Rebecca's Return (25 page)

“You would?” Isabelle asked, surprised at the offer.

“Sure,” Isaac said, adding his weight to Miriam’s offer. “We can’t do everything, of course, but knowing someone close by is always a good feeling.”

“That would be wonderful,” Isabelle said, deeply moved. “That way you wouldn’t have to worry so much,” she added in Beatrice’s direction.

“But…that would be a bother,” Beatrice said. “You can’t just go imposing on people.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Miriam said quickly again. “Really it wouldn’t. We would love to.”

“See,” Isabelle said, still in Beatrice’s direction.

Behind her the door opened, letting in Dr. Wine. “The Miller family?” he asked, looking questioningly toward Beatrice and then Isabelle.

“Friends,” Miriam said. “You can talk in front of them.”

Beatrice, who had started to rise from her seat, sat down again. Isabelle looked satisfied, never having made any effort to leave.

Dr. Wine glanced around the room. “I’ve looked at the CT scan we just did. The news isn’t too good, I’m afraid.” His eyes found Isaac’s face, then moved on. “John has a comminuted skull fracture, which we knew from the X-ray last night.”

“There is more then?” Isaac’s spoke up, his voice tense.

“I’m afraid so.” Dr. Wine was taking his time. “There is bleeding, as I was afraid there would be. A
subdural hematoma,
to use the medical term.” Dr. Wine glanced around, and when no one said anything, he continued. “The hematoma consists of a swelling where blood vessels broke from the injury to your son’s head. With no place to go, that blood is accumulating and pressing in on the surrounding brain tissue, and may grow for some time yet.”

“Is it serious?” Isaac asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Wine said. “How serious? That depends on how large the hematoma becomes from the bleeding. If your son’s swelling keeps pressing on the brain, a lot of damage can result. We’re going to try to keep him stable, and relieve the pressure by medication first. Hopefully surgery can be avoided. There is no way though, to tell how much damage is being done until after the hematoma stops growing. This happens once the blood clots. The hematoma will then decrease over a period of time. When your son regains consciousness, we will be better able to tell his condition.”

“Can there be aftereffects?” Isaac asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Wine said with some hesitation. “It’s possible a subdural hematoma can leave the symptoms of a stroke, among other things. Of course there may be nothing wrong when the swelling has fully gone down.”

“How long before we know anything?” Miriam asked.

“I wish I knew, Mrs. Miller,” Dr. Wine said, “but with this condition, I would not venture to guess.”

“Are you keeping him in the hospital?” Miriam asked.

“I would recommend that,” the doctor answered, “at least until John regains consciousness. He really needs to, but…” He paused, his meaning clear to them all. “I wish to respect your people’s wishes.”

“Yes,” Isaac bowed his head. “But we don’t have medical insurance.”

Beatrice cleared her throat before Dr. Wine could respond. “I believe, Mr. Miller, that your hospital expenses will be covered.”

“Thank you, officer.” Dr. Wine nodded his appreciation to Beatrice. “She is correct. We have been contacted by the party’s insurance company, the one that represents the person at fault in the accident, and they are paying all your expenses.”

“Not more than that,” Isaac quickly said, half rising in his seat. “We don’t want any money.”

“That’s between you and the party who injured your son,” Dr. Wine said. “Our concern is for our own bills, of course. They are being paid.”

“Then John should stay,” Miriam said, slowly this time. “It would be better.”

“It would be,” Isaac agreed.

“Should the family stay with him?” Miriam asked.

“It’s not necessary,” Dr. Wine said, “but you are welcome to stay if you want.”

“Is John in critical danger?” Miriam asked.

“There is always danger. We have excellent care here at Adams, I believe. So it’s just a matter of how much damage has been done and will be done as the bleeding continues. I assure you we will monitor your son’s condition with great care. Beyond that—I’m sorry—Mrs. Miller, but we will just hope for the best.”

“It’s in God’s hands,” Isaac said for all their benefit. “It’s out of ours.”

“We will do the best we can,” Dr. Wine assured them again. “It never hurts to have people praying though.”

“We already did,” Isabelle said. “Sunday there will be some more. These are God’s children.”

“We all seek to be,” Isaac said quickly, his voice uncomfortable. “We’ll pray that what God desires, will be done.”

“I will see you later then,” Dr. Wine said, dismissing himself. “The nurses can answer your questions, I’m sure. If you have some, just ask.” And then he was gone.

“Who is paying the medical bills?” Miriam asked, glancing toward Beatrice.

“I’ll tell you later,” Isaac told her.

“I just wanted to thank him.”

“Consider him thanked,” Beatrice said, figuring she should say that much. “I’ll pass on the word.”

“She was the officer on the scene last night,” Isaac said so Miriam could make sense of the exchange.

“We really have to be going,” Beatrice said, standing up. “Mom needs to get home, and I’m on shift before too long.”

“It’s nice meeting you, and maybe I can see the young man the next time,” Isabelle got up to follow Beatrice out.

“Oh, I’m sure you can now,” Miriam said quickly. “Perhaps John’s back in his room.”

“Later,” Isabelle said. “He just got back from his tests. Beatrice can bring me in sometime.”

“Oh, yes,” Isaac said remembering, “the phone number. I can give it to you now.”

“That’s not necessary,” Beatrice told him. “I’ll help Mother find it in the phone book. Miller’s Furniture. If not, I know where you live.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Isabelle said to them both, as Beatrice held the door open for her. “We’ll be praying for you and John.”

As soon as the two women had left, Mattie said to Rebecca, “We should be going too. I’m sure if there’s any change, you’ll let us know,” Mattie said to Miriam.

“Yes.” Isaac and Miriam nodded.

Following her mother out, Rebecca said nothing as they got into the buggy and drove out of West Union. It was well north of town before Mattie spoke. “This is a time for you to be strong for John, no matter what happens,” she said firmly.

“I want to,” Rebecca told her, hoping the strength would be there to fulfill her intentions. That she was not feeling so strong, she couldn’t help. She was doing the best she could.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-TWO

L
ater in the afternoon, Reuben was harnessing his old driving horse, while the faithful animal switched its tail in vain protest. He was getting ready for his Saturday afternoon church rounds. It wasn’t always necessary to take these Saturday afternoon drives. Sometimes there weren’t any church matters to be dealt with, but today there were.

He was going, not just to the one he had agreed to look into for Rachel, but to the ones Bishop Mose had left him. Those came from last preaching Sunday—two items that needed looking into. That made three stops, if more did not come in, and at this hour of the afternoon, Reuben doubted any would.

Rachel had seemed subdued all day. It baffled him. The change had come over her during the past few days. It must be the child who was coming because no other answer made much sense. Still while Rachel was carrying Luke, there had never been such a big change, but maybe it was her older age.

After getting his horse under the shafts and the tugs hooked up, he set out. Amman Yoder’s place was his first stop. It had to do with the possible medical needs the family might have because Nancy had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

Reuben got the old driving horse moving smartly down the road. The quicker he got going, the sooner he would be done. Saturday afternoon church work was not exactly enjoyable to him but necessary, if things were to be kept running smoothly in the church.

Amman’s place was also the easiest stop, and because Reuben liked doing the easiest thing first, he had so organized his afternoon.

Coming up on Amman’s driveway, he saw that Amman must be out in the barn. Amman’s manure spreader was parked half in and out of the backdoor. The team of Belgian workhorses waited patiently, shuffling occasionally, their feet lifting up and down on the frozen ground. He could see the steady pitchfork loads of manure coming out of the barn door, the occasional one overshooting the intended aim and ending up over the side of the spreader or hanging on the edge.

How like Amman, always a little off on his aim in more ways than one, and now his wife has cancer.
Not that sickness couldn’t happen to anyone, but Reuben was still convinced that going to Mexico for medical treatments was the wrong thing to do. Because Amman was apparently in favor of such measures, it seemed to Reuben a little like one of those missed throws coming out of the back barn door.

Now that he was reminded of the point, Reuben thought perhaps he should bring up the issue on Sunday with Bishop Mose. Maybe a trip to Mexico should not be included in the expenses the church was willing to help with. It might do no good to bring the matter up, but right now he felt strongly enough about the subject to at least suggest such a rule.

Dismissing the thoughts about Mexico, Reuben brought his mind back to the task at hand. He needed to find out what Amman’s medical needs were and report back to the bishop. That was as far as his authority went. Pulling up in front of the barn, he got out and tied the old driving horse to a ring in the door.

“Hello,” he hollered into the barn, to let Amman know he was coming in.

“Back here,” Amman hollered in return.

Cheerfully,
Reuben thought, not sure how cheerful he would be if it was Rachel who was sick and the deacon was showing up to offer financial help.

“On your Saturday rounds?” Amman asked with a smile.

“Yes.” Reuben grinned good-naturedly. “Someone has to…”

“True enough…true enough,” Amman replied, grinning back. “You checking up on our money condition with Nancy’s illness?”

“Yah.” Reuben nodded, resting his arm on one of the horse stanchions. “You doing okay?”

“As those things go,” Amman said, as he stopped his work and leaned on his manure pitchfork. “Doctors think she’ll be able to pull out of it.”

Reuben couldn’t help himself and asked, “You’re not going to Mexico?”

If Amman knew about Reuben’s feelings on the matter, he didn’t show it. “Only as a last resort.”

That made Reuben feel better and got him thinking that it was probably all Nancy’s idea to go to Mexico and that she must have told Margaret, which was how it got into
The Budget
.

“I wouldn’t go either,” he told Amman, now that he was sure that going to Mexico didn’t come from Amman’s head.

“Not my idea.” Amman shrugged his shoulders, confirming Reuben’s conclusions. “Depends how bad it gets, I guess.”

“You think you’d go then?” Reuben asked, thinking of donkeys braying in the dirt streets and standing in front of filthy huts.

Amman glanced up from the concrete floor where his eyes had been resting. He pushed his manure fork into the yet untouched part of the horse stall and answered, “I suppose so. If your wife’s sick and can’t get help, wouldn’t you do everything you could?”

Put that way, Reuben wasn’t sure what to say. “But it’s Mexico,” he managed.

“Maybe they know something we don’t. The government here and all…with its controls.” Amman leaned on his manure fork again. “They have their fingers into everything. How do we know they aren’t up to something?”

Reuben was vaguely familiar with this argument, enough at least to respond intelligently. “They wouldn’t keep a good drug off the market.”

“Yah.” Amman glanced up again, more sharply than necessary. “They are the government…” he said, as if that answered everything.

It was obvious that Amman’s sympathies lay firmly with crossing the border for medical help, whether the idea had originated in his head or not. “I’m not sure I’d go,” Reuben said cautiously.

“Even if Rachel had no other help?”

Amman was scrutinizing him now, which Reuben didn’t appreciate. This was his deacon call, and he was the one supposed to be scrutinizing people. Yet something would have to be said and said quickly, or Amman would spread the word around that Reuben would rather leave Rachel to die of cancer than chance going across the border. By the time the matter was done, Reuben’s motives would not be noble, whether they started out with sound reasons or not.

“We should do everything we can,” Reuben said because he did feel that way. It was just that Mexico was not in his book of things to do. He felt sure Bishop Mose would agree, and he figured Sunday morning might prove a more agreeable audience than Amman Yoder. Any conversations they had at the Sunday morning minister’s gathering would have the protection all their ministerial proceedings did—a sort of Amish immunity from prosecution because no decisions made could or ever would be traced back to one man. It was their code of honor.