Authors: Vannetta Chapman
“I think I can just look at your mom’s, but thank you, Mary.”
Mary’s smile fell away, and she stared down at the ground.
“What I meant to say was I’d love some flowers, if you wouldn’t mind looking for some for me.”
“Really?” The little girl brightened instantly.
“Really. I could put them on the counter in the shop.”
Mary swung Deborah’s hand and skipped along beside them. “Did you hear what she said,
Mamm?
She’s going to put them on the counter.”
“I heard. You better hurry. We’re eating soon.”
Mary’s eyes grew wide and she dashed off, grabbing another little girl as she headed toward a field next to the barn.
“This little buckskin colt was born yesterday.” Deborah proceeded to introduce Callie to Stephen and the women around him—who mostly seemed related in one way or another.
The image of the colt, wheat-colored with a black mane and one white sock, stayed with Callie through the afternoon. She thought of it as she ate. She pictured it as she tried to memorize names and faces though she knew she’d forget the vast majority of them. She even found herself looking up and trying to catch a glimpse of it as her attention returned again and again back to Melinda’s little boy perched contentedly in his wheelchair.
Somehow images of the colt, Melinda’s boy, and her husband Rick were determined to push their way into her day—awakening parts of her heart that she had coaxed to sleep over a year ago as she’d watched her husband take his last breath.
C
ALLIE MANAGED
to enjoy playing volleyball.
Everyone was surprisingly competitive.
Why did she expect the game to be a lay down? Because they were Amish? Turned out they wanted to win as much as she did.
She found herself jostling for the ball, diving for a save, even slamming one over the net—and she hadn’t done any of those moves in years. The tension that had built up in her shoulders in the last week began draining away as a welcome exhaustion worked its way into her muscles.
When the third game ended, she looked over to see Mary sitting on the sidelines clutching the bouquet of flowers she’d picked for her in one hand, petting Max with the other.
“You won, Miss Callie.”
“My team won.”
“Same thing. Isn’t it?” Mary squinched up her face, and tilted her head back, causing her
kapp
strings to touch the ground.
“I suppose it is, sweetie. How about you and I go find some of your mom’s lemonade?”
“I’ll get it. I know where it is.” Thrusting the flowers into her hand, along with Max’s leash, Mary was up and gone before Callie could argue.
“She’s one with a lot of energy.” The voice was a baritone, with no trace of German—most definitely not Amish.
Callie turned around in surprise and found herself face-to-face with a man six inches taller than herself, wearing jeans and a Notre Dame T-shirt.
“Bernie Richards.” Crow’s feet lined his hazel-colored eyes, and his properly trimmed hair held a light smattering of gray.
“You’re—”
“English? Yes, I suppose I am.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that I feel as if I’d spent the afternoon at the bottom of Alice’s proverbial rabbit hole. Now that I think about it, I did see other cars parked when I drove in, but for some reason I’d been thinking I was the only person here who wasn’t Amish.”
Mischievous eyes panned left, then right. “I believe we might be it, other than a few Mennonites.”
“Yes, Deborah said Mennonites might be here. I don’t see any.”
Bernie Richards’ smile spread into a full grin. “You are new. Mennonites wear English clothing, though they usually dress modestly. The men don’t always sport the long beard, and the women cover their hair differently. See the woman there by the table? She has a handkerchief covering her head, instead of the traditional prayer
kapp.”
Mary interrupted their conversation, proudly clutching the promised glass of lemonade, though she’d spilled a bit of it down the side in her trek across the yard.
“Thank you, Mary.”
“Gern gschehne,
Miss Callie.” The young girl looked up at Bernie and cocked her head, then rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry, Doc Richards. I didn’t brung you any.”
“It’s no problem, dear. But I believe your
grossdaddi
is trying to get your attention.”
Mary pivoted in a circle and finally caught sight of an older
man with a long white beard waving at her. “I have to go now.” She ran three steps, then turned and threw herself at Callie’s legs, wrapping chubby arms around her thighs and giving her a tight hug.
The girl’s sticky hands sent a warm, sweet feeling into Callie’s heart. She thought of saying something, but before she could translate her emotions into words, Mary had knelt in the grass and hugged Max around his neck.
“In case I don’t see you before you go,” she whispered to the Labrador. Then like the imp she was, she flew away, across the lawn.
“Her grandfather?” Callie asked, nodding toward the older man who welcomed Mary into his arms.
“Yes, Deborah’s father.”
“And you’re a doctor?”
“I am. You are Miss Callie, I take it.”
Nearly choking on her drink, Callie lowered the glass and offered her right hand. “I’ve completely forgotten my manners. Callie Harper, from Houston, Texas. More recently the shop owner of Daisy’s Quilt Shop.”
“So you are Daisy Powell’s niece. I’m sorry for your loss. Daisy was a sweet woman and an important part of our town.”
“She was a dear, and I’m learning how much she meant to Shipshewana.” Callie walked slowly to an oak rocker sitting in the shade of the front porch. She was a little surprised when the doctor followed her, but found she didn’t mind the company.
Some of the families with younger children were starting to leave. Others were settling down on blankets or in the small groupings of chairs—resting from the afternoon’s games.
“You’re the doctor here in town?”
“Not exactly,” Bernie said.
Just then the boys returned from a second round of baseball, Matthew still pushing Aaron in his wheelchair.
“I’ve been coming here for years.” Bernie said. “To see about Aaron. I feel like one of the family now. They’ve all become very special to me, and Aaron—well Aaron is an extraordinary child.”
“So you’re not a regular doctor?”
“No. I’m what some people call a disease chaser.”
Callie took a sip of her lemonade, then set it down on the floor of the porch. “I don’t understand. Why would you chase a disease?”
Deborah had kept an eye on Callie all afternoon. She wasn’t surprised that she got on so well with everyone. Callie struck her as a people person—at times uncomfortable with shows of emotion like hugs or a hand laid across her arm, but still a people person. She couldn’t help wondering if in her other life, in her Texas life, she’d built a kind of box around herself to protect her heart from the hurt of her losses. For some reason Callie reminded her of the box turtle the twins had found down by the pond.
The turtle had huddled inside his shell for nearly a week, only coming out to eat when no one was around. Eventually though he’d learned to trust the boys, when he was sure it was safe, when he was sure his environment was a place that wouldn’t harm him.
Was it the same for Callie?
Now that she was in Shipshe, would she stay out of her box? She certainly seemed completely different than the woman she’d met that first morning.
And at first she looked at ease sitting on the porch with Dr. Bernie. Deborah noted the moment Callie set down her glass of lemonade, hugged her arms around herself, and stared off into the distance. She’d seen that posture before—when she’d first met her outside Daisy’s Quilt Shop and again when they’d left the police station.
So what had upset Miss Callie this time?
Deborah glanced over to make sure baby Joshua was doing fine, which he was. Currently he was being passed from one
onkel
to another, being spoiled rotten by each of them. An article had come out in one of the English magazines just last week about how the Amish didn’t treasure their children, perhaps because they didn’t indulge their every wish. Deborah only knew about it because one of the women who shopped in the bakery where her sister worked had brought it in, upset that they were being raked through the English press once again.
Deborah wished those writers could spend one afternoon watching her youngest son being passed from loving arms to loving arms. She’d yet to hold him herself, and her mother’s heart ached a bit at that thought. Soon he would be like the twins, off chasing frogs and playing baseball.
Soon he wouldn’t tolerate her kisses.
Shaking away the motherly thoughts, she picked up a platter of cookies and headed to the front porch.
“I’ve actually been doing this for quite some time,” the doctor was saying. “I find it more rewarding than working in a large city setting.”
“What is it that you do—exactly?” Callie looked up as Deborah walked up the porch steps.
“A disease chaser looks for folks with rare diseases in the hopes of being able to find them, help them, and thereby help other people.”
“And Aaron is one of those people?”
Doc Bernie began to stand from his rocker, but Deborah motioned for him to stay seated. She offered them the cookies, then sat next to the steps, resting her back against the porch column.
“Yes, Aaron is,” Bernie admitted.
“I don’t understand why you had to search for him.” Callie tucked her hair behind her ears, and looked from the doctor to Deborah.
Bernie pulled a pipe out of his front pocket and began gesturing with it. Deborah had yet to see the man actually light it, but he seemed to find comfort in holding it. “While the Amish community does use medical facilities, they’re less eager to do so. More often they’ll wait and see if a condition improves on its own, and since they don’t participate in insurance programs, the entire process is different.”
Deborah watched as Callie processed all she was hearing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had known that Callie would see Aaron if she came to the luncheon today; there was no keeping a child like Aaron secret. And why should they? Aaron was a precious gift from God.
Still, by the look on Callie’s face, she wondered if today had been too soon. After all, she’d only known Melinda for less than two weeks.
“Did Melinda and Noah wait to seek medical help?” Callie leaned forward in the rocker.
Doc Bernie glanced at Deborah. She took that as a signal he would rather she answer this question.
“They didn’t, not really.” Deborah set the plate of cookies on the porch beside her, folded her hands in her lap. “Aaron was a small baby, but fairly normal. Then when he was about a month old his
grossmammi
noticed that his body would shiver uncontrollably.”
“Not unusual in a baby with nemaline myopathy,” Doc Bernie added, then stuck the pipe in his mouth.
“The Amish call it chicken breast disease. I had never seen it before, but Melinda’s grandparents moved here from Pennsylvania. The disease is somewhat more prevalent there.”
Callie’s frown deepened. “It sounds … terrible. Chicken breast disease?”
“The common name, because the variant found among the Amish causes the sternum to rise straight up from the chest symmetrically, making the breastbone more prominent.”
“But he was playing baseball.” Callie’s eyes sought out the two boys, found them sharing watermelon in a group of children near the tables of food.
“Matthew wheels him out there, hands him a glove. The children are good about involving Aaron as much as possible.” Deborah didn’t look away when Callie’s eyes bore into hers.
“Is he all right?”
Doc Bernie smiled. “Aaron is a very stubborn young man.”
“And God is
gut,”
Deborah added quietly.
“But what exactly is my-opia …”
“Myopathy. It’s an inherited muscular disorder. Aaron’s
grossmammi
saved his life by recognizing it so early—”
“And then the bishop found out about Dr. Bernie and his work here in Indiana.”
“So he doesn’t need to be in a hospital?”
“They couldn’t do for him in a large urban medical facility much more than what we are doing right here. Melinda and Noah feel—and I agree—that Aaron belongs with his family. Aaron lacks a structural protein. We treat that by giving him a drug called albuterol. It seems to be working.”
“But he’s in a wheelchair.” Callie again hugged her arms around her middle.
Doc Bernie removed the pipe, stuck it back into his shirt pocket. “Most children with this type of nemaline myopathy don’t live past the age of two. Aaron’s quite the exception, and we have every reason to believe he’ll continue to grow and improve.”
The conversation eventually turned to other things as they were joined first by Esther, then her parents who were carrying Leah.
Within the hour, Callie stood and began saying her good byes.
Deborah and Mary walked her to her car.
“I’m so glad you came.”
“I am too.” Callie hesitated before opening her car door. “Why didn’t you tell me about Aaron?”
Deborah looked into her new friend’s eyes, then glanced out over the small groups of people that remained around her home, Melinda and Esther among them.
“I don’t know, Callie. It seems everyone has their hurts. I didn’t mean to keep anything from you, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you either. Do you want me to write out a report of all the ailments in our community and bring it by in the morning?” She aimed for casual, but knew her words fell short.
“We’re in business together, Deborah—the four of us, you, myself, Melinda, and Esther. I would have liked to know.”
“Would it have made a difference? Would you have auctioned the quilts for more or changed the terms of the contract?”
“No, of course not. It’s just—”
“Just what?” Deborah moved now so that she was standing directly in front of her.
“I would have liked to know. I feel so badly …”
“Callie, she doesn’t want pity.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“And yet pity is everyone’s first reaction, and it does her no good. She doesn’t want it and neither does Aaron. Would you?”
“Would I?”
“Would you want people feeling sorry for you?”
Callie drew back, busied herself with putting Max in the car. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant though.”
“She’s the same person she was before. We have the same agreement we had before, and I’m sure you’ll do as good a job as you would have done.” Deborah smiled at her as Callie shut the door, buckled the seat belt, and rolled down the window.
“Why are you smiling?” Callie asked.
“Here less than a month and you’re starting to care about everyone. You are very much like your aunt.”
Callie glanced into her rearview mirror and her worried expression changed to a slight smile, then a full-blown grin.
It did Deborah’s heart good to see that Callie was settling in so well.
Callie pulled her sunglasses down a tad against the setting sun, and said, “I do care, Deborah. Especially about those sweet twins of yours.”
“My twins?”
“Beautiful boys. In fact, I think I just saw them running back behind the barn chasing several of Jonas’s pigs. At least it looked like them. Hard to tell with all the mud covering them from head to toe.”