An Unbroken Heart (5 page)

“I know. I'm sorry.” She turned slightly toward him, her chestnut eyes meeting his.
He still couldn't see the other side of her face. It was as if she was hiding it
from him.

“It's okay. I know you've been . . . busy.” He swallowed an unexpected lump in his
throat. If she'd allowed it, he would have been by her side every day. But at least
she hadn't been alone. Her sister had been with her. “Where's Abigail?”

“Getting lunch. She's been cooped up with me all morning.” Joanna glanced at him
again. “You didn't have to
kumme
here, Andrew.”

He took a step toward her. “I wanted to.” He glanced around the sparse room. Had
she received his flowers? He didn't see them anywhere. Maybe they'd died already.
He should have gotten her
a plant instead. They lasted longer. He scratched his eyebrow,
feeling more ill at ease with her than ever before.

She turned her chair toward the window, keeping her back to him, her gaze fixed on
the closed blinds.

“Do you want me to open those for you?” He moved toward the window.

“Nee.”

He stopped, took off his straw hat, laid it on the crisp white sheets of her neatly
made hospital bed, and threaded his fingers through his hair. He knew this would
be hard, but he hadn't expected to feel this much distance between them, even though
they were only separated by a few feet. Maybe he should leave. But hadn't he spent
enough time apart from her? Hadn't he hurt her enough? “Joanna,” he said, sitting
on the edge of the bed, “are you mad at me?”

She paused for the briefest of moments and shook her head. “I'm just tired.”

His shoulders sloped with relief. At least she wasn't upset with him, even though
she had a good reason. “I'm sorry about what happened.
Yer
parents . . . the night
at the Troyers' . . .”

Her lips pressed together until they were white. “It's . . . okay.”

“
Nee
, it's not. I didn't mean to hurt
yer
feelings.”

“You didn't.”

But he knew she was lying. Why else wouldn't she look at him? He gripped the edge
of the bed, his fingers digging into the sheets. “Joanna, I want—” He swallowed again.
“I need to ask you something.”

She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, then nodded.

“I want us to get married.” He froze. Where had that come
from? That wasn't what
he'd intended to say. He wanted a chance to apologize and tell her he loved her,
the words he should have said the night before the accident. He wanted to find out
if she still loved him.
Why did I propose instead?

But hadn't he been thinking about her proposal—and his stupid rejection of it—since
that night at the Troyers'? Hadn't he replayed the scenario over and over in his
mind, telling her yes instead of breaking her heart with his refusal? Wasn't asking
her to marry him now the right thing to do?

When she didn't say anything, he held his breath. He'd made another mistake. Why
couldn't he do anything right when it came to her? All he wanted was for Joanna to
know how much he loved her. Instead, he proposed to her in a rehab center while she
was still healing from surgery and grieving her parents' deaths. Talk about rotten
timing.

She continued to stare at the white vertical blinds as if they held the answer to
his question. He was about to stand up and tell her not to worry about answering
him now when she whispered, “All right.”

He leaned forward until he almost fell off the bed. Had he heard her correctly? “What?”

Slowly she turned the chair to face him. But she still wasn't looking at him directly,
and he still couldn't see her entire face. Then he realized why. Her scar. He remembered
Abigail informing him at her parents' funeral that Joanna's face was injured when
she was flung from the buggy. He was about to tell her she didn't have to hide anything
from him. That she was perfect the way she was—

“I'll marry you.” Her voice was a little louder and stronger this time.

He rose from the bed and walked to her, then knelt in front of the wheelchair, putting
both hands on the arms of the chair. His uneasiness disappeared as he looked into
her beautiful eyes. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her until they both
couldn't breathe. But he wouldn't do that, not now. He had to show her how much he
respected her. Honored her. Loved her. So as he'd always done with her, he held his
feelings close inside, not wanting to scare or overwhelm her. She was fragile, and
never more so than right now. “
Danki
, Joanna.”

She brushed back a stray lock of brown hair that had escaped from beneath the kerchief.
She had shadows under her eyes, and there was a lost look about her that didn't sit
well with him even though she had said yes to his impulsive proposal. She had agreed
to marry him, but she looked anything but happy about it.
Cut her some slack. You
can see she's not feeling well.
He couldn't stop himself from leaning forward and
kissing her uninjured cheek. “I love you,” he said before pulling away.

“I . . . I love you too.”

“When do you think you'll be home?”

“Maybe a week.” She glanced up at him. “I hope.”

“We can talk about the wedding then.” He didn't want to push her any more than he
had. “Do you need anything from home? Or I can come and spell Abigail for a while—”

“I wouldn't want to put you out. I'll be busy with therapy.”

“But I want to help—”

“I'll be home in a week.” She finally smiled. “Like you said, we can talk then.”

He had the distinct feeling he was being dismissed. “Are you . . . sure?” He wasn't
only referring to their future discussion of the wedding.

After a pause she said, “
Ya.
I'm sure.” She lifted her hand toward her face as if
she was going to rub her nose, then gripped the wheelchair wheel. “I need to rest,
Andrew.”

He got the hint. “Okay.” He stood and backed away. He didn't want to tire her or
keep her from healing as quickly as she could.

“I'll see you when I'm home.”

He would cling to that promise until then. He retrieved his hat from the bed and
put it on his head. “Call me when they release you,
ya
? I can
kumme
with Sadie when
she picks up you and Abigail.”

“I will.”

Andrew looked at her one last time before leaving her room. When he got downstairs,
he pulled out his cell phone, which he only used in emergencies, and dialed Marjorie's
number.

“That was quick,” the older woman said over a bite of food. Andrew heard her swallow
before she asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Ya.”
He and Joanna were getting married. That fact hit him like a hay bale in the
chest, shaking him to the core. He'd always wanted to be sure about everything, especially
marriage. It was the reason he hadn't said yes to her at the Troyers'. But despite
his nerves, he believed he was doing the right thing. He loved Joanna. And God had
not only answered his prayer to keep her alive, but also that she still loved him
enough to marry him. That's what mattered, not his apprehension. He finally smiled,
his first time since arriving in Middlefield. “
Ya
,” he repeated to Marjorie. “Everything
is
gut
.”

O
NE WEEK LATER

Teeth clenched, Joanna wiped the back of her hand over her sweat-slicked forehead
as she did her morning exercises for her hips and legs. Her physical therapist had
warned her not to do too much, but Joanna ignored the advice. The quicker she regained
her strength, the faster she would get rid of the stupid crutches she was so dependent
on. Her hips ached as she lay on the pink-and-gray woven rag rug Abigail had made
for her last year. She did three extra leg lift sets until her lower body trembled
with fatigue.

Her breathing still labored, she pushed herself to a sitting position. Homer, the
stray dog Sadie and her new husband, Aden Troyer, had adopted while Joanna was at
the rehabilitation center, sauntered into the room. He sniffed her right calf, gave
it a quick lick, then jumped onto her bed.

“Homer, off.”

He put his chin on his paws and closed his eyes.

Joanna half-smiled at the stubborn mutt, but she didn't reprimand him. Sadie didn't
want the dog on the furniture, but this was Joanna's room—a makeshift one since she
couldn't go up the stairs to her own bedroom. Homer could do what he pleased here.
She had been unable to resist him since she'd returned home two days ago. When she
was growing up, her family couldn't have a dog because of
Mamm's
allergies. Homer,
with his brown spots on half of his white coat, and his tongue always hanging out
of this mouth, seemed to like Joanna. She enjoyed the dog's company too.

Her legs still too weak to support her body, she stayed on the floor and surveyed
her
room.
Anything so she didn't have
to think about Andrew . . . or his proposal. Had she
been
ab im kopp
when she agreed to marry him? That had to be it, or else she wouldn't
have answered him so quickly, and so foolishly. But at the time she would have said
anything to get him to leave. He'd seen her at her worst—sweating, weak, and in pain.
She'd never wanted him to see her that way. And his response to her helplessness
had been to propose. It didn't make any sense. What had made him switch from wanting
to wait to talk about marriage to suddenly proposing?

Guilt. The accident. Pity. All of the above.

She pushed Andrew from her thoughts and focused on her temporary bedroom. Because
of her injuries, Aden and his older brother, Sol, had added the small room to her
family's house while she'd been in therapy in Middlefield for the past month. The
room was simple and had the basic necessities—a twin-size bed shoved against a white
wall, her nightstand from her room upstairs, a small bureau, and a pegboard Sol had
constructed from spare lumber. She used it to hang her dresses. It was strange to
think that Sol and Aden were now part of her family. They had helped her sisters
make sure Joanna had a safe and comfortable room until she was well enough to walk
upstairs. Not only did her sisters care about her, but the family Sadie had married
into did too. Their thoughtfulness didn't ease the sorrow she experienced every
time she thought of her parents, but it did help . . . a little.

Feeling a bit stronger, she placed her hand on the mattress to steady herself and
rose to her feet. She pushed the white strings of her prayer
kapp
off her shoulders
so they lay against the back of her light green dress. Homer's huge brown eyes tracked
her movements. As if in sympathy, he licked the tops of her fingers.
She patted his
soft head before turning off the battery-operated lamp on her nightstand. Morning
darkness engulfed the room, but she knew exactly where her crutches were. She put
them under her arms and started for the door. Everyone would be up soon, and she
wanted to have breakfast ready. The activity would also help keep her thoughts away
from Andrew.
I hope.

She hobbled to the kitchen and turned on the gas lamp suspended from the ceiling,
then gathered what she needed to make breakfast. She could still cook and bake, but
now it was more of a chore than a joy. Breakfast this morning would be simple—reheated
cinnamon rolls from the batch she'd made the day before, ham steaks, sliced pears,
and coffee. Gathering the food required overcoming a series of obstacles that turned
a fifteen-minute task into almost an hour ordeal.

By the time the rolls were warming in the oven and the steaks were sizzling in a
cast iron skillet on the stove, she was already tired and achy. But she also felt
a small sense of satisfaction. She could prepare a meal. She wasn't useless.

Aden walked into the room a few minutes later. She glanced at her brother-in-law,
still getting used to the idea that he was Sadie's husband. Sadie had explained to
her sisters that their parents' deaths were the catalyst for the quick marriage.
The decision made sense, of course. Aden now did a lot of the physical work her father
had done around the house and the store. In some ways he and Sadie had taken the
place of their parents, at least when it came to the family business.

But Joanna struggled with Sadie's surprise marriage, mostly because she'd been in
rehab and hadn't been a part of the ceremony. Abigail hadn't either. That was Joanna's
fault too. Jealousy also lurked. Sadie had her happy ending, romantically speaking.
Joanna wondered if she'd ever have hers. If she could ever trust that Andrew's marriage
proposal was sincere. He hadn't wanted to marry her when she was normal and whole.
Why would he want to be with her now that she was scarred and broken?