The Bishop's Daughter (23 page)

D
ear Lord, why did You allow such a terrible thing to happen? How will we ever get through this?” Leona lamented as she stood in front of her bedroom window and stared out at the gray skies. It had been raining steadily since yesterday evening. Leona was exhausted, and her eyes burned from lack of sleep. The dismal, dark clouds that hid the sun matched her melancholy mood to a T this morning. She leaned against the window casing, tears coursing down her cheeks as she thought about that fateful morning two weeks ago when their lives had been changed in one split second—the moment Papa took his hand off the ladder to swat at a buzzing wasp. Jimmy Scott had been the one to call for help, using his cell phone. Then he’d covered her daed with a blanket and instructed everyone not to move him. After the ambulance took Papa away, Jimmy had given Leona, her mother, and her brother a ride to the hospital. The rest of the day had been spent waiting and praying for some word on Papa’s condition. Leona’s two older sisters, who lived in Kentucky, had been notified and said they would come as soon as they were able to secure transportation. Jimmy had remained at Leona’s side the entire day, although she barely remembered anything he’d said to her.

Leona closed her eyes as she relived that day in the hospital, after all the tests had been done and the doctor had taken the family aside to give them his prognosis. . .

“Jacob has had a severe trauma to the brain, and there’s a good deal of swelling,” Dr. Collins told the family as they stood just inside the door of Papa’s room. “Amazingly enough, he has no broken bones—just scrapes and bruises
on his arms and legs, but the blow to his head seems to have caused an acute memory lapse that has taken him all the way back to his childhood.”

“Will my husband ever be the same?” Mom asked as she clutched the doctor’s arm. “Please say he will recover from this.”

Dr. Collins’s gaze went to Papa lying in the bed with his eyes closed. Then he looked back at Leona’s mamm. “There’s no way of knowing at this point, Mrs. Weaver. Once the swelling goes down, Jacob could regain all or part of his memory. Or he might remain this way for the rest of his life.”

“We need to pray for a miracle,” Arthur interjected. “Jah, that’s what we surely need.”

Mom nodded as tears matted her lashes and trickled onto her cheeks. “God is able to do all things, and if it’s His will, then He’ll make my husband whole again.”

Leona leaned against the wall with her arms folded and her lips pressed together, her eyes closed
. God, You could have prevented this from happening. Why didn’t You? Don’t You care about Papa? Doesn’t it matter that he is Your servant and so many people depend on him?

“Jacob will need to go through some therapy here at the hospital before he’s released,” Dr. Collins continued. “And of course, there are things you can do at home to help him adjust.”

Mom nodded once more. “We’ll do all we can.”

Leona clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms
. Adjust? How can my daed adjust to anything when he thinks he’s a little boy?

Leona shuddered and moved away from the window, allowing her thoughts to return to the present. She was thankful Papa was alive. However, the thought of him spending the rest of his days as a child in a man’s body was unthinkable. How could he run his painting business or do the chores he normally did around their place? And what of his position as bishop? He could hardly preach or minister to the people if he thought like a child. Poor, confused Papa didn’t know he’d ever been their bishop or that he owned a successful painting business. He thought his wife was his mamm, and he believed Leona and her brother were his siblings. He hadn’t known his oldest daughters, Peggy or
Rebecca, at all when they’d come to visit soon after the accident.

Leona held her arms rigid at her side. Resentment welled up in her soul like a cancer. She fought the churning sensation in her stomach.
Unless God provides a miracle, Papa might never know any of us again
. She stumbled across the room, flopped onto her bed, and covered her mouth in an effort to stop the tears.
It isn’t fair. This terrible tragedy never should have happened!

Jimmy had just stepped out of his truck and placed a bucket of paint on the porch of Norman Fisher’s house when his cell phone rang. He removed it from the clip on his belt and lifted it to his ear. “Hello.”

“Hi, Jimmy, it’s Dad. I—I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I was getting worried.”

“You were worried? Do you know how many times I’ve tried to call you? And all I ever got was the answering machine at home or your voice mail on the cell.”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t up to taking any calls.”

“Have you been sick?”

“Yeah—well, sort of.”

Jimmy groaned. “You’ve been on another drinking spree, haven’t you, Dad?”

“So what if I have? It’s my life, and I don’t need you or Ed telling me what to do.”

Jimmy knew Dad’s foreman was aware of his drinking problem, and he figured Ed might be getting tired of covering for Dad and had probably given him a lecture about how he might lose his business if he didn’t straighten up.
Guess there’s not much point in me doing the same, because it’s obvious that he isn’t going to listen. Maybe Allen was right when he said Dad might have to hit rock bottom before he ever admits he has a problem or is willing to seek help
.

“Are you still there, Jimmy?”

“I’m here.”

“How are things going? Have you found your Amish family yet?”

“No, but I did find an Amish farm selling root beer, and the kid looked at me like I was nuts when I asked about a stolen baby.”

“You must have been at the wrong place.”

“Yeah, well, what’s the
right
place, Dad?”

“I—I don’t know. I told you before that I was almost in a daze that day, and I don’t remember what road I was on, or even what part of Lancaster County I was in.”

“Are you sure you’re not making this story up to confuse me?”

“Why would I do that? I put my neck in the noose when I admitted that I’d kidnapped you.” There was a pause, and he added, “I—I’ve been keeping this secret for twenty years, Jimmy, and it’s taken a toll on me.”

“On you? What about the family you took me from?” Jimmy’s own words echoed in his head as he allowed the truth to sink in.
Dad really did kidnap me. He wouldn’t be so worried about going to jail if he hadn’t committed the crime, and he wouldn’t be going on long drinking benders if he wasn’t dealing with guilt and fear
.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he squeaked. “You stole me from an Amish farm twenty years ago.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I—I did it for your mom. I did it because I thought it was meant to be.”

“How could stealing a child ever be right or ‘meant to be’?” Jimmy’s voice shook with unbridled emotion as he struggled with the anger he felt toward the man he’d thought, all but the past few weeks of his life, was his dad.

“Wh–what are you going to—to do, Jimmy?” Dad’s tone sounded desperate, and his words were shaky.

“I’m going to stick around Lancaster County awhile longer.”

“To look for your family?”

“That and to help the Weaver family.”

“Who is this Weaver family, and why do they need your help?”

Jimmy quickly shared the story of how Jacob had fallen off the ladder and how his head injury had left him with amnesia. “Jacob’s home from the hospital now,” he ended by saying. “And since his son wants me to keep painting for them, I’ll be around to help the Weaver family deal with Jacob’s injury.” Jimmy pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

“So this is the Amish fella who hired you to paint for him?”

“Right. The doctor told Jacob’s family that, short of a miracle, he might never fully recover.”

“That’s too bad, Jimmy. You’re a good kid for wanting to help.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I just turned twenty-one, remember?” A sudden, sinking feeling hit Jimmy with such force he thought he might topple over. “You don’t even really know how old I am or when I was born, do you, Dad?”

“I—I don’t know the exact day you were born, but your Amish sister said you had recently turned one, so when I had your phony birth certificate made up, I asked my friend to give you an April birthday.”

Phony birth certificate? A made-up April birthday?
Jimmy sank to the grass. This whole kidnapping thing was getting thicker and sicker. He gave his forehead another swipe with the rag. “Listen, I—uh—need to get back to work.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you again soon, son.”

Jimmy clicked off the phone without even saying good-bye.

“I don’t see why we had to tag along with you this morning,” Titus complained from his seat at the back of Abraham’s buggy. “Shouldn’t we be helpin’ our older brothers work in the fields today?”

“Yeah,” his twin brother agreed. “I feel funny around Jacob Weaver since he fell on his head and turned into a kid. It’s hard to know how we should act around him.”

Abraham glanced over at Timothy, who sat beside him. “Don’t you be talkin’ that way. Jacob can’t help that he’s lost his memory. Since he’s not able to do many of the things he used to do, his family needs all the help they can get. Just act like yourselves and help me with some chores that need doin’.” Abraham thought of all the times Jacob had helped him in the past. He’d offered his friendship and spiritual counsel when it was needed the most, so now Abraham wasn’t about to let his friend down in his hour of need. He would help the Weaver family as long as it was required.

“Can’t the bishop’s son help him?” Timothy questioned.

“I’m sure Arthur’s helping as much as he can, but he has his daed’s business to run now, which is a full-time job.”

Titus leaned over the seat and tapped his father on the shoulder. “What about Leona and her mamm? Aren’t they gonna be helpin’ out?”

Abraham groaned. “Of course they are, but they have their own chores to do; there are some tasks only a man can manage.”

Timothy snorted. “Jacob might be thinkin’ like a little kid now, but he’s still got the body of a man. I’m sure he could handle most of the chores if he was told what to do.” He folded his arms and looked straight ahead. “Me and Titus have been doin’ our share of chores ever since we could walk.”