The Waiting Page 17

  Cal tried to get up, but Jorie shook her head. “Stay put. I’ll stop back later to see how you’re doing. Maybe my grandmother will have a remedy cooked up for you.”

  Matthew snorted. “Last time she gave me a remedy, I spent two days on the john. No, big brother, if you’re smart, you will run for the high hills if Marge King tries to get anywhere near you with one of her curatives.” He tipped his head toward Jorie. “No disrespect to your grandmother.”

  Jorie tried to look stern but broke into a laugh as she tied her bonnet under her chin. “None taken. He’s right. Run for the hills.”

  Matthew was spreading blackberry jam on his toast. Maggie was stirring spoonfuls of sugar into Cal’s coffee. Ephraim was sure he was the only one who caught the look that passed between Cal and Jorie as she turned at the door to wave goodbye.

  Something had changed between them, something had been sealed.

  When Jorie returned home, she found her grandmother in the kitchen making sweet rolls. As she hung her bonnet and cape on the kitchen wall peg, she braced herself, expecting her grandmother to drop everything and insist on going to Beacon Hollow. A few hours earlier, as Jorie left to see Cal, her grandmother had been poring over books to find just the right painkiller. She half-expected Mammi to have shown up at Beacon Hollow this morning, holding in her hands some vile-tasting liquid to force down Cal’s throat. But Mammi stood at the kitchen counter, in the middle of a cloud of flour, kneading dough as if her life depended on it. Books were still open on the kitchen table, surrounded by all kinds of dried herbs in jars, but Mammi never even mentioned Cal, which struck Jorie as strange.

  She went out to the barn to help her grandfather feed the horses. She smiled when she heard the shuffling of the horses’ feet in anticipation of their noon meal.

  Atlee stopped pitching hay into a wheelbarrow when he saw her. “How is our Caleb?”

  “He looks worse, with all of the swelling and bruises. But he was up.”

  Atlee grabbed a forkful of hay and tossed it in the wheelbarrow. “You’re looking pretty chipper this morning,” he said, in between heaving the hay.

  “Oh?” she said. “I saw the first robin on my way home. A foretaste of spring.”

  Atlee gave her a look as if he didn’t really think a robin alone deserved the credit for giving her that kind of happiness.

  Briefly, Jorie thought about telling him that she and Cal were going to be married. If she were going to tell anyone, it would be her grandfather. But she thought better of it. It was hard not to spill her secret; she felt as if she was nearly bursting with the news. Her heart had almost stopped when Cal asked her. When it started up again, it felt like it was beating in unsteady lurches. It still surprised her, saying yes like that, but she found she had no doubts. For now, it would remain a secret, shared just between her and Cal.

  Instead, she said, “Surprised me a little to see that Mammi had forgotten all about making a remedy for Cal. When I came home, she was making rolls.”

  Atlee lifted his eyebrows. “Guess she forgot about it.”

  “Doesn’t it seem as if she’s getting more than a little forgetful about things like that lately?”

  Atlee continued to heave hay into the wheelbarrow. “What else?”

  “She left the oven on all night the other day. And last week I went out to get a casserole from the freezer, and there was her knitting project, frozen solid.”

  “Well, she’s getting older. We old folks get a little forgetful now and then.”

  “Maybe. But usually that’s about insignificant things. Her doctoring has always been so important to her.”

  Atlee didn’t answer, which meant that he didn’t want to discuss it. Jorie grabbed another pitchfork and joined her grandfather as he wheeled the barrow down the corridor of the barn.

  As soon as he finished helping Cal milk the cows, Ephraim tucked another frozen package of meat under his coat and took off for the Deep Woods at a fast run. It wasn’t easy to get away this week. He felt bad about Cal, but a little sorry for himself too. Cal needed extra help, which meant a lot more choring for him and less time for cougar snooping.

  The scream Cal had heard before he got whacked on the head was the cougar’s scream. She was in a tree above them, her lithe body poised on a branch, peering down at the men beating on Cal. Then she spotted Ephraim, hiding behind a rock, and exchanged a long look with him. That was when she let out a scream that made the hair on the back of his head stand up straight. One of the men had been holding Cal up under his arms and the other two were taking turns pummeling him. When the cougar screamed, they stopped, looked up, and saw her. She screamed again. This time, they dropped Cal and ran.

  After the men left, he ran to Cal’s side, praying he wasn’t dead. He also wanted to protect Cal in case the cougar decided to come down from the tree. Her expression was unmistakably belligerent. He threw his body over Cal’s and covered his head with his arms, bracing himself for an attack. After a long wait, satisfied that Cal was still breathing, Ephraim stole a glance up at the tree. The cougar had gone.

  Not a minute later, Bud arrived. Ephraim knew the cougar was a wild creature and that it couldn’t really have known he needed her help. Even still, today he wanted to leave an offering, a thank-you for saving his brother’s life. And one thing else Ephraim noticed. The cougar’s belly was round with life.

  “It’s warming up some, don’t you think?” Jorie asked Cal when he stopped by the schoolhouse on Friday afternoon.

  He laughed, a sound rich and thick. “Only you, Jorie King, could find the good in a bitterly windy March day.”

  “At least it’s not snowing,” she said as a smile wreathed her face. She was so happy to see him up and around and looking like himself that she wanted to laugh and throw her arms around him in a big welcoming hug. Instead she stood before him, assessing his face, with her hands linked behind her back. His eye looked nearly normal; the swelling was almost gone. The bruising had gone from angry red to blue and yellow and purple. But she saw he still held himself stiff and upright, as if he couldn’t bend over without fear of snapping in two.

  Cal looked down at her and held her gaze. “If it’s not making you feel rushed, I’d like to talk to Isaac on Sunday afternoon about how soon he could marry us.”

  “That sounds fine,” was all that she said, but she knew her eyes were smiling. Ever since she had agreed to marry Cal, she was nearly floating with sweet anticipation. She felt lighter than air.

  “Good. It’s settled then. Sunday it is. And that will be the end of the aunties’ Supper List.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at that. Cal’s smile deepened, his eyes warmed. He took a step closer to her and reached for her hands. His calloused hands felt large and strong. He studied her face for a long moment, before he leaned into her, tilting his head, and his mouth came down onto hers. His lips were warm, his beard gently tickling. He kissed her with such sweetness it was almost unbearable. And when he pulled back, she had to look away because she had tears in her eyes. Something had become very clear to her: she loved him.

  12

  Matthew’s night shift was nearly over. He had finished up cleaning the bathrooms and stopped at the nurses’ station to study the updated patient board. “Morning, Lottie,” he said. “Did you just get here?”

  “Hello to you, farm boy,” Lottie said with a big toothy grin. “How’d you get stuck on night duty?”

  “Only way they let me off on weekends is if I pull a Saturday night once in a while.” He leaned his elbows on the counter and turned his head to look down the hall at a cluster of Plain People, hovering by a patient’s door like bees over flowers. “What’s going on?”

  Lottie tilted her head. “Say, you speak German, don’t you?”

  “They’re not speaking German. They’re speaking Deitsch, a dialect. But yes, I do speak it.”

  “Well, if you can understand what they’re saying, get yourself down that hall and make yourself useful. Those folk
s came in this morning to see a new patient. They seem upset, but no one on the floor can understand them.”

  “Sure. I’ll go.”

  Matthew walked up to the group in the hallway. An older woman was crying. He spoke to the eldest man and asked, in Deitsch, if he could help him. The man looked at Matthew, startled to hear his own language coming out of a hospital worker. “Er is net mein Sohn!” He pointed to the door. “Er is net mein Sohn!” He is not my son. He gripped Matthew’s shirt with his two hands and clung to him. “Warum is mein Sohn?” So where is my son?

  Matthew spotted Dr. Doyle, the floor physician, coming out of the elevator. “Let me go tell the doctor what you’ve told me.” He unclasped the man’s strong fingers from his shirt and hurried to the elevator.

  “You’re sure?” Dr. Doyle asked the Amish farmer, after Matthew explained the situation. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  Matthew translated back and forth between the doctor and the Amish farmer. The farmer kept insisting, “Er is net mein Sohn!” He is not my son. “Warum is mein Sohn?” So where is my son?

  The doctor looked through the charts. “This man had identifying dog tags. They sent him here to Pennsylvania because of those tags.”

  “Er is net mein Sohn! Warum is mein Sohn?” the farmer kept repeating.

  “Why don’t you folks go down to the waiting room with me and we’ll see if we can get things straightened out.” Dr. Doyle turned to Matthew. “You’ll help with the translating?”

  “Sure, sure,” Matthew said.

  “Then who is this patient?” Lottie whispered to the doctor. “How are we going to ID him?”

  “Write him up as a ‘John Doe,’ ” the doctor told her. Exasperated, the doctor blew air out of his cheeks. He led the family down the hall, but before Matthew went to join them, Lottie asked him to take the new patient his breakfast. Matthew balanced the breakfast tray in one hand and slipped open the door with the other. The patient, a young man with a nearly shaved head, sat in a chair, facing the window. He was entirely still except for his fingers, which drummed restlessly along the arm of the chair. How sad, Matthew thought, to be a John Doe. A no-name. To not belong to anyone. He felt a sweeping gratefulness for the family he had, the place at his table. Even Ben’s spot had never been sat in.

  He walked a few steps closer to the patient. “Can I get you anything?” Matthew asked him softly.

  The patient didn’t respond.

  “Some water? Or juice? I know where Lottie keeps a box of candy hidden, if you like chocolates.” Matthew’s words fell into an empty silence. “Okay, then. I’ll come back and check on you later. Maybe by then you’ll want some of Lottie’s chocolates. Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

  The patient had stopped his finger drumming. He had grown so still, so motionless, that it almost seemed to Matthew as if he had died. An eerie feeling crept up Matthew’s spine. How could he explain a dead patient to Dr. Doyle? He took a tentative step closer to the patient, hoping to see his chest expand with a breath. He crouched down carefully in front of him and placed a hand on his knee.

  The patient suddenly lifted his head and looked straight at Matthew with blank, empty eyes.

  Matthew lurched back, nearly falling. “Judas Iscariot!” He felt his heart miss a beat. “Er is noch lewendich!” He’s still alive!

  All during meeting, Cal tried to keep his mind on the Lord and off of Jorie. Still, whenever he walked or turned around as he preached, he found himself searching for her face among the sea of prayer caps. He’d known her all his life, but lately, out of nowhere, the sight of her could snatch away his breath and make his chest hurt. As he closed the service, Cal made a few announcements: a barn raising would be held next week at the Reuben Yoders’. A comfort knotting would take place at Sylvia Swartzentruber’s on Friday. “And next meeting will be held at the Roman Stoltzfuses’.” He looked over at Jorie and they shared one of those special smiles that came only into their eyes. Maybe as soon as next meeting, he would be making the announcement that he and Jorie were planning to marry. This very afternoon, he would speak to Isaac about it.

  Just as Cal opened his mouth to give the benediction, the door blew open and Matthew burst in, scanning the room until his eyes found Cal’s.

  “I found him! Cal! He’s alive! Our Ben’s alive!”

  When Bud heard the news about Ben, he offered to drive the Zooks over to Lebanon in his station wagon. Maggie squeezed between Cal and Bud in the front seat. Matthew and Ephraim sat in the backseat. “Shall I stop by the Kings’ and pick up Jorie?” Bud asked Cal.

  “No,” Cal said, firmly. He was still reeling from Matthew’s discovery – that Ben was alive, in a hospital, just an hour from Stoney Ridge. It was all he could do to finish the church service and rush back to the farm to find Bud.

  “She’s not expecting to come?” Bud asked.

  Cal’s jaw clenched tight. “She doesn’t know we’re going to Lebanon.”

  “Think that’s being fair to her?” Bud said.

  Cal didn’t answer.

  Bud looked at him. “Or are you just being fair to you?”

  Cal looked out the window. He couldn’t think about Jorie right now. He just couldn’t. He avoided her after church. He didn’t even look at her, though he knew she was watching him as he grabbed Maggie’s hand and hurried to the buggy. Right now, all he could think about was Ben.

  Bud shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Cal asked Matthew to tell the story about discovering Ben over and over again. “Are you sure he didn’t recognize you, Matthew?”

  “Not at first. Then, when I realized he was our Ben and talked to him in Deitsch, he got real upset and the doctor told me to leave. I was so shaken I didn’t even know what to do next. I thought I’d better just get word to you, Cal, so I hitchhiked from the Vet Hospital all the way to Stoney Ridge.” He took off his hat. “But I really couldn’t tell for sure if he recognized me.”

  “Matthew’s changed an awful lot since Ben’s been gone,” Bud said quietly. “He’s gone from being a boy to a man. And with that fancy haircut, he doesn’t look Amish anymore.”

  Cal turned his head slightly. “Yes. So much has changed since he left us.”

  Maggie looked up at Cal. “Dad, I don’t hardly remember Ben.”

  Cal rested a hand on her small head. “Two years is a long time when you’re seven years old. But now you’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted.”

  At the Veterans Hospital, Matthew led them to the psychiatric floor and started to head into Ben’s room, everyone following behind, until the doctor stopped them.

  “Matthew, you can’t just waltz in there – ” Dr. Doyle started.

  “Nobody’s waltzing,” Cal said. “We just want to see our brother.”

  “And you certainly can’t bring children onto this ward,” Dr. Doyle said, frowning at Maggie and Ephraim. He turned to Lottie, who was watching, with wide eyes, from the nurses’ station. “Maybe you could take them to the cafeteria and get them something to eat.”

  Lottie wiggled her finger toward Ephraim and Maggie, who looked to Cal for permission. He nodded, so they followed her down the hall.

  “Let’s find someplace to talk,” the doctor said. “Follow me to the waiting room. You’ll overwhelm your brother if you all charge in there, claiming him. If he really is your family member, let’s do this in a way that is best for him.”

  Cal, Bud, and Matthew followed the doctor into the waiting room and sat on stiff plastic chairs. The doctor looked through a chart and told them what he knew about this patient’s history. “He was a conscientious objector doing nonmilitary assignments but got involved in an offensive. Within a few weeks of the incident, he started to show signs of instability. He was sent to Bangkok for psychiatric evaluation, his breakdown continued to escalate, and was sent here for long-term care.”

  “When will my brother be able to come home?” Cal asked.

  The doctor held up a hand in warn
ing. “Whoa. Slow down. Let’s get an identification on him first.”

  Cal stood to go.

  “Look, Mr. Zook,” the doctor said. “If he is your brother, he’s not well. He’s . . . he’s going to need care.”

  “We can care for him at home,” Cal said.

  Dr. Doyle looked like he’d had a long day. “His wounds aren’t physical. He’s a little scrambled up.”

  Cal looked at him. “Speak plain.”

  Dr. Doyle stood to face Cal. “He’s going to need psychiatric rehabilitation. He’s very withdrawn. He has what we call a clinical depression. He suffered some kind of traumatic incident that has made him shut down.”

  “He needs to be home,” Cal insisted. He was losing patience with this doctor who spoke of Ben like he was reading from a medical book. What did he really know about his brother? Or about being Amish? About God’s strength that helped them heal?

  “Well, let’s take this one step at a time. Matthew can accompany you, Mr. Zook.” The doctor turned, then spun around. “Stay calm. No big show of emotion.”

  Bud gave a short laugh. “Doc, you’re preaching to the choir. These folks are Amish.”

  “Let’s go,” Cal said. “I want to welcome my brother home.”

  In the hospital room, Matthew walked quietly up to Ben, who was seated in the same chair, staring out the window, fingers drumming. Dr. Doyle stood protectively by the door. “Ben, I’ve brought someone to see you. It’s Cal. Our big brother Cal.”

  Cal crouched down in front of Ben as his eyes studied his face. Ben was barely recognizable to him. The laughter in his eyes – so much a part of Ben – was gone. In its place was an emptiness. His face was thin and pale. His head was shaved. Different, broken, yet the same. This man was indeed his brother. “Zwaar?” Cal asked, his voice cracking with emotion. Can this be true? “The good Lord has seen fit to return our brother Ben to us.”