The Search (28 page)

Jonah had never asked her about joining the church. She was getting to know him well enough to know that he was watching and waiting, letting time provide the answer. “No. Not electricity. Bess has been teaching me how to cook on a propane stove top. And how to use a woodstove too.”

Jonah looked back at her. “You could get those things, used, at an auction.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll go to an auction.”

Jonah stifled a patronizing smile. “Make out a list and I’ll get what you need.”

“I can take care of these things.”
I can take care of myself
, was what she meant.

Jonah gave a short laugh. “Might be a little hard to purchase items at an Amish auction, Lainey. You don’t speak Deitsch.”

Now her spine stiffened. “I’m learning.” But she was a long, long way from being fluent.

He walked up to her. “I’m offering to help. Would it be so hard to accept it?” He searched her eyes.

Yes,
she thought, suddenly shy.
More than you could imagine.
She’d always had a hard time accepting help from others. Depending on others. Trusting others.

But she was trying to get past that obstacle. It was part of what she was learning this summer. How could she become Amish if she didn’t learn how to rely on her community? It would be like missing the forest for the trees.

She wiped her hand on her apron and held it out to him to shake. “Then I accept your help.”

Jonah looked at her extended hand, then took her hand in his. They remained that way for only the briefest moment, touching palm to palm; she was the one to pull away.

She gave him a shy smile. “Thank you.”

Dear Robin and Ally,

Isn’t the start of autumn wonderful? The air is getting crisp in the morning and evening, and apples are falling off the trees! Don’t you just love autumn?

So . . . perhaps there is a man of interest in Lancaster County after all.

Love,

Lainey

P.S. By the way, did I happen to mention that I’m becoming Amish?

Jonah took the time to find out what the state requirements would be to get permits and a license for a commercial kitchen. Then he drove a wagon to an auction and purchased a used propane refrigerator and stovetop oven, delivered them to Lainey’s cottage one hazy and humid September afternoon, and hooked them up for her. The sky had begun to cloud over and the kitchen grew dim, so Lainey held a lamp over his head while he worked. She studied his face in the shifting light of the flame. Once, he caught her eye and smiled. She considered how attractive he was—the type of man who was clearly comfortable in his own skin and had grown up unaffected by his good looks.

When he finished, he stood and turned on the gas to the stove. When she saw the pilot light fire up, she clapped her hands together and said, “How can I ever thank you?”

Jonah looked down at her. He was quite a bit taller than she was. “I should be thanking you, Lainey.”

She wanted to ask why but could see he had something on his mind. He seemed to be carefully arranging his thoughts, so she remained quiet.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. The night of that accident, when you stayed by the buggy until the ambulance arrived. You kept saying not to give up . . .” He swallowed hard. “I remember. I remember hearing your voice and I held on to those words. They helped me stay alive.” His eyes became glassy with tears and he wiped them away with a laugh. “I can’t stop tearing up this summer. It’s like I’m shedding a lifetime of bottled tears.”

They locked eyes for a long moment, then she leaned toward him. She stroked his face softly. He caught her hand and held it to his lips. He kissed it with his head bent over it so that she couldn’t see his eyes.

A month had passed since Simon’s bone marrow transplant. Jonah and Lainey were seated in hard plastic chairs in an office as a nurse explained what to expect after Simon was discharged. His blood counts were returning to safe levels, the nurse said.

“Does that mean the bone marrow transplant worked?” Jonah asked.

“The transplanted marrow seems to be engrafting,” the nurse said. “We’re cautiously optimistic. But I have to warn you that recovery can be like a roller-coaster ride. The patient may be irritable and unpleasant with the caregiver. Helplessness is also a common feeling among bone marrow transplant patients, which can breed further feelings of anger or resentment.”

“Even more than usual?” Lainey asked.

“One day a patient may feel much better, only to awake the next day feeling as sick as ever.” She gave Lainey a bright smile. “So if his daily blood samples continue to show that he’s producing normal red blood cells, he can go home by the end of this week.”

“So soon?” Lainey asked in a dull, polite way.

“By the end of this week,” the nurse repeated cheerfully.

Jonah had a funny feeling the staff was eager to have Simon leave.

“In the first several weeks,” the nurse continued, “he’ll be weak and tired and will want to sleep and rest frequently. He’ll need to return to the hospital for frequent follow-up visits for medication, blood transfusions, and monitoring.”

“And then?” Jonah asked. “How long until he can take care of himself?”

“Recovery from a bone marrow transplant is lengthy and can take up to six months to resume normal activities, including returning to full-time work.”

Jonah and Lainey exchanged a look of shock. Six months!

“During the first three months after the transplant, he’ll be vulnerable to complications due to the fact that his white blood cell counts will be very low and incapable of providing normal protection against everyday viruses and bacteria. So he’ll have to avoid crowded public places such as movie theatres and grocery stores to avoid contact with potential infection.” The nurse clapped the file shut. “And he really shouldn’t have any friends visiting for a while.”

Jonah’s eyebrows shot up. “Well,
that
shouldn’t be a problem. Simon has no friends.”

That made the nurse burst out with a laugh. “Will wonders never cease?”

The first morning after Simon was released from the hospital and moved into Lainey’s house, he rang a bell at five in the morning to wake her to help him find the bathroom. At six, he rang it again for coffee. At seven, he complained that the eggs she had scrambled for him were cold.

Bess came by in the early afternoon to see if Lainey needed any help. Stoney Ridge was experiencing an Indian summer, and it was too hot to pick rose blooms. Jonah wanted to keep the rose petal harvest going, though he still hadn’t decided what to do about Rose Hill Farm or their home in Ohio, either. The roses were in their second bloom, and they had to work quickly in this heat to get those roses picked and dried. Lainey smiled to see the Band-Aids covering Bess’s hands.

Lainey made Simon lunch, went back to the kitchen to clean up, only to have Simon ring the bell again. “I don’t like crust on my sandwiches,” he complained to her. “I don’t like crunchy peanut butter, only smooth. I asked for a Coke, not milk. Do you think I’m a six-year-old?”

Lainey took his plate back to the kitchen and cut the crust off of his sandwich, then took it back to him with a Coke.

Bess sat in the front room and watched this ongoing interaction. The third time Simon rang the bell to complain, Bess stood abruptly and held a hand in the air to stop Lainey from taking his plate back to the kitchen. “So, you don’t like your lunch?” Bess’s voice was dangerously calm.

“Dang right I don’t like that lunch. Didn’t like breakfast, neither.” Simon turned to Lainey. “And I didn’t like the coffee. I told you I want it strong.”

Bess picked up the bell, walked to the door, opened it, threw the bell outside, and closed the door.

Simon did not make any further comments through the rest of lunch. He didn’t thank Lainey for it, but he didn’t complain about it, either.

For the next few hours, Bess helped Lainey roll out pie crusts in the kitchen, and they talked quietly to each other as they worked, while Simon rested. Finally, sounding hurt that he was being left out of the conversation, Simon called to them to ask what kind of pies they were baking. Bess had just taken a pie out of the oven and stood at the door, holding it in her hands with hot mitts. “Apple and pumpkin.”

Lainey pulled out a rack for Bess to set the pies on and asked Simon what his favorite pie was.

He scowled at her. “I only like two kinds of pie: hot and cold.”

Bess and Lainey laughed at that, genuinely laughed, and Simon’s mournful, hound-dog face brightened a bit.

Not much later, Lainey and Bess were cleaning up the mess they’d made in the kitchen when an ear-busting woof came from the front of the cottage. Bess dropped the wet dishrag and hurried to open the front door.

“Don’t open that door!” Simon hollered from his bed. “We’re getting bombed!”

“That’s no bomb! That’s Boomer!” Bess said, clapping her hands in delight. She threw open the door and in charged Boomer, looking a little thinner and smelling pretty bad. He jumped up on Bess, then Lainey, then put his dirty front paws on Simon’s bed.