Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) (41 page)

Simon watched the young man approach and felt nothing but pity. James’ face was pale and his eyes were red and puffy. Thank goodness his dear, sweet daughter was already inside the ambulance. Her clothing, stained with her life’s blood, had been covered by a sterile white blanket. The EMTs had strapped her to a board to prevent further injury to her spine and immobilized both her broken legs and arm.

But she was alive. And Simon Miller was a grateful man.

“Mr. Miller, can I have a word with you, sir?” James Davis asked. “Please.”

Simon walked from the open ambulance door to meet Emma’s English friend. He did not want their conversation to be overheard.

“I know you don’t much care for me, but I want to know how Emma is. I must know.” He stood resolute less than a foot away, out of breath and sweaty.

Simon crossed his arms over his jacket and answered as accurately as he could. “She has multiple injuries to both legs, arms, back, and…” His voice faltered as his fortitude waned. He gasped for air and then continued, “…some head injuries. No way of telling how severe until they get her to the hospital.”

Simon would have made it through the description—one he knew he would have to repeat many times—if he hadn’t looked up and seen tears streaming down the young man’s face.
Men his age never cry
. Simon felt his own eyes sting with moisture. “But she’s conscious, James. She talked to me and knew that I was her
daed
. The medics say she has a good chance for recovery.”

James swiped at his face with a handkerchief as his expression turned joyous. “Oh, thank God,” he said huskily.

“
Jah
, indeed, we have much to be thankful for. I was riding back from the chiropractor with my neighbor and came upon…this, or else I wouldn’t have known or been able to see her.”

James shoved the hanky into a back pocket and straightened to his full height. “Thank you, Mr. Miller, for letting me know.” He took a step backward.

Simon observed the change in the young
Englischer
’s demeanor. His relief that Emma was alive was almost palpable. On impulse he asked, “Would you like to see her, James, before they take her to the hospital?” He felt a tear fall but brushed it away quickly.

James couldn’t have looked more surprised if the skies had opened and a team of chariots arrived to transport Emma to the emergency room. “Yes, sir, I sure would.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I know she doesn’t care about me anymore, but I just want to see for myself that she’s okay. Then I’ll be on my way.

Simon walked back to where EMTs were hooking Emma to monitors and IVs, stabilizing her for transport. He gestured for James to enter and then spoke as the boy stepped past him, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Inside the ambulance, James asked softly, “Emma, are you awake?”

To his astonishment, her eyes fluttered open. “
Jah
, I’m awake. Oh, Jamie, I thought I’d never see you again.” Two tears ran down her bloodied cheeks.

“Don’t talk like that, Em. Even if you don’t love me, I’ll always care about you…and pray that you are safe and well.” He touched the blanket gingerly.

Emma lifted up her unfettered arm in protest. “But I do care about you. I never stopped caring.” She sounded weak but very sure of herself.

“Time to go, Miss Miller,” a female medical tech said, eyeing James impatiently. “There’ll be plenty of time for romantic reunions after we get you patched up.” She pointed toward the door for James.

“I’ll see you soon, Em.” He patted her hand and stepped out quickly.

“Hop in, Mr. Miller. We’re ready to go,” she hollered. “We’re heading to Mercy Hospital in Canton.”

“Wait,” called Emma in a raspy voice. “I want…both of them to ride with me.”

“No, Miss Miller, there’s no room.
I’m
riding with you. Pick one or the other,” said the EMT.

Simon, standing in the doorway, looked at his daughter’s swollen face and felt nothing but gratefulness that she was not only alive, but speaking up for what she wanted.

So very like my Emma.

“Go ahead, son. Ride with Emma. I’ll follow behind with Mr. Lee in his van.”

James lifted his chin and suddenly looked older than eighteen. “No, sir. You ride with your daughter. I’ll send Mr. Lee back to pick up your wife and children to take them to the hospital. Then I’ll drive to Emma’s aunt’s farm and tell them. They can ride to Canton with me if they like.”

Simon shook his hand and climbed into the ambulance before it left without either of them.

With sirens blaring and lights flashing, the ambulance sped off, carrying the love of his life. James watched it disappear before running back to his vehicle. He didn’t look at the destroyed pony cart or the pitiful Appaloosa he had so optimistically bought Emma as a gift. He ran as though competing in the one-mile sprint in the state finals. When he found Mr. Lee beyond the police barrier, the man was beside himself with anxiety. Upon hearing that Emma would recover, he galvanized into James’ plan of action.

A worried-looking elderly woman was standing next to his truck when he reached her yard. “Sorry, ma’am, that I left my truck there. I had to reach the crash site in a hurry.”

She smiled indulgently. “No harm done. Is there anything I can do to help?”

James jumped into the driver’s side and turned the ignition key before an idea struck him. “Yes, ma’am. Could you please call my parents so they don’t worry? Tell them Emma’s been in an accident and that I’m going to Canton. Tell them she’ll be all right.” He jotted his phone number down on a fast-food receipt, thanked her, and left before she could ask him any more questions.

He didn’t have any answers.

He only knew one thing. Emma still cared for him, and that was the only thing he needed to know.

From the window in the doctor’s office, Hannah could see two Amish buggies, three cars, and the forest-covered hills to the east. She also spotted her husband with his metal-toothed brush, working the tangles from the standardbred’s coat. That man did not know how to be still, so sitting patiently in a doctor’s waiting room was out of the question.

Hannah watched him grooming the mare while she tried to calm her overexcitement. It was what she’d suspected for weeks. It was the midwife’s logical explanation for her weight gain, heightened appetite, and frequent morning sickness. The woman had laughed at Hannah’s naïveté. Usually women raised on farms could recognize the signs of pregnancy.
It might be a bladder infection, a slow-growing stomach tumor, or perhaps a mysterious allergic reaction.

But today’s visit to a Mount Eaton English doctor confirmed her fondest hope—she was expecting a child. Hannah couldn’t stop grinning the entire time she redressed, and then she thanked every staff member she encountered on her way out.

Seth stopped brushing the horse when he saw her crossing the parking lot. “Well, Mrs. Miller?” he asked, holding back a smile.

“Well, what,
ehemann
? Must a wife discuss every
little
thing with her husband?” She tried to sound impatient. “Let’s go. I want to pick up a pizza on the way home.”

Without warning, he lifted her off her feet and swung her away from the buggy. “Not every little thing…only this particular one.”

“Put me down this instant! Let’s not jar the
boppli
with all your foolishness!”

He immediately complied, but he lifted her chin to meet her gaze. “
Jah
, Hannah? You’re really having a child?”

“
Jah
,” she said. “I’m expecting. Let’s hope it’s a child and not a lamb or calf.” Despite her attempt at humor, she began to cry. “Oh, Seth, I am so happy.”

“Me too,
fraa
, me too. But there is one thing I gotta say.” He offered a hand as she stepped into the buggy.

“What’s that?” she asked, expecting to hear “I love you” or perhaps “I wonder if it’s a girl or boy.”

“I told you so!” He winked and shook the reins.

Business as usual in the Miller family.

Hannah and Seth teased each other all the way home. Seth suggested baby girl names that were unusual, to put it mildly, while Hannah promised to name the baby Zephaniah—Seth’s middle and his least favorite name—if the child was male. They didn’t reach agreement until almost home, the pizza already half eaten.

Hannah was filled with contentment as they turned down their township road. At long last, a
boppli
…a sister or brother for Phoebe. Now maybe that child would stop asking so many questions about where babies came from. Hannah mused on whom she would tell first—Julia or Emma, or perhaps crusty Simon, who had softened toward her considerably since the marriage to his
bruder
. She pondered what color to paint the baby’s room—traditional white, or if Seth permitted, maybe a soft yellow.

The sight of a shiny, green pickup parked at odd angle in their driveway curtailed her thoughts of paint colors. Hannah knew immediately who had come to call, but she couldn’t fathom why. The young English sheep farmer from Charm knew where Emma lived these days. Hannah felt an ominous sense of dread.

“I wonder who this might be?” Seth asked, parking the buggy close to the barn.

Hannah remained silent as they walked toward the house. They could see a tall, blond head at the back door. He’d been knocking to no avail—Phoebe was at Julia’s for the day.

Suddenly, the man spotted their approach and hurried down the steps.

The look on his face chilled Hannah’s blood.

“Mr. and Mrs. Miller?” he asked. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

Late August

A
bead of sweat ran down Emma’s temple as she painstakingly moved one leg and then the other through the long grass. She lifted her hand from the aluminum walker long enough to swipe the perspiration away and then braced her weight evenly on both palms. With difficulty, she took another step and shifted her weight forward. It hurt worse than sticking your head in a beehive.
Thirty more paces,
she told herself.
Twenty-nine, twenty-eight.
Slowly the bench
daed
had placed under the willow tree drew closer. Sitting in the shade would be her reward after the mandatory afternoon walk.

Three times a day, she endured agony as her muscles, tendons, and joints regained their usefulness. She had thought that once the casts came off her two broken legs, life would improve. It had felt
wunderbaar
to get rid of those itchy monstrosities. But with the casts gone, the daily physical therapy started. And with it came more suffering than a seventeen-year-old could ever imagine.
I guess I’ll be more understanding of
mamm, she thought, remembering Julia’s arthritis.

After twenty minutes Emma reached her cool oasis and lowered herself to the bench. When her breathing returned to normal, she turned her face skyward and offered up a heartfelt prayer. She knew she had much to be thankful for. Many people did not survive truck-buggy collisions. Given time, her legs would mend, and she would walk normally again one day. Her arm had sustained a simple break and was healing nicely. Already it was able to bear a certain amount of weight. The cuts, scratches, and purple bruises had faded. A competent plastic surgeon had stitched the deep gash by her eyebrow. It too would diminish into little more than a white line, according to her mother, and in the meantime it was usually hidden by her
kapp.
The broken cheekbone, nose, and eye socket bone had also mended without any permanent impairment to her vision. After prompt medical attention to her fractured skull, no residual effects remained other than occasional headaches in bright sunshine.

All in all, Emma was one lucky girl. More accurately, God had shown great mercy that day last April when an impatient young driver decided he couldn’t wait behind a slow-moving vehicle and swerved over the double yellow line…on a hill and going around a curve. He hadn’t thought anybody would be in that lane on the seldom-used back road.