A Man of His Word (23 page)

“I’m fine, Moriah.” Ruth crossed her arms over her chest as she lay in her bed, propped up by several soft pillows. “I don habe a code.”

Moriah placed a bed tray laden with warm turkey noodle soup, orange juice, and two cherry-flavored cough drops. Normally their
mami
had forbidden food in the bedrooms, but she always made an exception for a sick child. “
Ya
, Ruthie, I’m afraid you do.”

“I shood habe gone to school today,” she said, ignoring Moriah’s words and the tray in front of her.

“You should eat your soup. That will help you feel better. Besides, you love turkey noodle soup.”

“Not hungry.” Ruth turned her head and stared out her small bedroom window. She was the only child that had her own room, a tiny area up in the attic. It would get almost unbearably hot in the summer and frigid cold in the winter, but Ruth loved having a space to call her very own. Except for today. Nothing would make her happy. Not only wasn’t she feeling well, but she hated to miss school.

Moriah sat down next to her and tucked a strand of Ruth’s dishwater-blonde hair behind her small ear. Her sister had her hair pinned up, but she wasn’t wearing her
kapp
. “Ruthie, please eat a little bit of the soup. And have a sip of the orange juice as well. As soon as you feel better you can go back to school.”

Ruth didn’t respond right away. When she finally faced Moriah, she sighed. “Okay,” she said, sounding like she had cotton balls stuffed up her nose. “Thig mebbe I can go to school tomorrow?”

“We’ll see. It’s up to
Mami
, of course.”

“But you wood send me, woodn’t you?”

With a smile, Moriah rose from Ruth’s bed. “If you were better, I would.” She had never met a child so enthralled with school. School had been a necessary part of life, and Moriah had done well in her studies. But she had never cultivated a love for education like her youngest sibling did. After this school year, Ruth would only have two more years left, and Moriah could only imagine how hard it will be on her sister to leave school for good after the eighth grade.

Bringing the spoon up to her mouth, Ruth blew on the pale brown liquid. One thin noodle hung limply over the side of the utensil. “You don habe to stay,” she said, then sipped her soup.

“Let me know when you’re done then.”

Ruth nodded. “I’ll probly read a book after that.”

“And hopefully get some sleep.”

Her sister smiled, her brown eyes red-rimmed from watering. “I will. I promise.”

Giving her a nod, Moriah then turned around and went downstairs to the kitchen. When she inhaled the scent of the turkey noodle soup, her belly growled. The nausea had subsided over the past couple weeks. It was the first week of May, and she was almost three months along. Grateful that her morning sickness had been short-lived, she picked up a small white bowl from inside a cabinet and walked over to the soup pot simmering on the stove. Just as she was spooning the steaming soup, she heard the sound of a car pulling in the driveway. Assuming it was one of her
daed
’s customers, she sat down at the table. Folding her hand.s and closing her eyes, she started to say grace. Before she finished the prayer, someone burst through the front door.

“Moriah! Moriah!”

The voice sounded like Gabriel. What was he doing? She jumped up from her chair and almost ran into him as he dashed into the kitchen. A knot suddenly formed in her throat. Something was horribly wrong. One look at Gabriel’s stricken face told her as much. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“There isn’t much time, Moriah. We have to leave. Now.”

“Leave? What are you talking about?”

Gabriel took her by the arm. “I’ll tell you in the car—”

“Car? Where are we going?”

Facing her, he held on to her shoulders. “Moriah, it’s Levi.”

Hope replaced the dread inside her for a split instant. “You saw Levi? Has he come back?”

“
Nee
,” he said, guiding her to the door. “He’s in the hospital.”

Gabe hated hospitals. He hated the chemical smell, the unnatural glow of fluorescent lighting, the unending and repetitive questions people asked you while refusing to answer your own. But more than anything he hated the pain and the sadness that permeated the brick building. The last time he’d been in a hospital, his mother was being treated for cancer. Hospitals held nothing but bad memories for him.

And now he was in the middle of another horrible nightmare. He’d received a phone call from the call box early that morning. The caller had identified herself as a “hospital representative.” He had no idea how they’d found his number, but he hadn’t cared once they told him what had happened to Levi. A three-car accident on Interstate 90. That was all he knew, because that was all they would tell him.

Now, three hours later, he, his
daed
, and Moriah were sitting in the emergency room’s visitor area at University Hospital, waiting to hear about Levi. Technically he was still in the
bann
, but nothing would have kept them away from him, not when they weren’t sure how injured he truly was. The church used the
bann
as a corrective measure, as a means for bringing the erring person into repentance and back to the Amish. And even though Gabe, his father, and Moriah were expected to limit their interactions with Levi, they’d all agreed seeing him now was worth any chastising they might receive.

Gabe glanced at his father’s ashen face as he sat next to Moriah. He could only imagine the memories this place held for him. First his wife. Now his son.

Then he looked at Moriah. Her eyes were dry, her expression stoic. But she had shredded the tissue in her hands to bits. This couldn’t be good for her or the baby. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Not only had her husband left her, but now she had to wait and see if he was dead or alive.

Gabe closed his eyes at the morbid thought. Levi couldn’t die. That was impossible. Regardless of what his brother had done, Gabe still loved him. He couldn’t bear to lose him.

Jumping up from his seat, he said, “I’m going to find out what’s taking so long. We should have heard something by now.”

“
Nee
,” John said, holding up his hand. “Give them time to do their job, Gabriel. I’m sure they’ll tell us what’s happened to Levi when they can.”

Gabe was amazed at his father’s composure. Then he remembered the pillar of strength he’d been during his mother’s illness. Other than his reaction to Levi’s leaving, he never showed much emotional weakness. Gabriel admired him for that and wished he had a fraction of the inner strength both his father and Moriah possessed.

While he heeded his father and didn’t approach the woman at the front desk, he couldn’t sit still and wait either. Instead he walked over to the window and stared outside into the parking lot. Not a horse or buggy in sight. Just lots of cars. Lots and lots of cars.

Suddenly he became aware that he was being watched. He turned and saw a young woman staring at him. He looked out the window again, ignoring her. He was used to being stared at, especially when he ventured outside of Middlefield. The Yankees there were used to the Amish way of life, but this woman likely had never even seen an Amish man before.

“Mrs. Miller?”

He spun around at the sound of Moriah’s name. A trim man wearing a white coat stood at the doorway of the waiting room, a stethoscope around his neck. Gabe assumed he was the doctor.

Moriah rose from her chair. “Yes?”

“Can I speak with you privately?”

Although the room wasn’t crowded, there were a few people sitting in the chairs, watching TV, thumbing through magazines, or dozing off. Dread pooled in Gabe’s belly as he crossed the room to stand next to Moriah. From the doctor’s bleak expression, he could tell the news wouldn’t be good.

“This is my h-husband’s brother,” Moriah said. Gabe didn’t miss how she stumbled over the word. “And his father. Whatever you have to say to me, you should also say to them.”

The doctor nodded, then gestured for them to follow him into the hallway, a few feet down from the receptionist. The area allowed more privacy than the waiting room.

“The car accident your husband was in was extremely serious, Mrs. Miller. He’s suffered massive internal injuries, along with a concussion. I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you.” He paused and looked at each of them, then returned his attention to Moriah. “We’re concerned about the amount of blood he’s lost. We’re giving him transfusions, but he’s lost a great deal.”

“What does that mean?” Moriah asked.

“It means that his situation is very, very grave. He needs to have surgery to repair the damage to his organs. You must sign a consent form in order for us to proceed. The faster we get him into surgery, the better his chances are of recovery.”

Gabe’s blood turned to ice. Chance of recovery? No, he couldn’t have heard the doctor correctly.

“The nurse will be out with the paperwork. Will you sign the form, Mrs. Miller?”

Moriah nodded.

As the doctor turned to walk away, a tall, distinguished man in a black suit barged into the emergency room area. “Where is my daughter?” he bellowed, dashing up to the glassed-in receptionist area.

The red-haired woman seated behind the counter slid open the glass window. “May I help you?” she asked, her voice calm and detached.

“I want to know where my daughter is! I demand to see her right now!”

The ruckus caught Gabe’s attention. When he took a good look at the older gentleman, his mouth dropped open. Robert Johnston, owner of Johnston’s Farms.

“Sir, if you’ll kindly have a seat—”

“I will not have a seat! I get this phone call that my daughter’s been in some sort of accident, but you people won’t tell me anything, and you expect me to have a seat?”

“What’s your daughter’s name, sir?”

“Taylor Johnston.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.” The receptionist shut the glass window.

Robert Johnston started to pace in front of the waiting room entrance. Gabe glanced down at Moriah, who was staring at the man. He didn’t know if she had made the connection yet or not. His father, on the other hand, did. John’s worried gaze met Gabe’s.

“Mrs. Miller? Here are the forms the doctor needs to you to sign.”

Gabe hadn’t even heard the nurse approach. He looked to see her handing Moriah a clipboard and a pen. Moriah barely scanned the documents, then signed her name and handed them back to the nurse.

“Thank you. Mr. Miller is being prepped for surgery, which is on the second floor. Just take the elevator down the hall, then turn left. There will be a receptionist in the waiting room area, just tell her who you’re waiting for.” The nurse placed her hand on Moriah’s forearm. “We’re doing all we can for your husband, Mrs. Miller.”

“Thank you,” Moriah whispered.

To his left, Gabe heard the glass window sliding open again. “Mr. Johnston?”

Mr. Johnston stopped pacing and strode up to the counter. “What have you found out?”

“Your daughter is going to be fine.”

The man slumped against the window. “Thank God.”

“The nurse said you could see her. I’ll let you in.”

The faint sound of a buzzer filled the air as a set of brown double doors opened near the entrance of the emergency room. Mr. Johnston disappeared through the doors, and they softly closed behind him.

“Gabriel.” John said.

Turning, Gabe answered, “
Ya
?”

“We need to go upstairs. Moriah, are you ready?”

She nodded again. The color had seeped from her face, fear and confusion present in her blue eyes.

He followed her and his
daed
to the elevator. Once they arrived at the surgery waiting room, he told Moriah and his father to go sit down. “I’ll let the woman know we’re here.”

After he gave the receptionist the information she needed, he turned to see his
daed
and Moriah seated next to each other, holding hands, both obviously deep in prayer. As he waited for them to finish, he walked over to a pale-blue wall. The décor of the room, from the comfortable chairs to the peaceful paintings of country scenery, were meant to invoke serenity, but inside Gabe felt anything but calm. He struggled to wrap his mind around what had happened. A car accident. Obviously Levi had been with Taylor. She would be okay, but Levi was struggling for his life. Of course he was glad that she hadn’t been seriously injured . . . He needed to push her out of his mind. He had to think about Levi. He had to pray for his brother. Taking off his hat, he leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes, and started to pray.