A Simple Faith: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (15 page)

“Is that her vehicle?” Wood turned the screen of his cell phone toward Graciana.

Haley moved closer to Graciana and slid an arm around the woman’s waist, bracing her for the worst.

A moment later, when they both viewed the smashed vehicle shining in the ghastly light, a wail peeled from the older woman’s throat. Haley felt the woman begin to tremble beside her.

“Oh, no, no, no! It can’t be!” She pushed the screen away, then made the sign of the cross. “That’s her car, yes, it is. Such a terrible crash! It’s a wonder my Clara survived, thank the Lord.”

“Mrs. Estevez, why don’t you sit down.” Officer Wood’s voice was quiet now, conciliatory. He helped Haley guide Graciana to a chair, where she collapsed, sobbing helplessly.

Haley sat beside her, trying to lend support. She shot a look over at her Amish friends, expecting to see horror and disdain on their faces.

Instead, their eyes burned with concern. Rachel pressed a hand to her mouth as if she were going to be sick. Elsie and Ruben exchanged a look of disbelief. Zed stared with a hard-bitten look, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I know this must be hard for you to hear, but we have reason to believe your daughter was texting when her car collided with the van. We found her cell phone and there’s part of a message. We’re still conducting interviews and compiling our report, but when it’s finished, everything goes to the district attorney’s office. For now,
Clara Estevez will be charged with reckless driving. The DA will decide if there will be other charges.”

“But she’s a good girl. She never hurt anyone in her life.”

“That’s the shame of it.” Wood tucked his clipboard under his arm and tilted his head. “These kids don’t understand the dangers of what they’re doing. Sometimes I wish that cell phones had never been invented. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mrs. Estevez.”

Haley was grateful for the cop’s attempt at sympathy, but Graciana was so upset she didn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t realize the accident was this serious,” the woman said, staring at the floor. “No one told me that … I just didn’t know.”

“No one’s blaming you,” Haley said, shooting a look at the cops. It didn’t seem fair that this woman had to face such terrible news while her daughter was in surgery.

“Are you saying it was her fault … all this pain and suffering? My Clara is responsible for this?”

“Graciana …” Haley took the older woman’s hand. “There are no official charges yet. Take a breath and wait and see how things develop. The police investigation isn’t even finished yet.”

“But I know it’s true.” Graciana took a deep breath, her shoulders still quivering. “I’m very good at denial, but this—the cell phone and texting …” She shook her head, wincing. “It’s one of Clara’s obsessions. I can’t get that phone out of her hands.”

Haley was at a loss for words, and the heavy atmosphere in the room made it hard to think.

The drama had penetrated to all the visitors now. Conversations had ceased. Everyone was watching, save a handful of children who were playing some sort of hopscotch game on the tile floor.

Everyone remained respectfully quiet as Graciana pushed out of the chair, turned, and, with deliberate steps, moved back toward the
circle of Amish. Haley remained near the doorway with the cops. From here, she could see the faces of the Amish people, their curiosity and interest.

“I’m sure you heard.” Graciana took a shaky breath, straightening her shoulders.

All eyes were on Graciana.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pressing her hands into prayer position at her breast. “I’m sorry for all the pain and suffering my daughter has caused you and … and your families.”

The room was suddenly silent, save for the rumble of the heating system and the noise of a cart down the hall.

In that moment, Haley saw through a window to the compassion in the hearts and minds of the Amish. From the oldest wizened man to the mother with a sleeping infant to the middle-aged woman crocheting a blanket, they were simply people who recognized another person in crisis.

Elsie went to Graciana and squeezed her hand, her eyes shiny with tears. “You don’t have to worry about what we’re thinking. All is forgiven.” Her voice was soft, but firm, like a mother soothing a child to sleep. “Gott our Father forgives us, and we follow in His footsteps.”

Ruben rose and extended a hand to Graciana. She gripped his hand and he looked her in the eye. “Tell your daughter we forgive her.”

Rachel nodded, touching Graciana’s arm. “God bless Clara.”

Behind her came Zed, who said he was praying for Clara. And behind him came another Amish man, and an Amish woman holding the hand of a toddler, and another Amish man.…

The quiet procession continued, people rising and filing past Graciana until every Amish person in the room had shared the same reassuring message.

All is forgiven
.

17

“
I
’m just here to let you know that help is available to anyone who needs it.” Crouched down in the waiting room so that he could be eye-level with Ada Fisher and Bishop Samuel Mast, Dylan was grateful that he’d worn jeans and a soft sweater. Casual was more approachable and a heck of a lot more comfortable for the late hours stretching until after midnight. Besides, he didn’t think his reputation as “Dr. Fashion” would earn too many points in the Amish community, where basic black broadcloth was the standard for men’s attire.

In the past three hours he had played on the floor with different groups of Amish children. He had knelt beside and paced with people who were ready to spend the night in the hospital, waiting on their loved ones. He had handed out the three pizzas he’d picked up on the way to the hospital. And he’d exhausted his knowledge of marine life, trying to make small talk about the fish in the tanks that decorated the larger waiting rooms.

At the moment, he was trying to win over the bishop of Halfway’s religious community; it was a challenge that would apparently take some time.

“And did I mention that there’s no charge for the counseling?” Dylan asked. “We have a grant to set up a program in the community.”

“That’s right kind of you,” Ada said, flipping Dylan’s card around to see the sunset over a farmhouse printed on the back. “Now, that’s a pretty picture, isn’t it?” She showed it to the bishop, who was not so impressed. “I’ll give this to Jacob when he’s feeling better.”

Although Dylan knew that her husband, Jacob, had been injured in the collision, he wanted to make it clear that his services were not only for accident victims. “And you might want to come to a meeting yourself, Ada. Sometimes it puts a strain on the loved ones, caring for someone who’s been through a trauma.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” The elderly woman clucked her tongue as she glanced at the bishop, who seemed to be soaking up every word. “I’m fine. I’ve been taking care of Jacob for nigh sixty years. It won’t break my back to change a few bandages or bring him a meal in bed.”

“I hear you,” Dylan said. “No one knows a man like his wife of sixty years. But keep my card and feel free to pass my number on to anyone. Even if they just need someone to talk to.”

“Plain folk talk to each other.” The bishop’s eyes seemed huge, magnified by his eyeglasses. Dylan was reminded of the Wizard of Oz—a man whose reputation was amplified beyond his true powers. “Folks help their own families and friends. And when they need advice beyond that, they turn to a preacher or bishop, like me. Family, faith, and community. That’s how it goes.”

As he listened, Dylan tried to squash all his intellectual learning about community models and hierarchy so that he could speak to Bishop Samuel realistically. “From what I’ve seen, your community
works very well together. I don’t want to change anything there. I’m just wondering, if an Amish person wanted to get counseling—if he or she wanted to join in a group counseling session or participate in a meeting—would that violate any of your rules? Would they be going against the Ordnung?”

“Hmm.” Samuel hitched his glasses up with the knuckles of one hand. “From what you describe, no laws would be broken. It’s not a sin to talk to someone who isn’t Amish, but then, you know that ’cause we’re talking to you now.”

Dylan nodded. “That’s good to know. Thank you, Bishop.”

“Call me Samuel. Everyone does.”

“Samuel. My plan is to have some group meetings in Halfway. It would give people a chance to talk about the accident and get support from others who have had a similar experience.”

“You could do that.” Samuel grunted. “But I don’t reckon anyone will come. Folks have work to do. Children to mind. Farms to run. Not time to sit around and talk about their feelings.”

“I figure I’ll give it a try,” Dylan said, “as long as it wouldn’t break any rules.”

“Sure. You can try it.”

Dylan straightened and stretched his arms out as he surveyed the waiting room. He’d reached out and made contact with everyone here. That was all he could do right now, in the early stage of the trauma.

As he pressed the elevator button to go down to ICU and reach out to the other Amish families, Dylan felt that he was exactly where he belonged. A new venue had done wonders for his state of mind, and the fact that he’d arrived here before this tragedy had struck the community, well, that had to be Divine Intervention.

And Haley Donovan … if she hadn’t called him on his cell to let him know about the accident, he’d still be home in bed, sleeping through the chance to reach out and serve his new community. Yes,
Haley was brilliant. Beautiful and caring. Every morning, he counted his developing relationship with her among his blessings.

The elevator doors opened, and the subject of his musings stood before him.

“Haley!”

“Dylan! Just who I was looking for.” She waved him off the elevator. “Quick, quick. Someone told me you were upstairs, and I paged you but there was no answer. Aren’t doctors supposed to answer pages?”

“I’m not on duty.” He got off the elevator and fell into step beside her. Haley was moving fast, a woman on a mission. “Besides, electronics are disruptive when you’re trying to work with people. Especially the Amish. What did you want me for?”

“Remember the woman I told you about? The mother of the driver who crashed into the van?”

He nodded, urging her on.

“She’s on her way out of the hospital, but she stopped in the waiting room to tell us that her daughter died. During the surgery they found that there was too much internal damage. They kept her on life support, and Graciana had a chance to say good-bye, but she’s gone now.”

He slowed his pace as that familiar dread tugged at his gut. A parent’s love. A parent’s failure to protect a child.

The tragedy that defied the natural order of things: a parent burying her child.

He knew that pain. He owned it, lived with it, hated it.

She paused and wheeled around. “Are you okay?”

He hadn’t realized that he’d stopped walking. “I’m trying to put myself in this woman’s position.”
Which is easier than you might think
.

She motioned him toward the waiting room and pointed out a Hispanic woman with dark hair streaked with silver. “That’s her. Talking with Elsie.”

As Dylan joined the two women, he realized that he’d met Elsie Lapp in Halfway at the Country Store. She’d given him no false hope about his outreach program, but she’d been kind about her lack of support. From the list Haley had given him, he knew Elsie had been one of the passengers in the van, but when he’d been down in this waiting room earlier, he had missed her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Haley said, making quick introductions. “Graciana, I just wanted to make sure you connected with Dr. Monroe before you left.”

“We have an outreach program in Halfway.” Dylan was learning that if it sounded real, people would have confidence in the program. “I wanted to make sure you knew about the services available to you. But right now …” He paused.

Graciana’s eyes were red and puffy. Her skin was pale and her expression was vacant. Numb with pain. In the morning, she would not remember meeting him.

“Right now, I suspect you need to be with your loved ones, and get some sleep, if you can.”