Rebecca's Return (16 page)

“Ya, I suppose,” she allowed.

Isaac said nothing, allowing Miriam to feel what she was feeling. It was better that way. She would come back sooner than if he tried to convince her that everything would be well. Everything might
not
be well, at least from their point of view, and that hurt him too. At the moment, any words he might speak of John’s eventual wellness would not be genuine. It was better to let the pain hurt. God would understand, Isaac was sure. He should, after all, be big enough to handle some doubts.

“If he’s crippled,” Isaac finally said, “there will be
gnawdi.
Others have found it so before us, and we too can carry the load.”

Isaac was sure he saw tears in Miriam’s eyes, as he found something he could use as a hitching post. Obviously none of the hospital designers thought about buggies using the parking lot. One of the bright streetlights would have to do, its light buzzing above them, attracting the night insects. Isaac tied his horse to the pole, making sure the rope was secure.

They entered by the front doors, finding the information desk unattended.

“There’s no one around,” Isaac said, looking up and down the hall.

“There’s someone coming now,” Miriam whispered, pulling gently on Isaac’s arm to make him stop craning his neck.

The side door opened, and a white-clad nurse approached. “May I help you?”

“We are the Millers. John’s parents,” Isaac told her.

“John Miller…oh, yes.” She nodded her head. “I believe he’s out of ER and in a room. Let me check.” She sat at the desk and logged in on a computer. Within seconds she said, “Yes, he’s in room 201—down the hall.”

They followed her silently, feeling out of place with the antiseptic off-white walls surrounding them. The nurse stopped in front of a closed door, opened it, then stood aside for them to enter. “I’ll tell the doctor you’re here.”

Miriam had eyes only for the still form lying on the bed, a single tube running into his arm, his head appearing swollen on one side but with no other visible signs of injury. She approached the bed, while Isaac lagged behind, self-consciousness sweeping over him.

Isaac brought his hands together in front of him, but they too felt unfamiliar, rough, foreign, as if they weren’t even his own. Miriam seemed to be having no such problems moving closer to John.

“John,” she whispered, receiving no response. “We’ve come.” She reached out to touch his hand and held it between both of hers. “Can you hear me?” she asked, still in a whisper.

When there was no answer, Miriam gently laid John’s hand by his side again. “John,” she whispered, reaching out to brush his forehead, in a gesture from his childhood.

“He’s still unconscious,” Isaac said, knowing Miriam knew, but needing to say it anyway.

Miriam nodded. “John,
Da Hah
will help you,” she said softly. “
Da Dat
—your father is here too. We came as soon as we could.”

“He can’t hear you,” Isaac felt the need to say.

She nodded but continued, “We don’t know yet what’s wrong with you, but they have good doctors here. You’re in Adams County Hospital. They brought you here in the ambulance,
Dat
said.”

Behind them the door opened, letting in a young man.

“I’m Dr. Wine,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller?”

They nodded.

“Let me look at John’s chart again,” he said, walking over to the bed. A moment later, he motioned to them to be seated. Across the room, he took one of the chairs from against the wall.

“We only have X-rays to go by at this time. We can find no internal injuries. Breathing, vitals, in good shape. That was quite a distance to be thrown, from what the medics on the scene told me.”

“What is wrong with him?” Isaac asked, dreading the all-important question.

“He suffered a skull fracture—a
linear
fracture
.
It means that a portion of the skull is broken and there is the possibility of further complications. Quite a severe blow, as you can tell from the swelling. That’s what’s causing the unconsciousness at this point. We will do a CT scan in the morning to see if there is anything else.”

Isaac waited.

Dr. Wine sensed their fear. “Your son’s condition will be monitored closely. With the care that we have here at Adams, he should be okay.”

“What do you expect to find on the scan?”

“We’re not sure.” Dr. Wine wrinkled his brow. “Hopefully there is nothing else, but there could be bleeding into the brain.”

“Did he break his neck?” Isaac asked another dreaded question.

“No—thankfully not.”

Isaac drew a relieved breath.

Dr. Wine noted Isaac’s relief and said, “That’s always a concern, but no broken neck this time.”

“The Lord was taking care of him,” Miriam offered.

“I’m sure it helped,” Dr. Wine agreed. “Now if one of you wants to stay the night, the nurse will help you. It’s not too comfortable, but it will do. You can come and go in this room as you please. I’ll see you in the morning.”

They nodded again as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Miriam got up, leaving Isaac seated. Walking over to take John’s hand again, she asked Isaac, “You think he knows what he’s talking about?”

“The doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Seems knowledgeable, like all of them.”

“They’re taught that—in the schools.”

“At least his neck isn’t broken.”

“You don’t get this without something being the matter.” Miriam ran her hand lightly over John’s swollen skull.

“Doctor was talking about a scan in the morning. That’s sounds good to me.” Isaac shifted on his chair.

“They don’t do scans unless something’s wrong. I’ll feel a whole lot better once we know for sure.”

Isaac nodded, wanting to leave it there. “You staying for the night?”

“Yes. Can you bring in my bag?”

He nodded. “I’ll go out and get it.”

Stepping outside the room, Isaac wasn’t sure which way was out. The walls all looked the same. Taking a guess, he turned right and found the front desk they had passed on the way in. There was still no one there, nor when he returned with the small bag for Miriam.

As he walked into the room, he saw Miriam silently staring into space. “I’ll be going now,” Isaac told her quietly, setting the bag on the floor.

When there was no response, Isaac slipped away, leaving Miriam alone. This was for the best, he figured. In the days ahead, they would all pull their lives back together, as the Lord supplied them strength. Now it was important that each of them was allowed to grieve fully, and Miriam wanted to be alone with John. Isaac knew her well enough to know that.

Back on the highway, Isaac used his flashers only when a car was coming, conserving battery power. The horse pulled the buggy at a slower speed than coming into town. The miles were adding up, and so Isaac let the horse have its time.

Thoughts from earlier in the evening returned to him in the midst of a great wave of sleepiness. Shaking his head to stay awake, Isaac knew it would simply not do to fall asleep on the state road. His horse would no doubt be able to find the way home even with Isaac asleep at the reins, but it was dangerous to take the chance. Adding another accident to the night would not be worth the few winks of sleep he would gain.

It was his memory from the scene of the accident, those pieces of buggy scattered around the yard, that woke him out of his stupor. He felt a surge of anger at whoever had done it. He hoped the police had caught the person by now, letting his mind imagine who that person might have been.

It was likely some young person. Perhaps from Unity, someone he might know, wild, reckless, and evil. Who would be capable of doing such a thing to his son? No sooner was Isaac fully aware of where his thoughts were going, than guilt for thinking them followed.

Had he not earlier in the evening been reading the words of the Lord Himself? One must forgive. Did he not know he would have to live by those words? Live them because he wanted to, yes, but also because this was what the Lord said.

Isaac breathed deeply, realizing he must let the anger go. Must do it even for someone he knew or didn’t know. Must do it even if John was paralyzed.
Yes, regardless,
he told himself.

The words had been words to not only preach but words to live by. It was the will of God, sovereign in all His ways, who had brought those words to his attention, even for this very purpose.

Isaac sighed, not sure he liked this. He thought of John lying on the hospital bed, a tube running into his arm. But barely thirty minutes later, he made the turn up Wheat Ridge and soon into his own driveway. And in the wee hours of the morning, he dropped into bed and fell instantly asleep.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

B
eatrice had no other calls that night but drove to the other end of the county anyway, to the Shawnee State Forest. She pulled into the state park and did a drive-through, looking for what, she wasn’t certain. All appeared normal, the cabins mostly unoccupied for the winter. She reported her findings to Sally and received a sleepy acknowledgement on the radio.

Beatrice then called it a day and drove back to the station, where she parked her cruiser, said goodnight to Sally, found her keys to her 99 Volvo, and headed for home.

Home was on Heidi Ridge Road, in a small house purchased just after she and Andy got married.
Andy.
Sometimes she wondered if her mother had been right about him. Isabelle had never wanted her to marry Andy, but she had thought she knew better. Like many a girl who wished to try different roads from those chosen by her mother, she married him despite any and all objections.

Have I been wrong?
The question was fresh in her mind tonight as she pulled in the driveway. She gathered her purse and reached to turn out the headlights when she saw Andy’s red Ford truck parked in its usual place in the driveway. There was nothing wrong with the parking. But it was the dent that caught her eye. The metal was bent as if a large object had been hit with brute force. Beatrice felt a wave of weariness and anger engulf her as she considered the obvious cause.

She took a closer look. The brief inspection produced a firm conclusion. Andy had hit something large and hit it hard. Beatrice stood there in the night air, the red Ford lit up by her Volvo’s headlights, her deep tiredness cruelly pushed aside by a now rushing anger.

How could he do this?

With purpose in her step, she turned her headlights off, slammed the car door, and went inside. She expected to find Andy in the bedroom, sound asleep. Instead he was seated at the kitchen table, his back turned toward her, a cup of coffee between his hands.

The unusualness of this only served to cement her conclusions. “So, what have you been up to tonight?” she asked, wondering if he would admit his guilt.

He didn’t move or flinch, his arms on the table, his shoulders stooped forward.

“I asked you, what have you been up to tonight?” she asked louder.

Still nothing.

So much for subtlety. “You had an accident tonight, didn’t you?” she demanded, marching around in front of him. “Hit an Amish buggy.”

He kept his eyes on the cup of coffee. “What are you talking about?”

“You hit a buggy,” she said firmly. “Don’t try denying it. I was at the scene.”

“I just went out for a ride. What harm is there in that?”

“Like hitting a buggy? Like leaving the scene of an accident? Do you know how much trouble you’re in? In trouble with
me
?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t hit a buggy.”

She glared at him, her anger flaring fresh and vigorous. “Then what are you doing up at this hour of the night? And why is that fresh dent in your truck?”

“I hit a deer,” he muttered, his eyes still on the cup of coffee. “I was out for a drive. I needed some air.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”