An Unbroken Heart (30 page)

“Why?”

“I need a form of identification.”

He paused, and he could feel the eyes of the clerk on him. He dug out his wallet
and handed her his license. She put the information into her computer. “I'll make
a copy of this and bring it back to you.”

He looked at Lacy again, who was now drifting off to sleep. He touched her forehead,
which was still burning hot. “Where's the doctor?” he asked, his tone harsh.

“He'll be here in a few minutes.”

The clerk left. Cameron stared down at Lacy, his eyes taking in the large bandage
that covered her tiny hand where the nurse had inserted the IV. He wiped at his eyes.
Would he lose Lacy in
a hospital, the same way he'd lost Mackenzie? He thought about
Irene and her prayers. He could use them now. Why couldn't he catch one break? He
was nearly broke—he had no idea how he would pay for a hospital bill. And he'd handed
over his ID to the clerk, who was probably putting it in some kind of computer system
hooked up to emergency services. Eventually he'd be found by police. He knew it deep
in his gut. The end of the line was here.

Lacy's eyes opened. They looked glassy and vulnerable. His heart swelled with love
for his little girl. But what kind of life was he giving her? She had her first real
illness and she was in the hospital, dangerously sick. He'd always be looking over
his shoulder, thinking the police would pick him up any minute. He was failing her
as a father.

He pulled over a chair and sat down, leaning his head against the carrier, where
she
was
still safely tucked in. His eyes flooded with tears. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart,”
he
whispered.
“All I wanted was for you to have a better life than your mother and
I
did.”
He closed his eyes, tears dripping down his cheeks. “Hey, uh, God.” He cleared
his
throat.
He had no idea how to pray or what to say. “You know I don't do this,”
he
said
quietly. “I don't pray or ask for favors or whatever this is.” He opened
his
eyes
and looked at his baby girl again. “Lacy's all I have. I can't lose her.
And
I
can't give her the life she deserves. If she survives this, for her sake I'll
do
the
right thing. I promise. I don't care what happens to me. I just want her to
live.”

CHAPTER 16

A
few minutes after Andrew had fallen asleep covered in a lovely pink-and-white quilt,
Joanna heard someone stirring in the Beilers' kitchen. She gave Andrew one last
look, then left the addition and opened the door to the main house. Irene stood in
the kitchen, her body shivering the same way Andrew's had. An empty mug was on the
table. She coughed, her eyebrows raising as she glanced at Joanna. Then she gave
her an apologetic look and left the kitchen.

“We were at Rhoda's,” Naomi explained as Irene went upstairs to her room. “Irene
had a headache and said she wanted to lie down. She fell asleep on the couch and
didn't wake up for a few hours. That's why we were late coming home. Although it
was a
gut
thing because we were able to wait out the rain.”

Joanna nodded. The rain had stopped almost as quickly as it started.

Naomi glanced at the staircase. “I should have brought her home earlier, but I didn't
want to disturb her. I thought she'd
sleep off the headache. Besides, Rhoda seemed
happy for the company.”

Joanna wasn't surprised to hear that. She remembered Aden's birthday supper and how
eager Rhoda had been to help Joanna in the kitchen. Now that she wasn't so self-involved
with her own problems, Joanna could see that Rhoda's melancholy was due to loneliness.
Rhoda and Naomi had a lot in common—including absent husbands.

“Andrew's ill too,” Joanna said. “He's asleep right now.”

“In his room?”

“
Nee
, in the new part of the
haus
. He's feverish. I hope you don't mind, but I found
some feverfew tea in the kitchen and gave it to him.”

“Irene just finished hers.” Naomi tilted her head. “Andrew didn't mention you were
coming over.”

“He didn't know.” She threaded her fingers together. “I brought him a picnic for
supper. I was hoping he and I could talk.”

“Did you?”

She shook her head. “He was too sick. He still feels hot. I think a cold washcloth
will help cool him off.”

Naomi opened a drawer and pulled out a white cloth. She handed it to Joanna.

Joanna turned on the tap and soaked the cloth with cold water, then wrung it out
until it stopped dripping. She turned off the tap. “I better get this to him.”

“Are you sure?”

Joanna frowned. “What do you mean?”

Naomi leaned against the counter. “Joanna, are you here for the right reasons?”

Joanna thought about Naomi's question. Now that his mother was here, Andrew didn't
need Joanna to take care of him. But she wanted to be here. Not out of guilt or trying
to make amends. She loved him, and she wanted to comfort him, whether or not he was
still angry with her. “
Ya
. I believe I am.”

“Rhoda said there was a nasty flu bug going around. You could get sick.”

Joanna didn't falter under Naomi's scrutinizing. “I don't care. I'm not leaving his
side until he's better. If that means I get sick, then so be it.”

After a pause Naomi nodded, smiling a little. “I'll
geh
check on Irene.”

Joanna went back to the addition. Andrew was still asleep. Gently she laid the cloth
on his hot forehead, and he didn't move. His skin had a rosy glow from the fever.

She turned and looked at the food she'd laid out earlier. She'd take it to the main
house in a little while. The potato salad and the tuna macaroni would have to be
chilled, but the rest could go in the pantry. Her hips ached a little as she sat
down in a rocking chair near the couch. The rain had stopped and the room was quiet,
with the exception of the hissing from the gas lamp and an occasional coughing spell
from Andrew.

A short time later she went to Andrew again. She took the washcloth off his forehead
and flipped it over to the cooler side. He was still warm, but not as hot as he'd
been before he had the feverfew. He shifted on the couch but didn't open his eyes.
She looked at him for a few moments, wishing she could take his hand. But she didn't
dare. As far as she knew he was still furious with her, and he needed to rest. If
she held his hand he might get stirred up, and she didn't want that. Not for her
own sake, but for his.

She rose and went to the window in the living room. It was dark outside, and she
wondered what time it was. Not that it mattered. She would stay here until he felt
better or told her to leave. She put her hand on the brand-new glass. The windows
didn't have curtains on them . . . yet. Maybe one day.

Joanna turned from the window and settled back into the rocking chair. She glanced
around
the
room. She hadn't appreciated the work Andrew had done when he'd showed
it
to
her the first time. She'd been too steeped in her own self-pity and fear to
pay
attention
to the details, like the gleaming wood floor, the brand-new woodstove,
and
a
magazine rack near the couch. It would be a good place to keep her cooking
magazines.
Somehow
she knew that's why Andrew had purchased the rack. Again, she
thought
about
how warped her idea of love had been. Being in this small, cozy house
Andrew
had
built with his own hands brought that point home. This was the perfect
place
to
begin a new life. She'd been too blind to see it.

A sense of belonging washed over her in a warm wave. Naomi and Abigail both had faith
that she and Andrew would be together again. Now she had that faith too. She glanced
at Andrew. Somehow she had to convince him they still belonged together. She closed
her eyes.
Lord, help me figure out how
. . .

She opened her eyes to the sound of Andrew mumbling. At some point during her prayer,
she had fallen asleep. She went to him and perched on the edge of the sofa. His eyes
were closed, and he wasn't saying anything now. She touched his forehead. The feverfew
had helped for a little while, but now his temperature was back up. She went to
the Beilers' kitchen and made him some more tea, then went back and coaxed him into
drinking some, helping him sit up first.

“So hot,” he said, throwing off the quilt. His eyes were open now, his face flushed.

“
Yer
fever's higher again. Here.” She held the tea mug to his lips, and he sipped.
Then he leaned his head back, only to start coughing again.

“I'll be right back,” she said. She went to the little kitchen in the addition and
turned on the tap. The water sputtered, then flowed freely. She took the washcloth
she had used before to cool his forehead, rinsed it under cold water, and went back
to Andrew. His eyes were closed again.

“Lean forward a bit.”

He mumbled something and didn't move. She put her arm around his shoulders and tried
to ease him up. He was too heavy for her. “Andrew . . . you have to help me.”

With a groan he sat up a little. She put the washcloth on the back of his neck, and
he sank back down against the pillow she'd brought from the bedroom.

“How is he doing?”

Joanna looked up. She hadn't heard Naomi come in. “Still feverish. I gave him some
more tea. He might need a different fever reducer, though. We have some at the grocery
store. It's Sunday, but Sadie will open it for us.”

“It's dawn. I can drive over to the store and get what he needs. Irene too.”

“Can you let Sadie and Abigail know where I am?” She was sure they were worried.

“They know. I told them when they called last night. I'll go a little later. I don't
want to disturb them too early.”

She nodded, then Naomi left. Joanna continued to look at Andrew, who had fallen back
asleep. Unable to resist, she brushed
her hand against his cheek, which was bristly
with
a
full day's growth of dark blond beard covering his flushed skin.
I love you,
Andrew
Beiler.
I hope someday you can trust me again.

Andrew opened his eyes and peered into the darkness. He wasn't sure what time it
was, or even where he was for a moment. His shirt was damp, and he removed the cloth
from his neck. As he became more aware, he realized he was still on the couch in
the addition. He also realized he felt better. He glanced around the room and saw
Joanna. So he hadn't dreamed that she was here. She was sitting in the rocking chair,
asleep, her body in an uncomfortable position. He was about to wake her, then thought
better of it.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa. The room spun slightly, but
he needed to go to the bathroom. He stood, waiting for the light-headedness to settle
down, then made his way to the bathroom and took care of business. But on the way
back to the couch, he started to sway a little bit. Joanna appeared right by his
side.

“You should have woken me up,” she chastised. She put her arm around his waist and
drew him close to her.

If he'd been of a normal mind, he would have realized she was so thin she shouldn't
be able to hold him up, but somehow she was managing. She was stronger than she looked.
He leaned against her as she led him back to the couch. He plopped down, then slumped.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He looked up at her. “I'm still alive.”

She chuckled a little bit.

When was the last time he'd heard her laugh?

“Think you can manage to eat some soup?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“All right.
Yer mamm
made some chicken noodle soup last night. I'll bring you a bowl.”

He nodded weakly as she turned to leave. Then he noticed again. “Where are
yer
crutches?”