Angels Watching Over Me (2 page)

Molly folded the blood pressure cuff. “I’ve lived all my life in Indiana, but I’ve always wanted to travel the world.”

“Why don’t you?” Leah couldn’t imagine being stuck in one place all her life. Maybe because she and her mother had always moved around so much.

“Oh, I’m married, I have two kids, and we’re settled. Maybe my husband and I will travel when we both retire.”

It all sounded deathly boring to Leah. Molly started to leave. “Will you be back?” Leah asked, not wanting to be left alone.

“My shift ends soon, but the night shift is a great bunch of nurses. You’ll like them.” Molly paused at the doorway. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Leah offered a smile, but when she was alone she lay in the bed feeling sorry for herself. Sick of moping around, she decided to do some exploring. She climbed out of bed and felt her leg buckle as pain shot through her kneecap.

L
eah grimaced and leaned against the bed, waiting for the throbbing to subside.
Now what’s wrong?
The pain had an eerily familiar quality. Was her knee broken too? She took a deep breath and counted to ten. Gingerly she put weight on her leg, and thankfully her knee didn’t give. She rubbed it. The knee was sore, but the sharp pain had gone away.

“Probably twisted it getting out of bed,” she mumbled. She found her robe and went out into the hall.

The ward was a cheerful-looking place, with a spotless expanse of patterned linoleum that looked as if it belonged in a kitchen, not a hospital. The doors of the rooms were different
bright colors, with animals painted across them and along the walls. A small sign on the wall marked one of the doorways as Toddler Ward 1. Farther down the hall, another door was painted to look like the open mouth of a rabbit. Its sign read Baby Ward.

Leah soon discovered that the entire floor was constructed like a giant wheel, with spoke-like halls leading to patient wards and rooms. At the hub of the wheel stood the nurses’ station, a large circular desk where the nurses congregated, keeping track of charts and monitoring individual patients with computer screens and banks of machines. The younger and sicker patients were closest to the hub.

The long corridor walls were painted with scenes from fairy tales. There were two waiting rooms on the floor for parents and relatives. And in a spacious rec room Leah discovered a gathering of younger kids watching a
Snow White
video on a giant-screen TV. The rec room also had neon-colored plastic climbing toys, and the carpet was patterned with games such as hopscotch and tic-tac-toe.

Leah tried the three doors at the end of the room and discovered video games, a snack bar and kitchen, and a library. The snack bar’s
counter held bowls of fresh fruit, graham crackers and granola bars, and containers of fruit juices in bowls of ice. Vending machines lined one wall, and several tables stood in the center of the room. A young mother, patiently feeding a gaunt little boy, nodded at Leah. The boy had no hair and was attached to an IV line that led to a pole beside the table.

Leah shuddered. The little boy reminded her of Grandma Hall. Leah could remember visiting her sick grandmother in the hospital as though it were yesterday. Just like the little boy, her grandmother had been attached to an IV line and had been bald from chemotherapy treatments. At the time, her grandmother’s wasted body had terrified Leah, who loved her grandmother dearly in spite of her mother’s hostility.

Leah grabbed an apple from a bowl and retreated to the library, where she sorted through teen magazines in an attempt to forget the painful memories. She flopped onto a comfortable love seat and began to read. The magazines were filled with ideas for Christmas gifts and holiday fashions and only gave her pangs of homesickness.

All her friends, she was sure, would be going
to holiday parties and on shopping expeditions and skating at the ice rink at Dallas’s Galleria Mall. She was stuck in a hospital while her mother was thousands of miles away.
No use feeling sorry for yourself,
Leah insisted silently. A glance at the clock showed that it was six.

Hoping she hadn’t missed the dinner cart, Leah returned to her room but stopped just outside the doorway. Another bed had been placed in the room, and on it sat a girl who looked about five years old. The girl was sobbing and clinging to a woman dressed in a peculiarly old-fashioned style of clothing. Her dark blue skirt brushed the floor. The sleeves of her blouse were long, the neck high. A filmy white cap covered the woman’s long hair, which was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore no makeup and no jewelry, and she had no wedding band.

“There, there,” the woman cooed soothingly. “Do not cry so, Rebekah. You’re hurting my heart with such a flood of tears. You know I must go home to nurse the baby. But Charity and Ethan will come tomorrow.”

“Don’t go, Mama,” the girl sobbed.

Feeling like an intruder, Leah wasn’t sure what to do. Just then a man stepped from behind
the open closet door. He too was dressed in a strangely old-fashioned way. His suit was dark, without lapels or buttons, and he held a broad-brimmed black hat in his big, rough hands. He had a beard but no mustache, and his long hair brushed the top of his collar. “Come, Tillie, the van’s waiting downstairs. We’ve a long way to go tonight and it’s beginning to snow.”

“Papa,” the child wailed, reaching for him. “Don’t leave me, Papa.” He hugged her tightly.

For the first time, the woman noticed Leah. “We did not mean to disturb you. Rebekah’s scared, but she’ll quiet down after we’ve gone.”

Leah stammered, “I-It’s okay. I don’t mind. You’re not bothering me one bit.” Fascinated, she stared at the threesome. She stepped forward and held out her hand to the girl. “I’m Leah. We’re going to be roommates.”

The small girl’s body quivered as she struggled to stop crying. “Leah?” she repeated, staring at Leah’s flowered robe and dark, shoulder-length hair. “Are you a plain person?”

The question thoroughly confused Leah. “Plain enough.”

“We’re Jacob and Tillie Longacre,” the girl’s mother explained. “We’re Amish.”

Visions of photos Leah had seen of horse-drawn buggies and farms in Pennsylvania flashed in her head. She knew absolutely nothing about the Amish. She managed a cautious smile. “I—um—I’m just a regular person.”

“We hate to leave our Rebekah, but we can’t stay this night with her. Her sister Charity and her brother Ethan will come tomorrow, but until then she must be alone,” Jacob explained.

“She’s so young,” Rebekah’s mother said, wringing her hands.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Leah said, feeling a surge of sympathy for little Rebekah. She knew what it felt like to be deserted. “Can we be friends?”

The girl was quiet. She bit her lower lip, picked up a rag doll and hugged it tightly against her chest. “Will you stay in the room with me?”

“That’s my bed right there,” Leah said, pointing across the room.

After a few more hugs and whispers, Rebekah’s parents edged toward the door. At the doorway Tillie turned to Rebekah and said, “Remember what I’ve told you. The Lord’s angel will watch over you until we can be with
you.” She smiled at Leah and said, “Thank you.” And then they were gone.

For a moment Rebekah stared with wide blue eyes at the empty doorway. Slowly tears began to slide down her cheeks. Flustered, Leah reached out and awkwardly patted the tiny girl. “Would you like to watch TV?”

Rebekah shook her head.

“That’s a pretty doll. What’s her name?”

“Rose,” Rebekah said, sniffing.

The doll was as unadorned as the child who clutched her. Rebekah wore a simple long nightdress with a high neck, and a cap like her mother’s over a head of wispy golden curls. Her cheeks looked rosy, her blue eyes red and swollen from crying. Leah felt at a loss. She didn’t have any siblings.

Rebekah looked up at her. “Are you an angel?”

“No way,” Leah said with a smile. She sat on the edge of Rebekah’s bed. “Do you know why you’re in the hospital?”

Rebekah held out her arm. A bright red splotch stained the inside of her wrist and lower arm. It looked swollen. “A spider bit me. And I got sick.”

Sitting close to the child, Leah could feel
heat emanating from her small body, and she realized that Rebekah’s cheeks were rosy because of a fever. “Did you bite him back?” she asked.

Rebekah looked startled, then giggled. “No.”

Making Rebekah laugh made Leah feel better than she had all day.

Two nurses bustled into the room, and Rebekah shrank back. “We have to put in an IV,” one of the nurses explained.

Terrified, Rebekah shook her head.

“I’ll stay with you,” Leah said quickly.

One of the nurses eyed her. “Are you her sister?”

“Her roommate.”

Rebekah clutched at Leah’s hand. “Don’t leave, Leah.”

The single plea cut like a knife through Leah’s heart, and she knew there was no way she could leave Rebekah.

Leah moved closer to Rebekah and reached for her small hand. “Look at me, not them,” she instructed.

Obediently Rebekah fixed her gaze on Leah. “This is nothing,” Leah said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. “A piece of cake.”

“Cake? Can I have some cake?”

Leah remembered the snack bar. “If it’s all right with the nurse, I’ll get you a cookie or something as soon as they’re finished.”

The nurse flipped open Rebekah’s chart. “No food restrictions. The dinner cart’s on its way, but a cookie would be fine.”

“Lie still, honey,” the technician said. “This will just be a little prick.”

Leah smiled reassuringly at Rebekah, who lay rigid on the bed. From the corner of her eye, Leah watched the lab technician gently slide the needle of the IV under the skin on the back of Rebekah’s hand. The child trembled, but she didn’t move. Leah felt queasy. She watched as a tear slid from the corner of Rebekah’s eye. “You’re doing great,” Leah said, still clasping Rebekah’s hand.

Soon the IV was in and running, the tubing taped to Rebekah’s arm and safety-pinned to the bedsheet. “This medicine will make you feel better,” the nurse said, patting her patient.

When they were gone Leah stood and said, “I’ll get you that cookie now.”

Rebekah clutched at her. “Don’t go, Leah. Please don’t leave me.”

Leah started to explain that she’d be right back, but the look of terror in Rebekah’s eyes stopped her. “I won’t leave,” she said softly. “I won’t leave you alone tonight for a single minute.”

A
s she tried to fall asleep that night, Leah’s mind flashed to a memory of when she was six years old. She and her mother had been living in a trailer, and Don, her mother’s second husband, had been gone for more than a month. Her mother had tucked bedcovers around Leah. “Don’t leave, Mama,” Leah had pleaded.

“I have to go to work, Leah. But all the doors will be locked and I’ll be back before you get up in the morning for school.”

“Don’t go,” Leah wailed.

“Hush! Stop that. I don’t want to go, but I have to if we want to eat next week. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

Leah had lain stiff and unmoving in the dark, listening to her mother’s car driving away into the night. Dogs howled. Trees rustled in the wind. Terror made her heart pound until she thought it might pop out of her chest. She was alone. Totally alone …

“Leah?”

The sound of Rebekah’s voice snapped Leah back to the present. “What?” she asked softly.

“Will you read me a story?”

“Um … I don’t have a book.” She remembered the library, but she doubted Rebekah would let her leave the room long enough to go there.

“I have my book.” Rebekah pointed to the shelf in the bedside table.

Leah turned on the bedside light and retrieved a Bible storybook. “So, which story do you want to hear?”

“Read about Mary and the angel.”

Leah rarely attended church and wasn’t very familiar with the Bible, but she flipped open the well-worn book and scanned the table of contents. She found the story and read about how an angel of the Lord came to a young virgin to announce that she would bear God’s Son. To Leah it had always sounded sort of
farfetched. She knew virgins didn’t get pregnant and remain virgins. Still, the story must have soothed Rebekah, because soon the little girl was asleep.