just
geh
home and say nothing?”

Sol spun around and glared at him. “
Nee, dummkopf.
We'll kill some time, wait until the news gets to
Daed
, and then we
geh
home. We'll tell
Mamm
the store was closed by the time we got there.”

“That doesn't make any sense.” The Schrocks never closed their store except on Sundays and the holidays their faith acknowledged. His gut suddenly lurched as he thought about his mother. She and
Frau
Schrock were close friends.
Mamm
would be devastated when she heard the news. “We can't leave,” he said to Sol.

“It's none of our business, Aden.”

“Sol . . . they just lost their parents.” He looked at the sheriff's car parked in the small gravel lot that separated the grocery from the Schrocks' home. “
Herr
and
Frau
Schrock—”

“I know what happened to them.” Sol rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I heard the sheriff, plain as you did. That doesn't change anything. Let
Daed
handle it.” He started for the buggy again.

Aden paused and looked at the store, his stomach churning with shock and grief. Leaving them alone was wrong. Sadie might not want him here—he was solidly sure she didn't—but he couldn't walk away after hearing the worst possible news. He
planted his feet on the ground and called after his brother. “I'm not leaving.”

Sol stopped and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“I'm going back inside the store.” He started to turn. “Sadie . . .” He cleared his throat. “Sadie and Abigail shouldn't be left alone.”

Sol grabbed his arm and jerked him back. His brother had a considerable amount of strength, honed from spending the past six years working as a carpenter and delivering large pieces of furniture to customers. “You take one more step and I'll make sure you won't walk right for the next six months.”

Aden met Sol's intense glare. He knew his brother meant what he said and that he was capable of delivering on his threat. He also knew he couldn't leave. “Then you'll have to stop me,” he said, turning and heading toward the store.

Within seconds his body pitched to the ground as Sol tackled him. His cheek scraped against the gravel as Sol yanked him up by the back of his shirt. Aden spun around. Years of suppressed anger from being at his brother's mercy threatened to push through the surface. For the first time in his life he cocked his fist, ready to plant it against his brother's elongated jaw.

But Sol easily grabbed Aden's arm and twisted it behind him. “Don't you know better than to test me, Aden?”

Aden winced as Sol thrust his bent arm farther up his back. He heard and felt his shoulder crack.

“Now, are you going to
geh
with me, or do I have to drag you out of here?” Sol spoke low in Aden's ear. “You wouldn't want the
maed
or the sheriff to come outside and see us like this.” He jerked Aden's arm up again. “Fighting isn't our way,
ya
?”

Aden could feel the ligaments in his shoulder start to stretch. Fighting wasn't the Amish way, but that had never stopped Sol.
“Fine,” he muttered, making sure to keep the pain out of his voice. He wouldn't give his brother the satisfaction of knowing how much he'd hurt him. He was also ashamed of how easily his brother could render him defenseless.

Sol gave him a shove as he released Aden's arm. “Now, get in the buggy like you were told.”

Aden followed his brother, a fury he couldn't express driving each step. Before he climbed into the buggy, he glanced over his sore shoulder at the store, wishing he wasn't such a coward. That he wasn't so weak. That he could offer Sadie comfort or at least be there so she wouldn't be alone. Instead he clenched his fists as he and Sol left.

“I know it's difficult for you to understand, Sadie. But this is God's will.”

Sadie sat in the surgery waiting room of Langdon Hospital, staring at the huge abstract painting on the wall in front of her. It was a riot of color, the bright reds, blues, and yellows practically screaming at her, taunting her, doing the exact opposite of calming her down. Her hands curled around the arms of the chair as Bishop Troyer droned on.

“We will pray that Joanna makes it through the surgery.” He paused, but she didn't look at him. “However, you must be prepared to accept God's will if she doesn't.”

Pain shot through her hands as she squeezed the arms of the chair. “Joanna will make it.”

“You cannot be sure about that.”

She turned to him, her steady voice belying her quaking insides. “
Mei schwester
is going to live.”

Bishop Troyer looked at her, pity in his eyes, the pale green shade so similar to Aden's. It was about the only physical characteristic the two men shared. With the exception of the bishop's gray beard, Sol was the mirror image of his father. Her skin crawled as she turned from the bishop, trying to push Sol and Aden from her mind. Why wouldn't Bishop Troyer leave her alone?

Then she heard Abigail sniffling and saw
Frau
Troyer put her arm around Abigail's shoulders. Abigail leaned against her, and Sadie was glad she could find comfort from the bishop's wife, who was also grieving the loss of her friend. If Sadie had to suffer through Bishop Troyer's painful attempts at reassurance to help Abigail, so be it.

“Sadie, I know the time isn't
gut
right now.” Bishop Troyer crossed one leg over the other. “But we must discuss
yer
parents' viewing and funeral . . . and possibly Joanna's, if that is God's plan.”

I'm going to scream. I'm going to turn and scream right in his face.

“We can hold the viewing at
yer
home, or ours if you wish.”

Shut up. Just shut up.

“I'll ask the ladies of the community to prepare a meal, of course. I can also pen an appropriate obituary for the local paper—”

“Fine,” Sadie said, her teeth clenched so hard pain spiked through her jaw.

“You can look over it before I send it. The community will absorb the cost of the notice. You won't have to worry about that.”

She nodded, still staring at the ugly painting, still wishing she could turn back the clock to this morning, before her mother and father and Joanna had left to pick apples. A simple task,
something they did every fall. For years they had picked apples. She'd gone with
Mamm
and
Daed
last year. She should have been with them today. Maybe if she had—

“Then there is the issue of the store and the
haus
.”

Sadie turned to him. “What did you say?”

“Many things concerning
yer
parents' property need to be settled. We can talk about it after the burial.”

She jumped up from the chair, ignoring the curious looks from the other people waiting to hear about their own loved ones. She wrapped her arms around her waist and walked to the front desk. “Can you tell me when Joanna Schrock will be out of surgery?”

The short-haired woman looked up from her computer screen. “I'm sorry. We don't have that information.”

“But it's been three hours.”

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, her voice monotone. “Please have a seat. As soon as the doctor is able, he'll come out and talk to you.”

Sadie fisted her hand and planted it on top of the counter. The woman peered over her black square-framed glasses at Sadie's fist. Sadie withdrew her hand and turned around.

Bishop Troyer was now sitting next to Abigail, who was still leaning on
Frau
Troyer's shoulder. At least he wasn't talking anymore. Sadie sighed. Abigail didn't need to hear about obituaries and funerals and property discussions. She needed comfort. She needed hope.

Sadie was quickly losing hers.

“Ms. Schrock?”

She turned at the sound of the male voice. A tall, thin man wearing light blue clothing and a paper cap looked at her. “
Ya?
” she said, as she heard Abigail come up behind her.

“I'm Dr. Parr. Your sister is out of surgery.”

“Thank God,” Abigail said, threading her arm through Sadie's. “How is she?”

“Stable.”

“What does that mean?” Sadie demanded.

“It means your sister is alive and in no immediate danger.” He rested his hands on his narrow hips. “Though there is not the internal injury we had feared, her injuries are still extensive. Three of her ribs and her pelvis are broken, and she had a deep gash on her right cheek that we stitched closed.”

Abigail sucked in a breath, her grip on Sadie tightening.

“She also suffered a concussion when she was thrown from the buggy. We've done a CAT scan on her brain, and the swelling is minimal.” At Sadie's frown he added, “We don't think she has any brain damage.”

The room began to spin.
Brain damage?

“She's in recovery right now,” the doctor continued. “When she comes to, we'll have more answers. There is one thing I can tell you now—she'll need extensive rehabilitation. One of our rehabilitation coordinators will contact you to discuss what that entails.” He looked beyond Sadie's shoulder. “Are these your parents?”

Sadie turned to see Bishop and
Frau
Troyer standing behind her.

“
Nee
,” Abigail whispered. “Our parents died in the accident.”

The doctor paused. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know.” He shook his head, looking slightly embarrassed. “I need to check on my patient. If anything changes, one of the nurses will let you know.”