Authors: Marta Perry
“How can you be sure?” Fear threaded through the question, and she suspected her mention
of the hospital scared him as much as anything.
Forcing a smile, Naomi tried to put as much reassurance as possible into her voice
and expression. “I know how scary the cough sounds. It scared me to death the first
time I heard it, and I reacted just the way you did. But my mamm knew exactly what
to do, and she showed me.”
That had been a gut thing, now that she thought of it. In
another year, Mamm had been gone and she’d been the one to get up in the night when
one of the little ones was sick.
“Joshua never had anything like this cough. Colds, ja, but nothing that sounded like
Sadie’s cough.” Nathan still sounded worried, but not as panicked as he had a few
minutes ago.
“Some kinder are just susceptible to croup. I don’t know why that is. My sister Sara
had it once or twice, but Isaiah was the worst. He seemed to get it several times
a year when he was Sadie’s age, and then he suddenly outgrew it and never had it again.”
Nathan didn’t respond, and she had to hope he had begun to accept her words.
She carried Sadie over to the stove. “Look, Sadie, we’re going to get the kettle nice
and steamy. And then we’ll make a little tent and you and I will put our heads under
it. That will make it easier for you to breathe without coughing.”
Sadie clung to her, still frightened, but she nodded. She pressed her face against
Naomi’s shoulder, and Naomi’s heart swelled with love.
There was a shuffle of slippers and Joshua came in, trailing his blanket. Nathan swung
toward him. “Joshua, what are you doing up?”
“I told him he could come down for a bit, just until he sees that Sadie is all right,”
Naomi said quickly. “He won’t be in the way.”
Sadie began that sharp, barking cough again, and Nathan winced. “Hush, hush, little
girl.” She stroked Sadie’s back, trying to send comfort through her touch. “It will
be better soon.”
She sat down next to the table, pulling another chair over close to them for the kettle.
Naturally it was taking what seemed an eternity to boil.
“What can I do?” Nathan sounded calmer as the initial panic wore off. “What else do
you need?”
“Either a small blanket or a large towel. We’re going to spread it over our heads
to keep the steam in.”
Nathan nodded, starting out of the room, and then paused, looking at his son. He seemed
to come to a decision.
“Joshua, you can run upstairs to the closet where we keep the sheets and towels. Take
the flashlight so you can see what you’re doing, and bring that great big blue towel,
ja?”
“I can do it, Daadi.” Joshua ran to take the flashlight from its hook by the door.
He darted toward the stairs, and Naomi could hear his hurrying feet above them.
“Gut,” she murmured, and saw from Nathan’s expression that he understood what she
meant. He was trusting Joshua instead of instantly doing it himself. That was good
for both of them.
By the time Joshua returned, the kettle was boiling.
“Denke, Joshua.” Naomi took the towel from him. It was bath-sheet size, and it would
work perfectly. “You sit on the chair over there,” she said, gesturing to the other
side of the table. “Wrap up in your blanket, so you stay warm. We don’t want you getting
sick, as well.”
Joshua nodded, climbing onto the chair. He watched curiously as Nathan transferred
the boiling kettle to the chair.
“Now, we must be careful not to touch the hot pan.” Naomi wrapped Sadie’s blanket
securely around her so that
she couldn’t inadvertently move and bump the kettle. “We are going to lean over the
steam like this, and Daadi will put the towel over our heads.”
Nathan nodded, reaching for the towel. In a moment the dark towel stretched over their
heads, cutting off the room.
Naomi pressed her cheek close to Sadie’s, feeling the steam full in their faces. “Just
breathe in like you always do. That’s right. Nice, even breaths in and out. The steam
is going to loosen up your throat inside, so that you won’t sound like a barking animal
anymore.”
Sadie coughed again, but the sound was looser, not as frightening.
“There, you see, it’s getting better already.”
“I don’t like it in here,” Sadie said fretfully. “I can’t see.”
“Of course you can’t see,” Naomi said, relieved to hear Sadie sounding more normal.
“We are two little bees in our dark beehive. But even though we can’t see anything,
we know we are safe with our family around us. We can hear their wings moving, helping
to keep us warm. Can you buzz a little, just to say denke?”
That caught Sadie’s imagination, as Naomi had hoped, and she produced a gentle buzz.
She coughed again, but this time her little body didn’t tighten with fear.
“That’s right,” Naomi said gently. “Everything is going to be fine, you’ll see. Coughing
is nothing to be afraid of.”
Sadie began to relax, and the inevitable tension that Naomi felt eased as well. She’d
been confident there was no reason to rush off to the hospital in the middle of the
night. Still, it was a relief to know she’d been right.
If this had happened when she wasn’t here, what would
Nathan have done? She imagined him running out into the dark, trying to hold Sadie
and call for help at the same time. It certain-sure wasn’t easy, being the only parent.
Naomi felt Sadie droop as she relaxed, and she shifted so that Sadie was leaning against
her. The steam had perspiration streaking down both their faces, and while Sadie would
look adorable with her cheeks pink and her damp hair curling against her face, Naomi
suspected she looked like a drowned rat. Still, her appearance hardly mattered.
Finally, as the kettle began to cool, she eased the towel back from over their heads.
The air in the kitchen felt chilly against her damp hair.
Nathan regarded her anxiously. “Should I heat the water again? Is it over?”
“She may need another treatment. Let’s just keep the water hot on the stove. I want
to get her into a dry nightgown and towel her hair.” She glanced at Joshua, nearly
asleep on the straight kitchen chair. “And I think we can get that one back in his
bed.”
“Ja.” Nathan smiled at his children as he set the heavy kettle back on the stove and
turned the gas on to a low flame. “I’ll carry him up, shall I? I can bring down another
towel and a fresh nightgown for Sadie.”
Naomi nodded, leaning back in the chair with the sleeping child. She felt as if she
had been running some kind of race—winded and exhausted but unable yet to relax. From
what she remembered of Isaiah’s attacks of croup, the first one often led to several
more.
Sadie’s breathing still seemed tight, her heart beating faster than normal. It could
be a long night.
She heard the sounds of Joshua being tucked into bed upstairs…the creak of the bedsprings,
a sleepy murmur from the child, Nathan’s comforting bass rumble answering him. In
a moment he was back, carrying a couple of towels and a small white nightgown.
“Let’s see if we can ease this damp one off without waking her.” Naomi kept her voice
low. If Sadie could sleep, that was the best thing.
“Just hold her,” Nathan said, bending over them. “I’ll do it.”
His face was very close to hers as he bent over his daughter—so close that at one
point she could feel the warmth of his skin, see the fine lines at the corners of
his eyes. She tried to close her mind, to shut out any foolish speculation, but she
couldn’t seem to breathe.
And then someone was knocking at the back door, calling Nathan’s name. Naomi smoothed
the nightgown into place and wrapped the blanket more securely around the sleeping
child as Nathan went to answer.
She heard Isaiah’s voice, and then his ruddy face appeared around the corner of the
door between the kitchen and the back hall.
“Ach, I don’t need to ask what’s going on,” he said. “I know croup when I see it.”
Nathan pushed him into the room and came in behind him. “Don’t hold the door open.”
“Sorry.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Poor little one. But Naomi will take
gut care of her.”
“Ja.” Nathan didn’t say more, but a message seemed to pass
between them as he looked at Naomi. He trusted her, and her heart swelled.
“We were worried when we didn’t see you get home,” Isaiah said, touching Naomi’s shoulder
lightly. “Do you want me to stay and walk with you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. You should remember that croup
can go on for a while. You may as well go on to bed. I’m not afraid to walk back to
the house by myself.”
To her relief, Isaiah didn’t argue. There was no point in any more people losing sleep
because of Sadie’s croup, and the cows had to be milked in the morning regardless
of whether the humans had gotten any sleep or not.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He squeezed Naomi’s shoulder and went out, closing
the door quietly.
Nathan glanced at the clock. Maybe Isaiah’s visit made him aware of how late it was
getting. “You should probably go on home. Sadie seems better now.”
Naomi could hear the reluctance in his voice, and she shook her head. She couldn’t
leave Nathan alone to deal with a sick child. “She’s still making that little noise
in her throat. I’m afraid we’re not over this episode yet. I’ll stay.”
He gave her a look of relief. “Denke, Naomi. Truth be told, I’d not like to be managing
this by myself.”
“Croup sounds much scarier than it is.” She wanted to allay the concern that lurked
in his eyes, but she knew Nathan could never stop worrying about his children.
“Scary? That doesn’t begin to describe it. I thought…” He stopped, running his hands
over his face.
Her heart lurched. Nathan seemed bound to compare every bump in his children’s path
to Ada’s death. She felt his pain. She also felt helpless to do anything about it.
It
was nearly two in the morning when Naomi finally tucked Sadie into her own bed with
a feeling of assurance that the worst was over. They’d had to resort to the steam
tent twice more, but each time the episode had lasted a shorter time. She went back
down the stairs, weariness dragging at her. She’d forgotten how tiring and stressful
it could be, staying up with a sick child.
Nathan was in the kitchen. He turned from the sink when he heard her, and she realized
he was clearing away the kettle and the cups they’d used what seemed an eternity ago.
“You don’t need to clean up. I’ll do that in the morning.”
Nathan’s face was tight, and her heart seemed to skip a beat.
“Nathan?” She went to him, reaching out as she would to a hurting child. “Was ist
letz? Sadie will be fine.”
“I know.” His voice rasped as if it pained him to speak. “I just…” He swallowed, and
she could see the muscles work in his throat. “I should not be afraid. I should trust
in God’s will. But—” His voice seemed to fail him.
“But Sadie’s illness made you relive Ada’s death.” She finished the thought for him,
knowing too well that was his nightmare.
He clutched the sink, the muscles standing out on his forearms like cords, staring
blindly at the darkness beyond the window.
“I chust went into town after supper to pick up an order of feed. The storm started
when I was ready to leave for home, so I waited at the mill.” A shudder went through
him.
Naomi wanted to tell him to stop, not to relive that night again. But she couldn’t.
Nathan was already caught in the nightmare of remembering.
“It was such a quick storm. A few lightning strikes and a couple rumbles of thunder.
That was all.” He sounded almost bewildered.
“I know,” she said softly. “I remember.” She had been at home, rushing into the house
with some sheets she’d pulled off the line when the storm came up. She’d been thinking
of nothing beyond saving her laundry from getting soaked.
“I started toward home the minute the rain slacked off. The ambulance passed me on
the road, the siren wailing. I think I knew then.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She touched his arm, but he seemed so far away he might not
have felt it. “Isaiah and your daad were in the south field, but by the time they
saw that the barn had been hit and reached it, it was too late.”
He shook his head, lowering it like an animal in pain. His shoulders hunched. “If
I had been here—”
“You would have been out with your daad and Isaiah in the field, fixing the fence.”
She moved her hand on his shoulder, gripping it, longing to comfort him and not knowing
how. “Could you have done more? Run faster than Isaiah? Been more clever than your
daad? You know that you could not.”
Poor Isaiah. Her little brother had been the one to rush into the burning barn, to
find Ada lying under the beam that had
fallen when she’d tried to lead the workhorses to safety. The horses had gotten out
with minor injuries, but Ada was gone all in an instant.
“I know.” Nathan turned on Naomi with a sudden spurt of anger. “I know they did all
that could be done. That doesn’t stop me from feeling how wrong it is. It should have
been me in that barn, not Ada.”
His anger was like a flame, scorching her, but she couldn’t falter now that Nathan
was finally speaking.
“That is what Isaiah said,” she replied softly. “When I got here I found him out behind
the toolshed, weeping. ‘It should have been me,’ he kept repeating. But it wasn’t.
Ada was the closest, so Ada was the one who went into the barn.”
“It’s not right.”
The words came out in one last burst of anger, and then tears spilled over. Nathan
turned to her as naturally as one of the children would, and she put her arms around
him, murmuring the soothing nonsense words she’d have used to any hurting creature.
It had been too long in coming, this outpouring of his grief. Nathan had held it back,
trying to be strong, and now the dam was broken. She could only hold him and pray
that this release would bring healing in its wake.