Covered Bridge Charm (3 page)

“Well, of course. You’re right.”

After settling her beside the Millers, Carly turned her attention to the elevator panel—detergent-bottle boring seeming lovelier by the moment.

Her eyes lit on the alarm button. She gave it a sound rap, imagining the receptionist calling Sherie, the manager. Sherie would set a fire under Rocco, the Italian maintenance man. He’d fetch his toolbox and hurry to help. Rocco could fix anything and do it from less than ample funds or materials. He kept the facilities functioning.

When she noticed the riveted gazes of the elderly trio, she forced a smile. “Help will soon be on its way.”

“Good, cause I need my inhaler,” Martha wheezed.

“I know. Try to remain still. That’ll help.”

Darkness seeped through the elevator’s hairline cracks. Carly surmised the compartment was suspended somewhere between levels two and three of the four-tiered building. Her gaze darted around the purple confinement. Was the breakdown another of Simon Lapp’s low-budget moves?

Carly wasn’t green. She knew tennis balls descuffed walkers and the importance of storing the super glue away from the eye drops. But this was her first elevator crisis. How long would it take for a repairman to arrive and fix the problem?

“I’m scared and cold.” Dot shivered.

Martha nodded. She wore her long silver hair swept up and fastened beneath a prayer cap. “According to the paper, we’re getting frost.” When it came to news, she was the Mennonite version of the Internet.

Dot’s haunting voice lifted into a nursery melody: “Baa baa black sheep…” Crusher looked anxious. Carly knelt and buttoned the singer’s coat, glancing at the lump on her forehead and wishing for an ice pack. “Better?”

She quit singing. “Think we’ll miss supper?”

A few miles from Sweet Home, a black truck rumbled past flanks of fir and hit a cab-rattling rut that sloshed coffee onto Adam’s passenger.

“Ach!” The stricken man said, “Slow down, would you? You’d think Christmas is tomorrow.”

Time and family revolved around a holiday three months away. Not because of the holy birth, but because Roman Lapp owned and operated a Christmas tree farm.

Tugging a hanky from his pocket, Roman blotted his pants. “What’s got you all fired up? You didn’t lose our Portland account?”

Adam lowered his window and took a frustrated draft of piney air. It wasn’t the account, not the birthday party his six alphabetically named sisters were—secretly—planning, nor the card from Cousin Dale that read:
Remember when we thought thirty was old?
It was the handwritten message on the card that caused his turmoil.

Reaching back for his coffee, Dad stared through the windshield at the evergreens ready to be individually priced for the upcoming harvest. “Did you hear your cousin Dale’s having another baby?”

Adam nodded.
And here we go.

Right on cue, Dad said, “Don’t you want children?”

“You have grandkids.”

“It’s your kids who’ll carry on the family name. That is, if you ever settle down.”

“I’m settled. Got my own great place.” He met and held Dad’s gaze, wondering whether he’d ever get the recognition he deserved or even a partnership in the business.

Dad put his coffee in the cup holder, holding his peace until Adam steered the truck down a grassy side lane. “You seeing that woman you took to the Oregon Mennonite Festival?”

“I didn’t take Carly. We ran into each other.”

“Good. Cause she’s one woman I don’t want you bringing home. Stubborn and independent, that one. You need someone like your mom, who doesn’t cause a big to-do.” Dad snickered. “I hear Carly’s a real thorn in Si’s side.”

The Lapp twins were two noble firs crowding each other for sun, roots embedding deep to possess the soil. In such cases, a horticulturist removed the weaker tree. In humans, the contest went to the end. And heaven help those, like Adam, caught in the fray.

Their newest rivalry appeared to be gaining control of his love life, or lack of it. He pulled off the lane and steered the truck between two rows of nobles. He hit the brakes and inwardly grinned when Dad’s hands slapped the dashboard.

Once outside the truck, his gaze rested on an ax in the bed of his vehicle. Now was the time to lop off his sissy leash. “You can’t tell me who to date. Keep it up, and you’re going to run me off.”
Like Dale.

At first Dad stared at him with mouth agape. Then he gave a harsh laugh. “In this economy?” He spread his arms to include the fertile land and well-groomed trees. “When you have all this?”

His cousin’s handwritten birthday note came to mind, offering him everything but the sky. “Dale’s expanding his carpentry business in Nappanee. He asked me to join him.”

“Indiana?” Dad shook his head in disbelief. “So that’s what this is about?”

Adam’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen with frustration. “I need to get it.” Turning his back, he replied, “Stuck in an elevator? You can’t be serious. Uncle Si, it’s not Carly’s fault.” He ended the call and explained, “It’s Sweet Life. I gotta go.”

“On my time? Si hollers. You jump. And that’s the woman you took to the festival, ain’t it?”

The questions made Adam’s head spin. “Sorry. I’ll send one of the girls to pick you up.”

“Jah,” Dad waved. “Just go.”

With a dismissive nod, Adam hopped into the cab, gunning the engine to life. He envied Cousin Dale’s freedom, living away from his family. Though he longed to join him, he’d never leave Dad in a bind. But it would be interesting to check out Nappanee after the Christmas harvest.

T
ime passed, and the small group at Sweet Life remained stuck in the elevator.

“What if the lights go out?” Dot asked.

Carly wasn’t sure if Dot’s recent fears stemmed from being separated from Crusher, who remained in an independent-living apartment, or if it was her increasing dementia. But she hoped the lights continued to operate.

Martha drew in a wheezy, shallow breath. “What worries me is crashing to the bottom of the shaft.”

With only a half-stitched notion of an elevator’s workings, Carly tried to console them. “That won’t happen. We’re probably near the bottom, anyway.”

Determination lit Dot’s eyes as she lurched forward. “Crusher, get something to pry the door.”

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“It does so happen!” Martha argued, turning to Carly. “A woman in New York City got crushed and died. When she stepped into the elevator, it took off and she got caught in the shaft.” She broke into a fit of coughing and wheezing.

Crusher frowned. “You should quit reading the paper. It’s depressing.”

Carly gently touched Martha. “Please relax. Try to talk less and breathe more. Think of this as a grand adventure. A story for your grandkids.”

“Who never come to visit.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Carly sorted and stacked books. “I think we should read.”

“Hold up on the reading, I gotta go pee.” Dot struggled to rise, but Crusher tugged her arm and whispered. Dot’s gaze widened and darted around the small room. Shoulders slumping, she sank back to the floor. “I’ll just hold it.”

Carly hoped she could. After three mistakes, a resident was required to wear protective underclothing. Dot didn’t need an additional nuisance. In Carly’s mind, this was extenuating circumstances. But she hadn’t worked ten years at Sweet Life without learning its rules and regulations.

Opening a women’s magazine, she read, “‘French country style is a marriage of ruffles, distressed woodwork, and both vibrant and subdued hues.’”

Martha’s eyelids instantly flickered. Hoping it stabilized her breathing, Carly continued, but her mind drifted away from French country. Surely elevators had fresh air? Would artificial respiration help asthma? Was it ten or twelve breaths per minute?

A sharp jab to the ribs brought her back to task. A second jab dug into her side. “Ouch!” She speared Dot with irritation. “What?”

The tiny woman pointed at Martha’s soft snoring.

Crusher’s stomach growled. “Sorry.”

Dot laughed. “You’re always hungry.”

“And you eat like a canary,” he teased.

Dot’s delicate face softened, and her blue gaze turned glassy. “We should’ve bought us a canary. That would’ve been nice.”

The soft snores drew Carly like a catchy yawn. She’d never fallen asleep on the job, but she hadn’t slept for so long. Technically, she was off duty. Definitely not off duty. The library excursions had been eliminated until she volunteered to do them on her personal time. After several minutes of fighting drowsiness, her surroundings faded away, and she dozed.

In what seemed like the next instant, a hellish scream erupted in her left ear, awakening her to confusion and utter darkness. A touch on her right arm sent her to the moon before she came to her full senses and remembered she was stuck inside an elevator. A pitch black elevator.
Oh, no.
She groaned before she thought better of voicing alarm while she was the care
giver.

“I knew it!” Dot said, “We’re gonna crash.”

Carly reached for the frightened woman, but her hand brushed air and carpet. She crouched, crawling toward the voice, when something sharp clamped her calf. A sudden prickle zipped up her leg, Martha’s fingernails snagging her new stockings. “Please let go of my leg.”

“That’s your leg?”

“Well it better not be Crusher’s,” Dot snapped.

Carly tried to disengage Martha, to no avail. Willing herself to remain calm, she took roll call. “Everybody okay? Crusher?”

“Yep. Dot’s with me.”

“Good. Now let go of my leg, Martha.”

“I can’t.”

“For heaven’s sake! Why not?”

“My fingernail’s caught. And you gave me a hangnail. It smarts like crazy. So quit squirming until I get loose.”

Dot’s voice panicked. “Where are we?”

“Just stuck in an elevator,” Crusher reminded.

“Stuck in a stocking, over here,” Martha wheezed. “I saw the sale in the paper. You can’t skimp on stockings.”

“I don’t.” Carly yanked. The tear disengaged Martha, and the older woman jerked her hand away. It sounded as though she put her finger in her mouth. Regretting her loss of temper, Carly softened her tone. “You’re right. I got them on sale.”

Martha drew in a short quivering breath. “You should ask for a raise.” She coughed. “You deserve it.”

The outrageous comment reminded Carly of her meeting with Si. His nephew would know how to handle Martha or any other difficult situation. But Adam wasn’t volunteering today. Or was it night? She’d lost track of the hours. “Please hush, Martha. You must quit talking while you still have breath.”

On hands and knees, she crawled toward the widow, blinking furiously when a sudden flood of light encompassed the tiny compartment. She squinted. Crusher and Dot nestled safely in one corner. In the opposite, Martha sucked her finger.

Carly jerked her twisted skirt and pressed to standing. Martha’s face appeared pale. Her eyes wide and breathing critical. She needed medicine. Feeling helpless, Carly glanced around the purple compartment and sprang when the phone suddenly rang, snatching it to her ear. “Jah?”

“All fixed, ma’am. Make sure everybody’s set to move.”

Her voice gushed, “Thank the Lord. Can you get us help? Martha’s having an asthma attack. And Dot fell and has a lump on her head.”

“The nurse is here, too.”

“Good.” Carly hurried back and slid next to Martha. “Everybody stay put. He’s starting it up.”

This time Martha didn’t argue; she just slipped her hand into Carly’s. Across the elevator, Crusher hugged Dot protectively. The tender scene flooded Carly with love. She wouldn’t trade the moment for a thousand squirts of dishwashing detergent.

The elevator glided smoothly, and Carly wondered if Si had been right to question the library excursions. When the doors yawned, a small crowd of concerned onlookers looked in. Supervisor Sherie and Rocco from maintenance rushed forward to help the residents. They guided Dot and Martha toward waiting wheelchairs and the resident nurse.

After thanking the elevator repairman who’d rescued them, Carly gathered books and stepped into the hall, surprised Crusher had remained behind.

“You did good in there.”

“Thanks, Crusher. You, too.”

“You think they’d allow me to get her a canary?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“I’d take care of it.”

Softening, Carly replied, “I’ll find out.”
Soon as I finish my recruiting plan.
She looped her free arm through Crusher’s, hoping he didn’t look down and notice his wife’s wheelchair had left a wet trail on the floor.