The Search (8 page)

Chapter 10

“Some say a fool can't be trusted. I prefer to say that a fool can't be trusted twice.”

A
ARON
S
CHROCK

F
rannie Eicher was bored. She had now been in her beige hospital room for twenty-four hours, and that was twenty-three hours too long. There was truly no reason to still be trapped there. She felt fine now. Almost good.

Okay,
good
was stretching things a bit. Her face was bruised and swollen, and there were too many cuts on her face to count. Above all that, her eye ached. She was more tired than she could ever remember being, and her brain felt a little fuzzy.

But all that aside, she was definitely well enough to be released from her side of the beige, sterile room. After Luke left, the walls seemed to close in on her, making her feel like she was trapped in a closet.

More than anything, she ached to open a window and have the fresh air fan her face and cool her worries. But the nurse had told her that the windows were not made to be opened.

As her roommate's voice grew louder on the phone—truly the woman had more friends and problems than a whole congregation—Frannie gritted her teeth.

Which is how the doctor found her.

“You're looking pretty upset, Frannie,” he said after checking her pulse and reading her chart. “Is the pain worse?”

“
Nee.
I just don't like being here.”

His worried expression eased. “You'd be surprised how many people tell me that. No one likes being in the hospital.”

“The windows won't open and my roommate is chatty. Don'tcha think I could leave now?”

Dr. Carlson looked up from the notes he was taking. “You're really chomping at the bit. Are you sure you feel ready to be on your way?”

Hope filled her tone. “Oh, yes. My eye will soon be better, right?”

“It's healing, and the pain should lessen every day.” He looked at her chart again. “I see here that you're only taking Ibuprofen now. That seems to be taking care of the pain?”

“Jah.”
She'd take the dull pain that remained over the feeling of being trapped.

He glanced at her chart again. “The stitches can come out in a week. You can come back for that, or perhaps you have someone who could remove them for you?”

“Yes. We have a local midwife who's had some medical training. She's given children stitches. Perhaps she could take them out, too?”

“Most likely.”

All that news sounded hopeful. “So you will let me leave? Soon?” She was proud of herself for not saying
immediately
.

His lips twitched. “I didn't say that.”

“What are you saying?” She felt crestfallen. “What are you waiting for?”

To her irritation, his half-smile turned into a broad grin. “You are an impatient patient, aren't you?” he asked, making a little joke. “Frannie, before I sign your release form, I'd like to know what you're planning to do when you get home.”

The question caught her off guard. “What I'm planning to do?”

“Yes.” He looked at her steadily. “I want to know what you intend to do for the next few days.”

It sounded like a trick question, but she didn't see how it could be. “Well, I run a bed-and-breakfast, you see. It's called The Yellow Bird Inn. It was once my aunt's.” Though she knew her mouth was running, she couldn't seem to stop. “The Yellow Bird is not too big of a place. There's only six bedrooms. But it keeps me plenty busy, with cooking and cleaning, and organizing things.”

He shifted. “Cooking and cleaning and organizing?”

Though she could have sworn she heard a note of dismay in his voice she got so excited about getting back to the inn, that her mouth just kept moving. “Oh,
jah.
I have become a pretty good innkeeper. And I even have guests, now.” The good Lord knew that wasn't always the case.

“How many guests?”

“Three rooms are full up.”

He gazed at her once again, then scanned her chart. “Your inn sounds very nice.”

“Oh, it is! You should come one day and stay for the night. Each bedroom has its own bathroom. All the furniture is Amish made, and Amish sewn quilts are on every bed. Outside, we have a nice garden and some walking paths. I just painted the outside yellow.”

“You did?”

“Well, me and a pair of painters. The men did the high spots, but I painted much of the trim a shiny bright white.”

“When did you have time to paint?”

“Oh, I made time. I'm not much for sitting around.”

A line formed between his brows. “It doesn't sound like it.”

“It's impossible, you see, because there really is a lot to do. I'm a
gut
cook too. Every morning, I make eggs and bacon for the guests. Along with granola and fresh muffins and little quiches.”

“My mouth is watering. I'll have to tell my wife about it.”

“I hope you do.”

“And who runs it with you?”

She paused. “No one.”

“Ah.”

Ah? Suddenly, he wasn't sounding all that excited. “I'm a mighty good innkeeper,
Doctah.
I work hard to keep the place looking nice and clean.”

“I'm sure you do a very good job. I bet your inn is exceptional.” He wrote something down. “When you get home, will you, by chance, still have guests?”

“I hope so.” She bit her lip. “If they haven't left by now. My friend Beth was going to try to stay and help out a bit. But you never know . . . It takes a lot of work to keep things running right. And she doesn't cook all that well.”

“So she's not much help?”

“She is, but Beth has her own job, you see. She's a babysitter for some women in the area.”

“So you won't have Beth's help.”

“No.” As soon as she said the word, she wished she could take it back. Saying she intended to do a lot of work might not have been the best way to assure him she was ready to leave . . .

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So you're saying that as soon as I release you, you're going to go right back to work.” He took a breath. “Then, when you do go to work, it's going to strenuous and you have no help.”

She couldn't lie. Though she wanted to. “Yes.”

He looked at her steadily. “I see.”

She smiled. “I'm glad we discussed this.”

“You're staying another night.”

All happiness vanished like a blink of her one eye. “What? But I'm better!”

“You're better, but you're far from being healed. I think another twenty-four hours of rest and relaxation will help you.”

Frannie closed her eyes in frustration. She was just about to argue, to do anything she could do get herself out of her half of that beige prison . . . when she realized he'd already gone through the curtains.

“Doktah?”
she murmured.

“Oh, he's long gone, honey,” said the lady from the other side. “You sure dug yourself a deep hole, though. Really fast, too.”

Frannie wanted to ignore her. She really did.

But she was so lonely and depressed, she found herself responding. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you want to get out of here, you have to tell everyone that you aren't going to do anything but sit and rest when you get home. That you won't hardly lift a finger.”

“But that's not true.”

“That's why they invented the word
lying,
dear. So you can make stuff up and pretend it's true.” She chuckled again, her laugh sounding so warm and full of mirth that they could have been close friends. How strange, since Frannie had never actually even seen the woman.

“I guess I shouldn't have told him I was going to be so busy,” she admitted. “Next time I see him, I'll follow your advice.
Danke.
”

“You're welcome, dear.”

Then something occurred to her. “Ma'am, if you know what to say, why haven't you said any of that? Why are you still here?”

“That's easy, dear. Unlike you, I don't want to leave.”

“Oh,” she murmured, just as the lady's phone rang and she answered.

What did it mean to be more comfortable with a hospital room than in your own home?

Pushing aside her worries, Frannie focused on the lady sharing her room. Had the woman been so distressed that she could only find comfort in her constant phone conversations? Could she never find peace by herself . . . knowing that the Lord was beside her always?

Though Frannie knew there were times in her life where she was sad, frustrated, and confused, she always knew where to turn when she felt alone. How thankful she was for God's presence in her life.

Frannie was still sitting and trying to be thankful despite the doctor's orders when she heard the door open. It was followed by a shuffling from the other side of the curtain.

Since her roommate's noisy relatives seemed to enter at all hours of the day and night, Frannie half listened. Hoped an orderly or nurse was making plans to wheel her roommate out for a bit.

Getting a break from the noisy woman would be welcome, for sure. When she heard nothing, she found herself leaning a little bit closer to the curtain, listening for a clue of who had just arrived. If the woman was due for more company, perhaps at the very least they would talk about something interesting. For the last hour, the only thing the lady had talked about were her friend's children, who sounded like the worst sort of hellions. Frannie didn't understand how telling children “no” could be such a difficult thing.

The steps pattered closer.

Wary, she looked at the curtain. Saw it flutter.

Oh, surely another nurse wasn't coming in with a needle? She was so tired of getting her blood drawn.

The curtain parted, and she blinked in surprise. “Micah!”

“Yes, it is me. Hello, Frannie.”

“It's
gut
to see you again,” she said, smiling.

“I am happy to see you, too.” Pausing with his back brushing the curtains, he looked her over with frank appreciation. “I do like your smile, Frannie. You must be doing better.”

“Some, but not much. The
doktah
is making me stay another day.”

“That is a shame. But if the doctor says you must stay here, then I suppose you should. He is in charge.”

That was Micah. Nothing if not practical.

To her surprise, he walked closer and sat right down without being asked. And then, to her further surprise, he reached for her hand despite the bandages—and clasped it gently between his own. Immediately, she felt his warmth.

“What is going on?” She didn't mind his hand-holding. Not really. It was just that it was terribly unlike him to show affection.

“Nothing. I decided to take some time off and spend it here with you.”

Uncertainty threaded through her. First the hand-holding, now he'd taken time off from the farm? In all the years she'd known him, he'd never willingly done either. “I'm grateful that you stopped by,” she said cautiously.

Why was he here? Why was he
really
here? She was sure it wasn't just to spend time with her. No, he seemed like a man on a mission.

Which made her mighty uncomfortable.

“You should be grateful. I had a lot of other chores that I had to push aside in order to pay you a call today.”

She
should
be grateful? Carefully, she looked for any sign that he might be joking. But no, he was perfectly serious.

Now she was no longer uncomfortable. Not the slightest bit nervous, either.

She was now angry.

“I've also been waiting for you to notice me. To notice how serious my regard for you is,” he added, holding her hand tighter. Sounding vaguely disapproving.

She glanced his way. Surely he really was joking?

If he'd shown her any attention, it was because she had asked for it. He'd never offered anything on his own.

She looked at his hand, holding hers. Suddenly, he'd taken a keen interest in her and her attention.

With a wince, she realized he was gripping it so tightly she could feel the slick moisture of his palm.

Studying the set of his strong jaw, Frannie realized he was nervous. Whatever had brought him here had made him uneasy.

In a blink, she turned nervous again.

“I've always been grateful for your friendship,” she said. “What is wrong, Micah? Why are you acting so strangely?”

“Friendship?” His brows rose under the black brim of his hat. “I think you know that there's more than that between us. Quite a bit more.”

Was there? At one time she'd hoped that was the case. But since all that had happened with Perry, and her reaction to Luke, she began to realize that Micah was just . . . convenient. But perhaps he had viewed their disjointed relationship far differently? “More?”

“Our relationship is not like the one you have with the detective,” he said tightly.

“Luke?”

He nodded with a jerk of his head.

Ah. Now she understood. This visit was about Luke. Micah obviously hadn't taken her friendship with the
Englischer
in stride.

“Indeed, you are right. It isn't,” she said, unsure what else to say. She didn't want to talk about Luke with Micah. Didn't want to explore feelings she shouldn't have. Didn't want to think about a future that was impossible.

Her reality was sitting by her bedside. She needed to remember that.

After a final, gentle squeeze, Micah released her hand and braced both his palms on his knees. Then leaned forward and spoke. “I did something important. I talked to my mother about us, Frannie.”

“You did?” She swallowed hard. She had never particularly cared for Micah's mother. She was a bossy woman who rarely wanted to listen to Frannie's opinions. “And what did you say?”