An Amish Family Christmas (11 page)

Ten

T
he next
morning Rebecca called down to Naomi from the head of the staircase. “So where is Luke? He’s not in his room or in the parlor.”

Naomi glanced up from her sewing. “Oh, he’s helping Micah with the cattle.” She smiled. “Would you believe it? I even saw him pitching some hay a half hour ago.”

Rebecca came down and sat by the front window and picked up her own sewing, a dress of hers that had torn on a nail. “When it comes to Luke,
Gott ist auf der Uberholspur
.”
God is on the fast track
.

“Not so much with Bishop Fischer and Minister Yoder or the others,” mumbled Naomi as she worked on a pair of her husband’s pants.

“They’re harder to deal with than Luke.”

“And that’s surprising. Doesn’t our leadership walk with God?”

Rebecca shook her head as she threaded a needle, one eye shut. “Bite your tongue, or your words will bite others.”

“Hm.” Naomi held up the pants to look at them better. “I need to take them in a couple of inches.”

“Don’t bother. We’ll fatten Micah up in no time.”

“That won’t be so easy. When I walked by the barn the other day he was doing push-ups.”

“In the barn?”

“And when I came back that way he was using a low beam to do chin-ups.”

Rebecca snorted. “The army. Give him time and he’ll become as lazy about exercise as the rest of the men.”

“I wonder. He can be very stubborn and determined.”

“
Ja
, well, we’ve seen that. He’s still under the
bann
because of that.”

A shrill whine pierced the glass and entered the house.

“The dirt bike.” Naomi put down her sewing. “Timothy Yoder.”

“
Rumspringa.
”

“But there is snow down.”

“Not much. A great deal of it has melted over the last couple of days. Anyway, you can see the gravel road is clear enough.” Rebecca lifted her eyebrows. “So if Minister Yoder can indulge his son with a dirt bike, perhaps he’s not immoveable after all.”

“Oh, he’ll say dirt bikes are one thing, but going to war is something else again. Apples and oranges.” She imitated his growl. “
Rumspringa
is
rumspringa
, a vow at baptism is a vow at baptism, war is war.”

“Hush, Naomi.”

“He will. You watch.”

“I’m not going to watch your next spat with Minister Yoder because there’s not going to be one,
ja
? It won’t help you to argue with him. That won’t win him to your side.”

“He’ll never be won to my side. So what does it matter if we have a good discussion?”

“Discussion? Is that what you call it?” Rebecca folded her dress. “Now, what else is in the sewing bag?” She glanced out the window again. “So he has an audience now. That’s why he’s showing off.”

Naomi saw the small crowd of thirteen- and fourteen-year-old boys who were watching Timothy Yoder do spins and leaps with his bike. Behind them stood three older girls.

“Ah. Sarah Harshberger is there. Pretty Sarah with the golden hair and golden eyes. That’s why he’s practically doing somersaults.”

Rebecca stood up. “I’ll bring the sewing bag here. Maybe we can both empty it before we start supper.” She walked away, still talking. “If we weren’t the last farm in the row, we wouldn’t have to listen to that racket. It’s because there is all this open road and no farmhouses but ours that Timothy is here. Minister Yoder probably sent him this way on purpose.”

“Ha.” Naomi hunted for a spool of thread in a container at her feet. “To punish us?”

“To rattle our brains until we have some sense.
Rumspringa
is
rumspringa
, a vow at baptism is a vow at baptism, war is war, a dirt bike at Christmas is a dirt bike at Christmas.”

“
Ja
,
ja.
”

Rebecca went upstairs. Naomi watched Timothy spin his bike in tight circles, making sure he sprayed Sarah and her friends with slush. They laughed and squealed and ran away. He called out to them, grinning, and then gunned his engine and raced in the opposite direction, taking a wide ditch with a high leap, twisting once in the air, and landing in a field of mud and ice. The girls came back to watch, and Sarah was clapping her hands. He walked his bike farther out into the field, straddling it with both legs, and then turned and faced them, revving his engine till it shrieked. Mud flying out from under his tires, his whole bike fish-tailing, Timothy headed back for the ditch, lifting his bike into the air.

“Oh!”

Naomi saw that his takeoff from the muddy field was not good. The bike struggled and then flipped. Naomi gasped as Timothy hit the ground first and the bike landed on him. She then saw a quick spray of blood. She jumped to her feet. Sarah began to scream.

“What is it?” Rebecca had run to the head of the staircase. “What has happened?”

Naomi was racing for the door. “Timothy has crashed. The bike landed on top of him.”

Naomi didn’t even put on a coat. She ran from the farmyard and down the lane to the road. Sarah was still screaming. All of the boys had gathered around Timothy and the bike. He wasn’t moving or getting up. One of the boys turned away and fell down in the mud and snow, his hand over his mouth.

“
Helfen Sie uns bitte
!” Sarah was crying. “
Helfen Sie uns bitte
!”

Naomi saw men in their black clothing and hats running from their barns and yards and coming down the road as quickly as they could. She would get there well before any of them, but she had no idea what she should do.

Get the bike off him. First of all, get the bike off him. God help us!

She heard the sound of boots. Micah pounded past her faster than she had ever seen any man move. In seconds he was far ahead of her, the back of his black coat flapping. She had always been the quicker of the two, but she could not catch him.

What has happened to you? Who are you now?

Suddenly as she ran after him, for one long moment, everything around her changed. The melting snow was gone along with the mud and the chill in the air. The sun beat like a hammer on her back, and the glare off the sand and rock forced her to squint. Heat waves rose up from the ground, making Micah shimmer and the children at the accident scene waver and disappear. She couldn’t get her breath it was so hot, and the air stung the skin on her face and hands.

What is this, Lord? Vas ist los?

Micah was wearing a helmet and his army uniform with the desert camouflage. When had he changed clothes? He wore a pack on his back and carried a smaller one in his hand. His boots were the same color as the sand. In front of them, through the smoke, Naomi saw an armored vehicle lying on its side. Men were underneath it. Someone was yelling and yelling. She kept running.

I don’t understand.

She saw soldiers coming across the desert toward the dark smoke. They threw themselves to the ground as the sand erupted in front of them. She heard whining and zinging sounds but didn’t know what they were. In front of her, rocks and stones sprang into the air around Micah’s boots. A tear suddenly opened on his sleeve, and he spun sideways and staggered. But he quickly recovered and kept on running, crouching, smoke still boiling up black from the wreck of the army vehicle he was headed toward. She heard a loud cracking that was sharp and rapid.

Gunfire!

Now she understood Micah was running through a storm of bullets and she was right behind him. The armored vehicle had detonated a mine or been hit by a rocket, things Micah had told her about. He was the only soldier who was up on his feet. Others were hugging the desert floor and firing back at an enemy she could not see. A roar filled her head. A helicopter darted in, its machine guns spitting fire, turning the desert beyond the wreck into huge clouds of sand and dust. The wash from its blade and its speed ripped the
kapp
from her head and tore at all her hair, unraveling it, twisting it, tangling it. She fell to her knees, stones biting into her flesh.

I cannot run anymore.

But Micah kept on until he reached the wreckage. She watched him bend over one body after another. Blood had soaked through his left sleeve. She saw him take gauze and needles out of his pack. Bullets rang out on the steel on the burning vehicle. He ignored the near misses and continued to work on one of the wounded soldiers.

You are doing this. You are the one doing this. No one else.

“Naomi! Quick! I need your help!”

Micah had pulled the bike off Timothy and thrown it to one side. She dropped to her knees by the boy. Micah grabbed her hands and
clamped them down over a wound that was pumping blood under the shoulder.

“You must use all your strength, do you understand?” He kept his voice calm. “You must control the bleeding. All right?”

She stared at Timothy’s torn and damaged body and didn’t respond.

“Omi.” His voice was quieter. “Listen to me. I need you to stop the bleeding. I’m going to take my hands away and deal with other things. You must keep up the pressure.”

She blinked. “
Ja
.”

“I’m taking my hands away. Are you pressing down?”

“
Ja
.”

“Hard?”

“
Ja
,
ja.
”

She pushed down as hard as she could. Blood oozed up between her fingers, and she put her shoulders and back into it. Micah put his ear by Timothy’s mouth while he ripped a patch off his jacket with a pocketknife. He placed the patch over a wound on the other arm. He glanced around.

“Sarah?”

Sarah was standing nearby, tears covering her face.

“Sarah. I need you to hold this patch in place for me.”

“It’s my fault. He was doing it for me. He wanted to show me.”

“He will get better. If you help me with this wound he will get better.”

“I’m no good at this.”

“Hold this patch with your hands like you see Naomi doing. Please.”

She squatted by Timothy, the tears still coming, and awkwardly put her hands on the black patch and his wound.

“A bit harder, Sarah. That’s right. You’re doing very well.”

Rebecca ran up, her breath coming in gasps. “I called nine-one-one—from our phone hut—”

“Thank you, sister.” Micah peeled off his coat and draped it over Timothy. “Can I have your jacket?”

“
Ja
—of course—”

She took it off and gave it to him, and he placed it on top of his coat.

“Do you need another, Mr. Bachman?” asked Sarah.

“Two or three more would be good.”

“Someone pull mine off me.” She looked up at her friends. “Lydia. Deborah. Go ahead. Just do it fast. Start with my left arm. I’ll keep my right hand on the wound.”

“You’ll freeze,” Lydia protested.

“I won’t freeze. It’s not that cold out.”

“You’ll get chilled.”

“And Timmy will die. Take it off me.”

Her friends tugged off her navy blue coat and put it on Timothy. Then they added their own.

Micah was cutting a long strip off his pants that he used as a tourniquet above the knee on the boy’s right leg. The men came rushing up as he was cutting another to wrap over a fracture on the other leg.

“What is happening?” one of the men asked.

“What can we do?” asked another.

“I need two more coats on top of the boy to keep him warm.”

All five of them unbuttoned their coats and placed them over Timothy.

“Someone must get Minister Yoder and his wife,” Micah said.

“So I’ll get my buggy and drive to their house right away.” One of the men left at a run in his shirtsleeves.

“We can help you lift him and get him in front of a fire.” A man bent close with his hands on his knees.

“No.” Micah shook his head. “We can’t move him. He could have a back or spinal injury. We might end up making things worse. Paralyze him.”

“The ambulance will take at least ten minutes.”

“He’s breathing. All your coats will keep him warm. We have the bleeding checked for the moment.”

“How bad is he?”

Micah didn’t respond. He was gently probing the back of the boy’s head. As he did he smiled at Sarah. “How are you doing?”

“I’m all right,” she choked out, holding back sobs.

A man crouched by her. “Let me take over.”

She didn’t look at him. “I’m fine, Mr. Kurtz.”

“You must be tired.”

“
Nein
, I’m fine,” she repeated.

Micah put his ear to Timothy’s mouth and then checked his pulse.

“What about you, Omi?” he asked, his fingers against the side of the boy’s neck. “Do you need a break?”

She could feel the strain in her arms, but she shook her head. “I’ll be here as long as you are.”

“
Ja
?”

“I like to see you work. I like to hear your voice.”

He looked down at the wounded boy. “Something isn’t right. I’m missing something.”

Carefully he put his fingers under Timothy’s back. On the right side they came away red. In an instant he had his shirt off and was folding it into a wad. Now he only wore his white undershirt and his torn pants.