A Miracle of Hope (The Amish Wonders Series) (32 page)

“Here, drink this.” Doctor Ethridge handed him a small paper cup filled with water.

Josiah gulped it down. It wasn’t enough to replace the cottony taste in his mouth, but at least the room wasn’t moving so fast.

“Maybe you better lie down a few minutes.”

“No.” He licked his parched lips. “I need to know how long I have.”

“It’s too early to know for sure,” Doctor Ethridge said, his eyes full of sympathy.

“Are you talking weeks? Months?” Josiah needed solid information.

“Is Lindie in the lobby? I’ll send for her.”

Josiah shook his head; it throbbed as if lambasted by a shovel. “I came by myself.” He hadn’t even told Lindie last week about undergoing the biopsy on the lump.

Doctor Ethridge collected the empty cup, filled it with more water, then handed it back. “Josiah, I’m sorry to have to deliver such bad news.”

Again
. The doctor said that the last time too. He cited the odds of remission after relapse, but Josiah’s mind raced with other thoughts. Days. He had days, not months. That must be why the results from the biopsy came back so quickly.

Josiah slugged down the water. “So it’s only . . . a matter of days?”

“I’m not saying that. Until we see how you respond . . .”

Josiah shifted his eyes to the tile floor. His thoughts drifted to his family. How would he tell Hannah? She’d already lost her mother. He didn’t want to leave Lindie either. Being alone with two children would be difficult for any woman. She wouldn’t know how to run the lumberyard. Simon wasn’t strong enough to keep it going. Would Lindie stay in contact with Simon if she moved back to Ohio with the children?

“Josiah?” Doctor Ethridge cleared his throat.

He lifted his head.

“I thought we could discuss a treatment plan. That is, if you’re ready.”

“Chemo again, right?” He wished there were other options. Anything but chemotherapy. Those treatments wiped him out physically. He still remembered how his veins burned during the infusion.

“We could follow the same regimen as the last time . . .”

“Or?” At least Josiah hoped there was another choice. The longer he stared at the doctor’s grim expression, the more nervous he became. Josiah grasped his leg to calm it from bouncing.

“I’m afraid it’s a long shot. Once you’ve come out of remission, as you have, the likelihood of going back into remission isn’t great. I’m not saying it can’t happen.”

Josiah pulled in a deep breath. He didn’t like the idea of receiving chemo treatments again, but he would take the harsh side effects over dying. “What about doing that transplant you talked about the last time?”

“Using high doses of chemotherapy agents followed up with a bone marrow transplant would increase your chances, but we didn’t have luck finding a donor match the last time.”

Josiah didn’t need luck—he needed God. “What about doing just the chemo?”

“At the high dosage you need, it’s risky. The medication will destroy the good cells along with the bad. Without following up the treatment with a bone marrow transplant, it isn’t likely to be successful.” He continued talking, something about his already adding Josiah’s name to the transplant waiting list. The doctor’s words disappeared into the background of Josiah’s thoughts.

What will become of Hannah, God? Who will be able to communicate with her? Lindie treats her well, but she still isn’t proficient in sign language. And, Lord, what about Lindie? I promised to do everything in my power to keep her safe. She trusted me
. . .

“I’ll let you talk this over with your wife.”

Josiah jerked his head up. “What? No. I can’t tell Lindie. I can’t put more stress on her. Not while she’s pregnant.” His words ran together.

“I agree that her condition is delicate. We don’t have to tell
her
yet
.” The doctor studied the chart. “We’ll start the chemo at the same dosage as last time, increase it incrementally, and if the treatment fails, then we can discuss other options. The odds are not in your favor, but let’s hope that’s all you’ll need to go into remission again.”

Odds
. The doctor was a godly man yet he still quoted odds.

Doctor Ethridge scribbled something on a prescription pad, tore it off, and handed the paper to him. “Take this to the hospital. It’s an order to have an IV port inserted.”

Josiah studied the scribbling, but the prescribed directions made no sense to him.

“I’ll order the agents and once they arrive, we can set up a treatment schedule.”

Josiah nodded without lifting his head.

“You’re not going to be able to keep this from Lindie.”

“This is February. She only has three months before the baby is due,” Josiah said.

Doctor Ethridge lowered his eyes and nodded.

Josiah closed his eyes. “I don’t have that much time, do I?”

Lindie paced the kitchen floor. Josiah had been gone all day. It wasn’t like him to leave and not tell her what time he would be back. She tried not to fret, but she couldn’t keep from looking out the window. The sun had set an hour ago and his supper dish sat untouched on the table. She peered out the window again. Snowing. Would it ever stop?

Lord, please keep him safe
. The roads were dangerous. The plows didn’t always do a good job clearing the shoulders. He wouldn’t have anywhere to steer the horse if a car spun out of
control. So many things could go wrong. Molly could slip and fall on a patch of ice.

“Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid,” Lindie whispered. She wrung her dry, cracked hands together and repeated the verse from the book of John. “Let not your heart be troubled . . .” If it took all night to feel some sort of peace, she would keep quoting the Word. She crossed the room again. “Let not—”

Hannah’s cry startled Lindie. She raced from the kitchen, down the hall, and into the child’s room.

“Shh.” Lindie sat on the edge of Hannah’s bed.

A frightened, almost wild look overcame the girl. “He’s dying,” she signed, her hands moving fast.

Lindie swept Hannah’s hair away from her face, then kissed her forehead. “You had a bad dream,” she said slowly enough for Hannah to read her lips.

Hannah stared.

“
M-O-O-S-E
”—Lindie spelled out one letter at a time—“is okay.” Josiah had checked on the horse multiple times in the last few days and he’d made a miraculous recovery. Lindie straightened the bedcovers.

“Not Moose.” Hannah’s hands paused. “Father.”

Lindie crinkled her brow and, without prompting, Hannah repeated the hand gestures. Lindie pulled the child into her arms and hugged her tight. No wonder she was so upset. She pulled back so Hannah could see her lips. “Pray for him. God hears you.”

Within seconds of Hannah closing her eyes, a light flashed outside the window.

Relief washed over Lindie. She tapped Hannah’s arm. “Your father is home,” she said, pointing to the window. “I just saw
the buggy’s lantern light.” She patted the pillow. “Everything is okay. Go back to sleep.”

After she tucked Hannah under the covers, Lindie hurried to the kitchen. She pushed the curtains aside and looked toward the barn. A dim glow from the lantern illuminated Josiah’s buggy as he worked to unhitch the horse. Home at last. He was safe.

She put the coffeepot on the stove and his supper plate in the oven to reheat. A few minutes later she removed the plate from the oven, placed it and a freshly poured cup of coffee on the table, then waited.

And waited.

What was taking him so long? She picked up a damp dish-cloth and scrubbed the counter. He was gone all day. What was he going to do, dally in the barn all night? It was already late.

Several minutes later the back door opened. Josiah stepped into the kitchen, removed his hat, and ran his hand across the back of his neck. “I thought you would have already gone to bed,” he said.

“How could I sleep with you not home yet? I was worried.”

He bowed his head.

“Your food is getting
kalt
—
again
.” She applied more pressure on the cloth as she scoured the countertop.

He pulled the chair out from under the table and sat. He closed his eyes briefly, then picked up the fork.

“Were the roads bad?”

“Snowy, but not too slippery.” He took a bite of potatoes, chewing them slowly.

“Are they
kalt
again? I’ll warm them up.”

She tossed the rag on the counter, picked up his plate, and took it to the stove.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, probably in response
to the sound of clanging pots and pans as she pulled out the fry pan she’d just washed.

“I feel fine.” She slapped a heaping tablespoon of lard into the cast-iron pan.

He scooted his chair back. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”

She spun around, crossed her arms, and glared at him. If he wasn’t hungry, he should have stopped her before she dirtied the pan.

“Okay, I’ll eat.” He raised his hands in surrender and returned to his seat. “Just didn’t want you to go to all that trouble, is all.”

“It’s no trouble.” She dumped the potatoes from his plate into the grease. Reheating them twice would probably dry them out more. The chicken’s white meat was already dry and stringy.

“Did Hannah give you problems today?”

“
Nay
, why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “You don’t seem to be in a
gut
mood.”

She huffed. “Earlier you said you had some things to do. I thought you were going out to the barn, but you harnessed the horse and drove off. Then you were gone all day. I should have asked what you wanted reheated, your lunch or dinner, since you weren’t home to eat either.”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s snowing. And dark. And I was worried about you. What if something happened? Hannah and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

His shoulders slumped. “You would handle things fine,” he said softly, then added, “Wouldn’t you?” He scrutinized her from across the room. “Well?” His voice strengthened. “Would you be able to take care of Hannah?”

“Are you
still
judging my skills to look after your child? I didn’t think I still had to prove myself.”

“It was a what-if question. What if something happened to me?” He rubbed the back of his neck again as though trying to massage a knot loose.

“Oh.” The potatoes sizzled and she turned to the stove. First Hannah dreamt he was dying and now he posed this question.

Josiah stood. “I’m sorry you went to all this trouble, but I’m really
nett
hungry.” He left the room.

Josiah slipped out of bed and dressed quietly so as not to wake Lindie. Now that she was in her last trimester, she woke several times throughout the night to empty her bladder. He wanted her to sleep as long as possible. Plus, he wanted to get an early start on the lumber orders he needed to fill. After Eli received the first shipment of elm, he had placed another order. It was good that Josiah had enough wood and didn’t need to chop more trees, since he had less than a week before the doctor wanted to start chemotherapy. Doctor Ethridge had warned him the dosage would start low and steadily increase, which would also increase the severity of the side effects. Because he only had three days, Josiah arranged for Jakob Troyer to help him complete the orders.

Josiah filled a cup with coffee and took it out with him to the workshop. He wanted to get a fire started in the woodstove. He also didn’t want Lindie to hear him in the kitchen and get up. He still didn’t know how to break the news to her.

Jakob Troyer arrived shortly after sunrise and they worked hard until late afternoon, breaking only for lunch. Then Josiah continued working after Jakob went home. Except for taking Sunday off to rest, the grueling schedule continued throughout the week. Josiah found planing lumber a means to smooth out
his frustration. Not that anything could lessen his anxiety about what was ahead.

Lindie entered the workshop sometime after Jakob had gone home.

“Josiah, don’t you want to eat supper?”

He set the hammer on the worktable. “I didn’t know it was that late.”

She shivered. “It’s
kalt
in here.”

“I guess I let the fire die out.”