A Simple Hope: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (23 page)

A
s the technician hooked up the last of the electrodes for his treatment, James took a deep breath and tried to still his racing thoughts of the orchard and Rachel and the charley horse in his left leg that had ached during the night.

Like the first rays of dawn, the feeling in his legs was beginning to return, pale and quiet, but undeniably bright and promising. Although James had told no one, the tingling stream of electricity was awakening sensation in his legs. So far, his new strength hadn’t been put to the test, but Doc Finley said they would give it a try today.

“I know it’s only the third day of your treatment,” the specialist had told James, “but some patients respond more quickly than others.” The doctor had cautioned that it was only Wednesday, and whether or not James showed a response, they would stick with the protocol for three to six months, as long as James was willing.

James had simply nodded. The aches and tweaking muscles in his legs had awakened him last night, but he didn’t want to say anything,
for fear that the ripples of sensation were all in his head. He knew that phantom pain and sensation seemed very real. Every Amish boy had heard the stories of men who had lost a leg or finger in a farm accident and still suffered aches and burning from their missing limbs. He hoped and prayed that this was not the story with his legs right now.

With his hopes locked on to that moment of truth, James gave his worries up to Gott in a prayer and tried to relax as the technician checked the monitor and electrodes. James had exchanged his black pants for soft black shorts that gave easy access to his legs, which were now covered with suction cups the size of large mosquito bites. He had been fitted with a harness full of equipment, though it did not look like any harness he’d ever put on a horse. The truth? It looked like a big diaper, swaddling his crotch and hips. Thank the good Lord it was black instead of white.

“Okay, we’re ready to turn on your electromassage,” the technician said with a grin.

James gave a thumbs-up. “I’m good to go.”

Chet was a joker. When he’d been introduced to James, the tech had pointed to his own bald head and said that it was shaped like a lightbulb—proof that he was born to be an electrical engineer. Every day he had a new joke for James, who was glad to have some chuckles to add to his toolbox.

As Chet turned the switch, James leaned back and closed his eyes. He had best take advantage of this soothing treatment while he had a chance. The electrical current wasn’t painful; the soft tickle was like the bristle of a callused hand against a new wool coat. When the doctors had described the treatment as a “warm bath of electricity,” they weren’t joking. When the machine was hooked up, he felt like a cat napping in the sun.

He closed his eyes, ever grateful for the hope this treatment brought him.
Thank you, heavenly Father
.

The minute he’d rolled out of his room this morning, he had found most of his brothers and sisters waiting to get to work in the orchards.

“Verena and I went around and woke everyone at four-thirty,” Mamm had admitted as she handed James a thermos of hot coffee. “You were right about sharing the workload. If we’re going to keep the orchard running the way your doddy did, everyone in the family needs to pitch in.”

James thanked his mother for the coffee and tucked it into the side pouch of his wide-wheeled chair. The ground was damp from drizzling rain and the night had not yet lifted, but many of his siblings wore LED lights strapped to their heads so that they could see in the dark. James had each of the twins hitch a horse to a cart, which they brought around to the manure pile.

“We’ll load each cart with manure, and then divide up into two teams,” James said, explaining how they would use wheelbarrows to deliver fertilizer to the mound beneath each tree. “We’ll go down each lane, beginning to end, and when we finish a row, we mark it with orange tape around the trunk of the tree at the end.” The older boys had spread fertilizer before, under Doddy Elmo’s watchful eye, but no one but James seemed to recall the different steps and procedures.

Mark dug his shovel into the edge of the compost heap, then turned back, his face pinched in revulsion. “Why is it still so stinky?”

“It’s chicken manure,” Luke said with a broad grin. “It’s not supposed to smell good.”

Lovina flicked the strings of her prayer kapp back over her shoulders and lifted her shovel. “I hope we don’t smell like manure all day at school.”

“Teacher Emma will understand,” Mark said.

“Ya,” Lovina muttered, lifting her shovel to the back of the cart. “But I don’t want to smell bad, no matter how nice the teacher is.”

Everyone had chuckled over that. Mark and ten-year-old Hannah, who usually took more to working outside than helping Mamm with chores in the house, merrily dug right in, though Verena and Lovina tried to keep away from the fertilizer as much as they could.

Once the carts were loaded and taken to the orchard, James pointed out where to spread the manure so that all the feeder roots were covered. “Spread it a little bit more,” James instructed. “To the drip line. See how Luke is doing it? The fertilizer should go from the tree trunk to under the outermost branches.”

His siblings could be good workers when they put their minds to it. James was grateful that they were all pitching in. By the time Mamm called them in for breakfast, they had filled and spread four carts of manure, covering about an eighth of the orchard. James hoped they could get enough work done to keep Dat from bringing in a stranger to run the orchard.

Soon after breakfast, Rachel had come walking up the lane with an umbrella overhead, bright and crisp as a school bell in autumn. The sight of her reminded him of the huge stone inside him; the immovable boulder that would not let him be her fella again until he was healed. Oh, the temptation was there to fall back into their regular patterns, and there was no denying that he enjoyed every minute of Rachel’s company. But he could not tether her for the rest of her life. The thought of a future without her made him ache inside, and yet that was how it had to be unless Gott granted him a miracle and gave him the power to rise onto his own two feet.

“Am I interrupting a nap?” The familiar voice brought James out of his reverie. He opened his eyes to find Dylan standing inside the doorway, his arms crossed over a denim jacket with a fleece collar.

James waved him in. “Not much else I can do while I’m hooked up here.”

“This is great, getting all juiced up.” Dylan nodded, taking in the
many electrodes with wires running from James back to the machine. “How’s it feel?”

“Like a warm bath, with a few pine needles on the bottom of the tub.”

“Honest as ever.” Dylan chuckled. “I’m glad you’re here, James. I wanted to check in before I head out. I’m off to Chicago for a wedding. An old college buddy. But before I left, I wanted to make sure you’d worked out the transportation issue.”

James explained that Rachel was driving him.

“So your father is on board, then? He approves of the treatment now that you’re coming by horse and buggy?”

“Dat doesn’t have much hope for the treatment, but he’ll allow it.”

“Glad to hear it. And Rachel is your ride?” Dylan touched his chin, his eyes thoughtful. “That’s an interesting development.”

James didn’t answer. He had told Dylan of his doubt about the future of his relationship with Rachel.

“How’s that working out, buddy?”

“It’s wonderful and terrible, all at the same time.” James explained that he’d broken away from Rachel, but she refused to give up.

“I admire her spunk,” Dylan said. “Perhaps she thinks your relationship is strong enough to withstand the obstacles of your injury.”

James grunted. Sometimes Dylan used words that didn’t have a whole lot to do with real people.

Dylan stepped toward the wall to examine a picture of a covered bridge. “So would you say things are going more smoothly with your father?”

Another grunt. “Not to complain, because I’m grateful for the good roof and food my parents provide. But every time I turn around, my father makes another decision that pushes me down. Yesterday, he said he’s thinking of hiring a foreman—a stranger—to come manage the orchard. He wants to replace me.”

“Whoa. First of all, no man can replace his oldest son. That’s a role
you’ve got for life. And I’m not sure it’s such a bad idea to bring in someone to manage the place while you finish your treatment. You’ve been to hell and back, James. You deserve time to recuperate, and your family needs someone to run the orchard while you’re gone.”

“Gone? I’m not going anywhere. Just a trip into town for treatment a few hours a day. I can run the orchard.”

Wincing, Dylan held his palms up. “I’m just sayin’, it sounds to me like Jimmy is trying to give everyone a break. I would try to keep an open mind on that front.”

James bit back a response. He didn’t want to argue with Dylan, who had reached out to James when no one else made any sense. But Dylan didn’t understand that it was up to Amish sons to keep the family business going. He didn’t see that bringing in a stranger would be another loss to James, a failure in so many ways.

Just then Chet returned, and James was grateful for the distraction. Talking with Dylan usually made James feel better, but today … today everything was winding him up tighter.

Chet turned off the machine and parked a wheelchair beside James. As James began to tear at the Velcro attachments of the harness, Chet stopped him. “You’re gonna leave that on. Doc Finley wants to check your progress before the two to three hours of hard labor. We’re going to use the PT room because it’s got the platform and support rails we need.” He moved the machine away from the wall and pulled out two hefty plugs. “I’ve got to wheel this equipment down there since you’ll be harnessed up for the test.”

“Wait.” This was news to James. “Are you saying that I’ll need to be hooked up to an electric machine whenever I want to walk?”

“Uh …” Chet rubbed his chin. “At least in the beginning. That’s the way I understand it. You’d better ask Dr. Finley to explain that.”

Dylan tagged along as James rolled down the hall to the PT room, a wide-open space with stairs and platforms used by patients
learning to increase mobility and strength. Dylan went off to take a phone call while Chet went to find Dr. Finley.

On the far side of the room, an elderly woman moved slowly, pushing a walker. The therapist walking in front of her smiled.

“That’s right, Mrs. Freeman. Just remember not to pivot when you turn. That knee isn’t ready to be twisted yet.”

The elderly woman paused, her gaze sweeping over to James. “I got a brand-new knee, just two days ago,” she told him.

“And you’re walking already?” James nodded. “Good for you.”

Mrs. Freeman smiled. “Give me another week and I’ll be dancing,” she said with a wink. “What are you in for, son?”

“I’m getting a treatment to help me walk again,” James said. “Automobile accident.”

“Well, you’re in the right place.” When the woman came closer, James could see the soft, wrinkled skin of her face, and the quick, dark eyes that reminded him of his grandmother. Mammi Miriam lived with his aunt in Bird-in-Hand, too far to visit often, and James missed her quick responses and humorous stories.

“This is my second bionic knee,” Mrs. Freeman went on, “and I’m pleased as punch with the first one. My husband says he’ll never be able to catch up with me now. He’s a year older than I am.”

“Maybe you will slow down for him,” James said. “If you want to be caught.”

The Englisher lady swatted at him dismissively. “Oh, Arty caught me fifty-two years ago and I’ve been a blushing bride ever since.”

James grinned. He liked Mrs. Freeman’s sense of humor, and talking with her was a good way to occupy his mind during this tense time. They chatted for a few more minutes while Chet rolled in the machine and set it up. Mrs. Freeman kept up her walking, gently guided by the therapist.

Like a gathering flock of birds, they came. JJ, the physical therapist with the black cross inked on his neck, came in. Dylan returned
and Dr. Finley sauntered in with two assistants trailing him like ducklings.

“Let’s see how you’re doing. Are you ready to try and stand up?” Dr. Finley asked. Dressed in a bow tie and baggy pants, Alec Finley had a round, pink face with a large nose. The man always reminded James more of a circus clown than a medical doctor.

“I want to stand,” James said, “but I thought I’d be doing it on my own, without the electricity.” He pointed to the machine. “I can’t be taking that thing around with me everywhere.”

“No, you can’t,” Finley said. “But right now, you need it to get started. Let me explain how this works. We used to think that the spinal cord was just a conductor for the brain—sort of like a telephone line carrying messages, if you will. I know you’re Amish, but you understand how electric service works.”

James nodded. “If wires aren’t attached to your home, you won’t have a working telephone.”

“Right. So we thought that the message to move your legs had to come from the brain, down the spinal cord and to the legs. And that’s how things usually work. But we’ve learned that sometimes, when the spinal cord has been damaged, we can restore the connection between the muscles in the legs and the nervous system with a little electricity flowing into the lower spinal cord. We have been able to make the leg muscles function without any input from the brain.” Doc Finley pressed his palms together in prayer position and touched his fingertips to his chin. “That’s the treatment in a nutshell; what we’re trying to do for you.”

“And I hear you’ve had success with the treatment,” Dylan said.

“There was one remarkable case, an athletic young man around the same age as James. He has worked very hard in rehab—hours a day—but he has managed to stand on his own and walk with some assistance.”

“The exercises and PT are not a problem for me,” James said. “I’ll do what it takes.”

“And so will we,” Dr. Finley said earnestly. “Let’s give it a try.”

Chet and JJ, the physical therapist, helped him onto a high bench that faced U-shaped support bars. After the electrodes were checked, JJ instructed him on how to plant his feet solidly on the floor and slide forward.