A Simple Amish Christmas (7 page)

“And you as well. Evening, Adam. Evening, Annie.” He didn’t have to call her by name, but when he did, manners forced her to return the parting.

She turned those brown eyes to gaze into his, and Samuel received a little more than he had bargained for. There was the
anger he’d come to expect, but there was something else in addition. A pleading he didn’t quite understand.

A concern quite out of keeping with their bantering.

So he stepped out of the way, gently slapped the horse’s rump, and watched them as they trotted off into the night following Joshua’s buggy.

Why were they headed toward the Hooley place so late in the evening?

More pointedly, why was Annie headed there?

And why did he care?

Samuel walked back to his buggy and continued in the opposite direction, back to his home, which would be silent and dark. He’d realized of late that he avoided his own place, but what was to be done about it?

Life was difficult—didn’t the
gut
Book say as much?

His lot was still better than many of those he ministered to. He wouldn’t complain about it.

But as he allowed the mare to walk leisurely toward home, he no longer thought of Umble and his hand, or even what he needed to do around his farm the next day. Instead, he thought of a young lady in a buggy, blankets wrapped around her lap, cheeks reddened by the cold—and he wondered who had summoned her and for what purpose.

Mostly though, he thought about those brown eyes and the sparkle they’d held.

7

 

W
hen Annie stepped into the Hooley household, three small heads popped up from the corner of the living room to stare at her. They were lying on a pallet on the floor, covered in quilts. Their hair shot out in all directions, reminding her of tiny haystacks, and their eyes stared at her as if she were a stranger from a faraway land.

“Back to sleep,
bopplin
. Miss Annie is here to see your
bruder
.” Martha Hooley walked across the room to greet Annie, took her coat, gloves, and scarf, then peered past her into the darkness. “Is Joshua coming?”

“He’s in the barn with my
bruder
, Adam, and your husband.” Annie moved to the stove to warm her hands. “They were tending to the horses.”

“And I suspect they’ll stay there for a while. The house is a bit crowded, and since I moved the little ones out here there’s less room for reading or socializing.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the men, Martha. They’ll be fine in the workroom.” Annie glanced at the makeshift bed and the three boys, then back at Martha. “Why did you move the younger children to the living room? Are you afraid Daniel is contagious?”

“I don’t know.” Martha swiped at her graying hair, rubbed at her eyes, and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “I honestly don’t know. It seemed the safest thing to do, and then with Daniel waking up and needing my attention, they weren’t sleeping much in their bedroom.”

Annie nodded as the small stove’s warmth chased the cold from her arms and legs.

“I remember when you were a little girl,” Martha said, her voice mingling with the quiet crackling of the fire. “I’d see you at school when I walked down to pick up Joshua. Now you’re a grown woman and a medical practitioner too.”

Annie crossed the room, pulled out a chair next to Martha, and covered the older woman’s hand with her own. “I remember you as well. I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but you know I went away a few years to live with my
mamm’s schweschder
.”

Martha swiped again at her hair, looked into Annie’s face with hope.

“I had a bit of medical training while I was there—nothing more. I won’t be misrepresenting myself, Martha.” Annie paused and waited for the woman to accept what she was saying. “If I can help your
kind
, I will. But if I think he needs to go to the
Englisch
doctor, then I’ll be telling your husband myself it’s what needs to be done.”

“
Ya
, and I would expect you to do as much. You have your mother’s directness.”

“I understand your situation with Samuel, but he certainly has more experience than I do.”

“I’ve tried to tell Simon the same thing.” Martha’s voice cracked for the first time since Annie had entered the home. “He won’t budge on that, though. Don’t judge him too harshly, Annie. Simon cares for his children, and though pride is a sin—”

A coughing from the adjoining bedroom interrupted their conversation.

The three children in the living room again popped up, glancing first to their mother, then to Annie.

Martha stood, motioned for Annie to follow her.

Annie started into the adjoining room, then turned, and walked back to the front door, and picked up her mother’s quilted bag. Pausing again in the kitchen, she stopped at the sink and washed her hands.

By the time she reached the bedroom, Martha was sitting close to the bed.

Glancing around, Annie could tell that this was normally the room all four children shared. Like the front room, no Christmas candle decorated the window. In fact, the room could be described as sparse, even for Amish folk.

Four hooks positioned on the wall opposite the bed held clothing. Under that was an extended cubby for shoes, and above the hooks ran a shelf for hats.

Joshua must sleep up in a loft, and no doubt the parents’ room was next door. It was a small, snug home—simply built and clean.

Suddenly Annie remembered the Hooleys had all boys— someone had made a joke at one of the Sunday meetings about the fact that Simon Hooley would one day need more land— with five strapping boys able to do so much work, and one day bound to marry and build homes of their own on the family place.

Looking at the exhausted little boy lying spent under the covers, Annie tried to picture him out working in the field, playing in the sun, taking a girl for a buggy ride—she tried and failed.

Instead, watching the small form in the bed, Annie immediately thought of Kiptyn at Mercy Hospital and the letter she
had received Saturday. She thought of how hopeless his situation had been. Yet he was improving—only slightly—but still, improving. She thought of Kiptyn and drew courage.

Stepping forward, she set her bag on the table beside the bed.

“When did he first become ill?”

“Three days ago. He came home from school, didn’t want any dinner. I knew something was wrong, but I was tired— didn’t pay attention right away. It wasn’t until the other children came to bed and noticed he was already here, sleeping and sweating, that they came and alerted me.”

Annie pulled out her notepad, started a case history, and took Daniel’s pulse. His skin was fire-hot to her fingertips. She didn’t need a thermometer to know his temperature was over one hundred and two, but she pulled one out of her bag anyway.

“Hold this in his mouth for me, Martha. Careful he doesn’t bite down on it.”

Martha moved to the far side of the bed. With one hand she held the thermometer steady in Daniel’s mouth, with the other she wiped the sweat from his face.

“It’s my fault. I should have paid closer attention. Should have noticed.”

“Wouldn’t have made any difference. You know that. He would still have whatever it is he has.” Annie slipped her blood pressure cuff over the boy’s arm. “How old is Daniel?”

“Eight. He turned eight last month.”

Daniel didn’t wake as Annie continued assessing his condition. He remained basically unresponsive although he coughed a few times, and twice he tried to turn and curl up on his side.

“Any signs of rashes?”

“No.”

“Any vomiting?”

“The first night. He hasn’t eaten since.”

“Any diarrhea?”

“No.”

Annie took the thermometer and noted the temperature of 104.8 on her tablet.

The entire time, Martha stared at her child, her eyes as frightened as those of the boys in the other room.

“Martha, I want you to look at me. There are many, many things Daniel might have. I’m not a doctor, and I’m not going to pretend to be able to diagnose him. Some of those things are fatal, but those things are also rare.”

Martha clutched Daniel’s hand, but nodded, focused on Annie’s words.

“In all likelihood, he has a case of influenza—the flu.”

“
Ya.
Many kids catch the flu each year. Three of mine had it last winter.”

“True, but what worries me most about Daniel is his fever and his dehydration. We need to coax some liquid in him and we need to bring his fever down.”

“I’ve tried to get him to drink. It’s no use.”

“I want you to find some ice chips. Even if you have to send Joshua or Simon out to the meat house. Have them fetch a bucket of ice and ask one of the men to start chipping it into tiny pieces. I also want some juice. We’ll feed it to him by the spoonful if we have to.”

Martha nodded, but didn’t move.

“If Daniel were in the hospital, they’d start him on an intravenous drip, a line into his veins that would carry fluid through his body.”

Annie let her hand trail down the boy’s arm. “If we don’t see this fever come down in the next few hours, I’m going to strongly suggest we call a driver and transfer him to the hospital.
First, we’ll try to break the temperature here, but I want your word. If this doesn’t work, we’ll go to the
Englisch
.”

Martha straightened the hand-stitched quilt covering her son, then returned Annie’s gaze. “
Danki
, for helping us.”

“No need to thank me.”

“And you have my promise.” Her words came out hard, firmer. “We’ll give this till morning, then we’ll take him to the
Englisch
—if I have to put him in the buggy and drive him myself.”

 

While Martha was outside setting the men to work chipping ice, Annie inventoried what her mother had slipped into the quilted bag. She nearly shouted for joy when she came to the chewable children’s Tylenol.

Going to the kitchen she retrieved a spoon and saucer and began to crush two of the pills. Then she added a few drops of juice and created a paste. Lastly she retrieved a dish towel and a basin half filled with water, then carried everything back into Daniel’s room.

Martha returned slightly out of breath, but also refreshed from her short walk outside. Annie wondered if the woman had stepped outside the house at all in the past three days.

“They’re working on the ice, and I told Simon to have the buggy ready—that we might be needing it to go and fetch a driver come first light.”

“Excellent. Now I need you to sit behind Daniel and prop him up. I’ve crushed some children’s Tylenol.”

“He won’t swallow that. I’ve tried and the child won’t open his mouth for anything. I’m surprised we were able to put the thermometer in.”

“Move behind him and prop him up in a sitting position.
Wunderbaar
.”

“He’s even hotter than earlier—like having a stove pressed against you.” Martha’s face creased with worry.

Annie wanted to stop and allay her fears. Right now, though, she needed to focus on Daniel.

Dipping the towel in the basin, she began running it across Daniel’s face, over his lips, down his neck—then dipping it into the basin again.

She repeated the process two, three, and then four times.

Finally Daniel slipped his tongue out when she passed the cloth over his lips. “
Gut
, Daniel. You’re doing well.”

Glancing toward the door, she saw Simon standing there, holding a small bucket in his hands. He was a big man, a big version of Joshua. When his eyes met hers, he didn’t look away. She read his fear there, and something else.

She hoped it wasn’t shame, but she worried it might be.

“
Danki
, Mr. Hooley. You can bring the bucket in and set it here beside the nightstand.”

“How is he? How’s Daniel?” He stepped toward the bed, set the bucket on the handmade rug, and then took two steps back.

“Daniel just showed the first signs that he knows we’re here.”

Simon nodded, began to turn away.

“Mr. Hooley? Could you do one more thing?” His expression changed then, as if she’d offered him a newborn calf.

“Would you bring Daniel a fresh glass of water, and another spoon?”

“
Ya.
’Course I will.”

He was back in less than a minute—the mug of water large enough to make three cups of tea. Annie thanked him, dipped
the spoon in it, and slipped the little bit of water between Daniel’s lips.

The boy swallowed once, and his tongue darted out again.

Martha looked at Annie and the smile they shared, the victory they shared, was unlike anything she’d experienced on a hospital floor before. It was more intimate, like something passed between friends.

Was Martha her friend?

She was certainly more than the mother of her patient.

“That’s
gut, ya
?” Simon stood at the door, clasping his hat in his hand.

“Yes, Simon. It’s very
gut
.” Martha smiled up at her husband, then turned back to her son. “His fever is very high, though. It’s over 104.”

“Is there anything else I can bring? Anything else I can do?”

“You can pray.” Annie paused as she once again dipped the rag into the basin. “We can all pray his fever breaks by morning.”

Simon nodded, then turned and trudged back out of the room, out the front door, out to the barn.