Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (14 page)

As nurses flitted in and out of Luke’s room,
Mamm
sat in the cushioned chair, keeping her show of emotion to a minimum. But the light in her eyes helped to ease Hannah’s heartache.

Luke was awake, absorbing his new surroundings with a mixture of thankfulness and frustration. In spite of his numerous attempts to see Mary, the staff had refused. Dr. Greenfield was concerned that the stress might slow Luke’s progress. Sometime after she was removed from life support—if all went well—Luke would be allowed to see her.

On Mary’s third day after her surgery, the doctor would run tests to see what was going on inside her skull. If there were signs of healing and no pools or clots of blood, the staff would begin the process of waking her and might remove the ventilator.

Hannah’s heart turned a flip every time she thought about the doctor’s words. They were so noncommittal.
If
Mary responded well, she
should
be able to breathe on her own. Recovery seemed so tentative, so faltering. The possibilities made Hannah feel panicky. But quiet misery seemed the only way to respond as the waiting went on and on.

Paul walked beside his supervisor as they strode down the corridor of the family-services department. Connie, a thirty-something mother of three children, was his mentor in this learning process. She had blond hair and wore slacks with tailored jackets whenever Paul saw her, which hadn’t been often since he’d begun working here only a week ago. After this initial two-week training period, Paul would work here two days a week.

Thankfully, his immediate boss at the tire store hadn’t had the last word about Paul getting fired if he left work early to go to the interview for this job. Mr. Banks stepped in and told Kyle that Paul having flexibility with his work schedule was part of the store’s agreement when Paul was hired. Kyle seemed to quietly seethe over the reminder of that piece of news, but he’d stopped breathing threats at Paul.

“You studied my notes last night?” Connie flipped open the thick file and skimmed the first page, checking to see if Paul had initialed it.

“Yes ma’am.” The case in question involved the Holmes family—mother, father, and four children, including a teenage daughter named Kirsten, who had shown a tendency to throw fits at her family while in the yard where neighbors could see her. She also had a penchant for hysteria while standing on her property. When Kirsten ran away from home, the police brought her back and contacted social services.

After the initial home visit, the caseworker determined the situation to be detrimental for all the children. An uncle who lived with the family had a history of alcohol abuse and violence. The parents had been ordered to attend counseling sessions, which, according to the report, they had been doing faithfully. Today’s session would include Kirsten.
This should be interesting
, Paul thought.

“Any questions?” his supervisor asked.

“Yeah. What’s the status on the uncle?”

Connie closed the file. “Both parents have sworn that he is not allowed back into their home.”

“What will happen if Kirsten runs away again?”

“Well, there are a couple of ways this could be handled, but I’d suggest we do another in-home visit and interview the other kids to see if something is going on that shouldn’t be.”

Approaching a closed door, Connie put her hand on the doorknob and turned to Paul. “Now, Kirsten is dramatic. She’s quite good at putting on a show. I can guarantee she’s going to cry and try to throw blame on everyone but herself. Her dramatic ways are not necessarily an indicator of what’s really taking place inside the home. There’s plenty of blame to go around, but our job is to help this family function as a unit, not to take sides.”

Paul nodded. “I’ll do my best to remain objective.”

The third day after Mary’s surgery finally arrived. Her test results had indicated that the area inside her skull where surgery had been performed was healing better than the doctors had expected. The medicines that were keeping her in a coma had been reduced a few hours ago. Mary’s doctor, Dr. Hill—a man much older and rounder than Dr. Greenfield—predicted that Mary should be awake by nightfall.

Still feeling as if her mind and heart were shrouded in a thick fog, Hannah sat by Mary’s bed on one side while Becky sat on the other.
Mamm
hadn’t left Luke’s room all day. He’d been moved out of ICU and onto the fifth floor. The hardest part of the last few days had been dealing with Luke, even though the doctor kept him mildly sedated. When Luke was awake, he was irritable and constantly demanded to see Mary. Then the sedatives would take over, and he’d drift back off to sleep.

Hannah believed Dr. Greenfield was right; Luke didn’t need to see Mary like this. Becky had agreed to visit Luke here and there, knowing he’d come closer to believing Mary was doing well if her mother wasn’t staying by her side every second. Hannah admired Becky for being willing to leave her daughter for periods of time to help Luke stay calm.

The past few days had taxed everyone’s strength, although no physical work was required. Hannah,
Mamm
, and Becky took turns sitting with Luke and Mary, returning to the hotel for catnaps and grabbing quick bites of food in the cafeteria. A lot of Old Order Amish folk—some relatives, some not—had come from all over Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana, many hiring drivers to bring them, to visit and offer support. Those who could donated money for the mounting hospital bills. Even though they wanted to return to the farm with the young ones,
Mamm
, Becky, and Hannah were far from feeling lonely with all the Amish folks who came. From what Hannah was told, only one of Mary’s aunts didn’t come to visit, the one who was expecting twins in February and lived in Ohio. Her husband came by train, traveling with relatives and friends.

In his phone calls with
Mamm, Daed
told her about the dozens of Amish men and boys who were pitching in with the farming. Several brought their wives to help with the cooking and such at both the Yoder and Lapp homes. The community support given during this time did Hannah’s heart good. Her people were kind and generous. Somehow, because of her vehement desire to marry outside her community, she’d forgotten the many blessings of being Amish.

Her
Mamm
said that their English neighbors had been stopping by and offering to help too. People were putting their heads and money together to design a harness shop and an attached apartment as a surprise for Luke and Mary. Hannah hoped they could get that built. That would be a wonderful gift for her friend.

Singing a made-up song from their childhood, Hannah glanced at Becky, whose eyes were glued to her daughter. Mary’s limp, lifeless body had been moved into what the nurse called a semi-Fowler’s position, with the head of the hospital bed at a forty-five-degree angle.

The minutes droned into hours as Hannah sat beside Mary’s bed, softly singing and rehashing old memories. For now, Becky was in Luke’s room, trying to convince him that Mary was fine. Hannah squeezed Mary’s hand. “Remember the day we found that litter of abandoned kittens in your
Daed’s
old tool shed?” A soft laugh escaped Hannah. “It took us days to convince our mothers those poor things really were abandoned.” Hannah ran her fingers up and down Mary’s arm. “When they finally believed us, they gave us milk for them and let us use eyedroppers to feed them. We held those tiny kittens and fed them every hour like we’d die if one of them didn’t make it.” Hannah clicked her tongue in disgust. “They aren’t worth the milk we put into their stomachs. They turned out to be mean old rascals that killed every decent cat your
Daed
had in his barn. But they lived.”

Hannah laughed. “How about when we were thirteen and worked all fall collecting and sewing comforters for the Mission House? Oh, Mary, we were such a determined pair of girls about everything, remember?”

Whenever there was an occasional slight shifting of Mary’s fingers or toes, Hannah whispered to her friend where she was and why. The staff came in and out a lot, though they didn’t seem to be particularly concerned.

The ventilator was set to breathe for Mary only when she didn’t breathe for herself. Hopefully, Mary’s own respiratory system would take over as soon as the medicine-induced paralysis had completely lifted. Hannah listened to the machine force air into Mary’s lungs. It happened more times than she thought it should.

Come on, Mary, breathe. Just breathe
.

A white form crossed the doorway. Hannah’s gaze moved from Mary to see Dr. Greenfield.

“Patience.” He smiled. “Her slowness to wake is well within normal.”

Hannah forced a smile, glad that Dr. Greenfield was around. He stepped farther into the room and adjusted something on Mary’s IV bag. Without saying a word, Becky slipped into the room and took a seat beside her daughter’s bed. Mary’s eyelids twitched, and her legs shifted. She turned her head, as if trying to free herself of the contraption that covered her mouth. She coughed and pulled against her restraints. A long, loud shrill began.

Dr. Greenfield pushed a button on the ventilator, turning off the alarm. He moved to the bedside and checked Mary’s pupils. “This is all perfectly normal,” he assured Hannah and Becky. “Dr. Hill began making his rounds a little while ago. He’ll be in soon.” He turned and walked out the door.

As the hours wore on, Mary looked less and less like a corpse, though Hannah would be hard pressed to say why.

Mary’s legs shifted, and Hannah leaned near her ear. “Mary, you were in an accident. We’re at the hospital, and you’re safe. The odd feeling in your throat is a tube that’s helping you breathe. A machine is breathing for you some of the time. Don’t fight it. Just relax. Luke is down the hall, waiting to hear that you’re awake. When he woke, he felt very much like you do, and he’s doing really good now.”

Hannah talked on, repeating herself over and over. It seemed that Becky found talking impossible right now. A few times she’d tried speaking to her daughter, but she had choked on the words and returned to silence. Whenever Hannah paused in singing or talking, Mary pulled her head to the side, trying to free herself of the tube attached to her face, pulling against the restraints and coughing.

Becky’s face drained of all color before she motioned to the doorway and then left.

Tears spilled down Hannah’s cheeks. “There are communities across several states pulling for you, Mary. Luke needs you.” She lifted her friend’s hand to her cheek and caressed it. “I need you.” Hannah swallowed, determined to keep the conversation hopeful. “I … I have a plan for us to work on a special quilt. But it’ll take both of us to make this patchwork come true.”

When Dr. Hill and a nurse entered the room, Hannah stopped talking. Mary turned her head, pulling against the tubing going down her throat. Her wrists tugged at the restraints. Hannah grasped her friend’s hand. “Easy now,
Liewi
. I’m still here. The doctor is here too. Everything will be fine.”

Reading over the chart in his hand, he said, “Her oxygen rate is good, and it’s been stable for some time now. She hasn’t relied on the ventilator for two hours.” He passed the chart to the nurse and moved to the far side of the bed. “Mary, we’re going to remove the machine that’s breathing for you. It might feel like we’ve taken your breath away for a few seconds, but don’t panic or be frightened. Just relax, and you’ll soon be breathing on your own.”