An Unbroken Heart (29 page)

By Saturday Andrew was finally able to put in a full day's work, but that didn't
give him any satisfaction. About mid-afternoon his throat had become scratchy, and
as he pulled into his driveway he started to cough. He'd avoided his mother and
sister, this time for reasons other than he didn't want to talk about his failed
wedding. He'd spent the nights alone in the addition, trying to puzzle out what to
do about Joanna and the letter. Eventually he gave up trying to figure it out. He
was tired. Exhausted, actually. When he arrived home from his last job of the day,
he decided he'd ignored his family enough. He was also done with sleeping on the
couch, having been unable to bring himself to sleep in the bedroom in the addition.

After stabling Fred he went into the house, expecting supper. He found a note from
Irene instead:

We went to visit Rhoda Troyer for the afternoon. Will be back in time for supper.

He glanced at the clock. It was past suppertime, but he didn't care. This wouldn't
be the first time he'd fended for himself. But he wasn't really hungry. He coughed
again and got a glass of water. Although he wanted to turn in early, he knew he'd
probably lie awake and think of Joanna and his father for hours until he'd fall asleep.
He set the glass down on the counter and went outside.

The sun was halfway past the horizon and nearly obscured by clouds. He hadn't taken
his jacket off, but he was still cold. The wind had been brutal today but had died
down in the past hour. He looked at the addition again. He promised himself he would
dismantle it after work on Monday. He coughed again and was about to go inside when
he noticed a couple of shingles on the ground. Great. Even though he was taking the
structure apart, he couldn't leave the roof exposed with the threat of rain. He picked
up the shingles, collected his tool belt and a ladder from the barn, and went back
to the addition. He leaned the ladder against the house. As he climbed the first
couple of steps, fatigue dogged at him. As soon as he secured the shingles, he would
go back inside and straight to bed—insomnia or no.

He had a longer coughing fit when he reached the top of the roof. Drops of rain hit
his back as he bent to nail down one of the shingles. He glanced up as he heard a
buggy coming down the driveway. Expecting it to be his mother and Irene, he started
on another shingle. But instead of their buggy stopping close to the barn, it stopped
beside the addition. He looked up as he brought the hammer down and saw Joanna getting
out of the buggy. The head of the hammer smashed the back of his hand. He yelped
as he dropped the hammer and grabbed his hand in pain.

“Andrew?” She looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the rain that was coming
down harder now. “What are you doing up there?”

“Trying to fix the roof,” he ground out.

“In the rain?”

His hand throbbed, his throat was on fire, and he was getting wet. To top it off,
he started to cough.

“Are you sick?” she asked. She was getting wet, too, but she didn't seem to notice.

“Nee.”
It felt like he was swallowing razor blades. “What do you want, Joanna?”

“To see you.”

He started to shiver. “Th-there's n-othing more to s-ay.”

“Andrew, please come inside. We both need to get out of the rain.”

“I have to fix these shingles.” If they had a heavy rain and the roof was exposed,
it would lead to a bigger problem and possibly a leak. “Then I'll be inside.”

“All right. I'll meet you there.”

He thought she was going to go to the main house. But she took a large basket out
of her buggy and went into the addition. As if she lived here. He gave his head a
shake, coughed again, then finished nailing the other three shingles in place. By
the time he was done, rain was dripping from the brim of his hat and he was soaked
even through his coat. He carefully made his way
down the ladder. He saw that Joanna's
horse wasn't attached to the buggy. At some point she must have put her horse in
his barn. He opened the door and walked into the addition, gripping his wet coat
to his chest.

When he walked inside, he noticed the gas lamp was on in the living room. He slipped
off his work boots and shivered again. Joanna was putting out food on the second-hand
coffee table he'd picked up at a yard sale on his way home from work three days before
the wedding. The array of food was odd—some kind of stuffed bread, red-skinned potato
salad, macaroni salad, peanut butter cookies, peanut brittle, and a jar of peanuts.
When she pulled out a two-liter of his favorite soft drink, he walked over to her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, crossing his arms in more of an effort to warm up
than be defensive.

“Making you a picnic.” She gestured to the food on the table. “I brought
yer
favorites.”

They were. On closer inspection he saw that the stuffed bread was actually a big
pepperoni roll, which he loved. The macaroni salad had tuna in it, another favorite.
And he never turned down peanuts or anything peanut-flavored.

“I hope you don't mind that I stabled my horse. I didn't know how long the rain would
last.”

“Joanna—”

“I'll
geh
in the kitchen and get some cups. Irene and
yer mamm
can join us if they
want to. I made plenty.”

And she had, more than two people could eat, especially someone like Joanna who didn't
each much in the first place. “They're not here,” he said, then coughed again, more
violently than before.

She frowned, moved around the table, and went to him. “I
thought you said you weren't
sick.” She put the back of her hand on his forehead. “Andrew, you feel hot.”

“I'm fine. You can
geh
back home.” His head started to pound. When she tried to remove
his jacket, he resisted. “I can do it,” he said, shrugging out of the coat.

“I know,” she said softly, looking directly in his eyes. “But let me help you. It's
mei
turn to show you how I feel,” she added in a whisper.

He wasn't sure what she was talking about, and at that moment he didn't care. His
body shook uncontrollably as she took his wet coat. She disappeared into what was
supposed to be their bedroom, then came out carrying the quilt that had been on
the bed. She wrapped it around him. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

As if he could go anywhere. He could barely remain upright. Whatever bug he had,
it was hitting him hard and fast. He was grateful for the warmth of the quilt.

When he thought he'd have to sit down, she came into the room carrying a shirt and
pants. “You need to get out of
yer
wet clothes.” She laid the dry clothes on a nearby
chair, removed the quilt from his shoulders, and turned around. “Let me know when
you're dressed again.”

The situation would have struck him as bizarre if he hadn't felt so bad. He took
off
his
wet clothes and put on the dry ones. His bare feet were pressed against the
cold
wood
floor and his teeth started to chatter. “I-I'm d-done.”

She led him to the couch, and he lay down, closing his eyes. All he wanted to do
was sleep, but he was too hot and cold and sore all over.

“Drink some of this.”

He opened his eyes. Joanna was seated at the edge of the
couch, holding a mug, steam
rising from the top. “I don't want
kaffee
,” he said, wondering how she managed to
make it so fast. He also felt warmth from the small woodstove in the corner of the
room. She'd started a fire too?

“It's not
kaffee
. It's tea. I found some feverfew in
yer mamm
's kitchen. It will
help.”

Andrew took a few sips and lay down. He closed his eyes and a few moments later Joanna
nudged him again.

“You need to drink all of it.”

He didn't have the strength to argue with her. When he finished the tea, he fell
back on the couch. It was only then that he noticed she had brought him a pillow
from his bed. Their bed.

“Why are you here?” he said in a raspy voice.

“Because I want to be.” Her fingertips brushed against his forehead.

His eyes drifted closed. Only when he was on the brink of sleep did he realize she
didn't have her crutches.

Cameron had driven halfway through West Virginia when he'd panicked. West Virginia
wasn't far enough. He kept driving through West Virginia, Virginia, and then Tennessee,
stopping only to take care of Lacy. When he was near Chattanooga, she started to
fuss. He pulled over at a rest stop and tried to feed her, but she refused her bottle.
The last two feedings she had only eaten a couple of ounces. Now she didn't want
any of it. He'd checked her diaper, but it was dry. When he reached back to feel
her tiny hand, it was hot. He stopped at a drugstore right before closing, bought
a thermometer and pain and fever reliever, then
checked in to another cheap motel.
Despite giving her the medicine, her fever had climbed to 105. How could she have
gotten so sick so fast?

Soon he knew he couldn't wait any longer—he had to take her to the emergency room.
He called the front office to save on cell phone minutes. The woman who answered
the phone gave him directions to the local hospital. He put Lacy in the truck and
rushed her there.

Lacy had grown still and quiet when he arrived, and her skin was taut and hot. So
very hot. He picked up her carry seat and ran into the ER. “My baby is sick,” he
exclaimed. “She's got a high fever—”

The woman behind the glass windows opened it. “Can I help you?” she said, her voice
irritatingly calm.

“My baby,” he struggled to catch his breath. “She's got a high fever, and everything
I've tried isn't working.”

“Just a moment.” She closed the glass, and Cameron wanted to put his fist through
it and shake her. Just as he was about to yell out in frustration, she opened the
window again. “Bring her back. A nurse will take her while I get your information.”

“Thank God.” The doors opened and he went inside. A nurse in white scrubs took the
baby from him. “What was her temperature?”

“A hundred five an hour ago.”

“And how old is she?”

“Two months.”

“I'll take her to a room.” He started to follow, but she held him back. “You need
to give your information to the front desk. Then you can come back.”

“I'm not leaving my daughter.”

“I can come get the information,” the woman behind the counter said. She lowered
her voice. “She's new to this ER. She doesn't know the procedure yet.”

Just what he needed, a newbie nurse. He calmed himself and nodded to the clerk, then
went to the room, where the nurse was already taking Lacy's temperature. “It's 105,”
she said, with no emotion in her voice.

“Like I said,” he mumbled.

“How long has she been ill?”

“A few hours. It came on really quick.”

“Is she taking her bottle?”

“Not really.”

“What about her diapers? Has she had several wet ones today?”

He shook his head.

“I'll have to get an IV started.” She went to a cabinet as Cameron stood by Lacy.

“An IV?”

“She's dehydrated.” She put on gloves and got out her supplies. “You're her father,
right?”

“Yes.”

“It won't take me long to get the fluids going. By that time the doctor will be
here.”
She
looked at him. “Sorry to give you a hard time earlier.”

“It's okay.” But he wasn't focused on her. He was focused on Lacy.

“Is there anyone else you need to call?” the nurse asked as she hung a bottle of
clear
fluid
on a hook.

“No. It's just me and Lacy.”

She arched a brow but didn't say anything.

Cameron watched, pain lashing through him as his daughter cried during the IV procedure.
Just being at the hospital brought back memories of Mackenzie, but he squashed those
as he focused on his daughter. Lacy settled down as Cameron stroked her fevered brow.

The clerk came into the room with a computer on a rolling stand. The nurse checked
the IV again. “The doctor should be here any minute.” Then she left.

The clerk started typing. “What's the patient's name?”

“Lacy Crawford.”

She asked a few more questions about Lacy's vitals, then said, “I'll need your insurance
card.”

“I . . . I don't have one.”

She looked at him for a moment, still tapping on the keyboard. “Then you'll be responsible
for the bill yourself?”

“Yes.” He pushed back the loose strands of his long hair.

“I'll need to get a copy of your driver's license.”