Christmas at Promise Lodge (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Mattie shivered despite the overheated hospital waiting room. She couldn't ever recall being more scared, more uncertain about what was going on in this strange place where voices came from hidden speakers to summon doctors, using code words she didn't understand. The hard plastic chair was uncomfortable, so she stood up to walk around the waiting area—not that pacing settled her nerves.

Frances had been called to wherever the emergency room staff had taken Floyd, and Truman was at the nurses' station to see if anyone had information about how Amos was doing. It wasn't yet eight o'clock in the evening, but Mattie felt as though they'd spent an entire day at the hospital. Who knew how much longer they might be here?

Mattie sensed Amos wouldn't be going home anytime soon, unless he'd regained consciousness after they'd wheeled him down the corridor into a curtained room. And if he had come around, he surely must feel disoriented and frightened because of all the tubes and monitors he was hooked up to. She and Truman had shared what little they knew about Amos's medical history with the doctor, yet Mattie wondered if their sketchy information had been helpful—or if these unfamiliar doctors and nurses had even paid much attention to it.

Mattie saw Truman signaling for her from the nurses' station. Bless him, he appeared ragged around the edges with frustration after acting as their spokesman.

“Mattie, they've checked Amos into the hospital for observation,” he said in a low voice.

She frowned. “And what exactly does that mean?”

The nurse, a young blonde who wore loose burgundy pants and a matching shirt, gazed at her over the top of the high counter. Her badge said
MELODY
. “Mr. Troyer is still unconscious,” she replied. “Dr. Townsend has ordered a series of tests to determine if he has brain or other internal injuries.”

Mattie sucked in her breath. The thought of Amos waking up to learn he'd been seriously hurt—or not waking up at all—sent her mind spinning in frantic circles. “Can't one of us be there with him?” she asked. “If it were me, I wouldn't want to wake up amongst strangers, with so many wires and tubes coming out of me and—”

“HIPAA regulations stipulate that the doctors are only allowed to discuss Mr. Troyer's condition with a designated family member or representative,” Melody interrupted. She wasn't snippy, but she wasn't much help, either.

“Hippo?” Mattie asked. “What on earth does a hippo have to do with finding out what's wrong with Amos?”

The nurse cleared her throat as though Mattie were testing her patience. “The government has established HIPAA regulations to insure the privacy of patients. As I was explaining to Mr. Wickey, patients are to name a person from their family—or another advocate they choose—in writing, to confer about their diagnoses.”

“But Amos isn't in any condition to choose anybody,” Truman pointed out—not for the first time, Mattie suspected.

“He's widowed, and his kids live in Indiana and Ohio,” Mattie added, growing even more concerned. “Amos and I are engaged. Does that count?”

Melody appeared doubtful, as well as determined to dot all the I's and cross all the T's of the government regulations. “Do you—or does anyone in his family—have power of attorney?”

“I—I'm not sure what that means, either,” Mattie murmured. “We Plain folks don't cotton to all these legalistic things.”

“The EMS team—those are the men from the ambulance,” the nurse explained tersely, “have told us that Mr. Troyer has no health care directive or living will that will specify what—if any—forms of life support our doctors may use. If he stops breathing or his heart stops—”

“If Amos's heart stops, it means God has called him home,” Mattie whispered weakly. “Why would a doctor interfere with God's own will?”

“As a preacher in the Old Order Amish Church, Amos would
refuse
any such means of keeping him alive,” Truman insisted earnestly. “He just doesn't have any paperwork to prove it.”

Melody scribbled a few lines on a sticky note and attached it to the papers that were in front of her. “I'll confer with the chief of staff about this tomorrow morning,” she stated. “Meanwhile, we'll do everything possible to keep Mr. Troyer comfortable and to determine the extent of his injuries so we can get him on the road to recovery. If I were you, I'd go home and get some rest. By midmorning tomorrow we'll know a lot more about his condition.”

When Melody headed down the hall with her handful of papers, Mattie's whole body drooped. “What a nightmare,” she said softly. “Not only do I not understand the regulations—why they can't let one of us speak for Amos or hear about his diagnosis?—I'm really worried about what they might be doing to him.”

Truman wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Let's sit down until we see what Frances has learned,” he suggested kindly. “I feel like praying about this situation—and then I think we'd all feel better if we went to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. It's been a long time since lunch.”

“
Jah
, you're right,” Mattie replied. “But let's find some better chairs. We don't know how long we might have to sit in them. Or do you think we should go home, like the nurse said?” she continued wearily. “I know you have to work tomorrow morning—”

“I'll call my foreman, Edgar, and tell him what's going on. They can head to the job site without me tomorrow,” Truman said as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Who can I call for you, Mattie? Do you want to leave a message on the lodge phone?”

“What would I say? We don't know any more about Amos than we did when we came here.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to pull her thoughts together. “I should call his kids after we get home. He hardly ever talks about them, so I suspect they had a falling out after his wife, Anna, passed away.”

As they reached a row of upholstered chairs, Mattie sank into the first one with a loud sigh. She felt so helpless. So useless. After Truman completed his call to Edgar, he sat down in the chair beside hers and bowed his head. Mattie did the same.

Forgive me for losing faith, for feeling so alone when You've provided a friend like Truman to look after me
, Mattie prayed as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Look in on Amos and guide his doctors, Lord, because only You have the power to heal him and to determine what happens—no matter what government regulations say.

When Mattie heard a familiar-sounding sigh, she opened her eyes. Frances stood before them, wringing her hands. She had an odd expression on her face.

“What'd you find out?” Mattie asked. “At least you're Floyd's next of kin, so you can have a say in what they'll do to him.”

“Puh!” Frances said, shaking her head. “Floyd was raising such a ruckus about the legal paperwork they said he was supposed to have, that they slipped something into his IV to settle him down before he made his injuries any worse.”

Mattie's eyes widened. “They knocked him out?”

“Said they had to keep his pulse and blood pressure under control—and they'll be running tests where he has to stay absolutely still,” Frances explained with a suppressed smile. “The doctor took me outside the room and asked my permission to proceed. If Floyd finds out I agreed to sedating him, I'll never hear the end of it.”

Mattie chuckled, partly because it was funny and partly because she was feeling so frayed around the edges. “I won't say a word. At least he's got you to help him. They—they won't allow me or Truman in to discuss Amos's condition or treatment with the doctors.”

Frances frowned. “Why not? You know more about Amos than anybody else.”

“Government red tape,” Truman explained. “They're calling it an invasion of his privacy if Amos hasn't named one of us—in writing—to be involved with his care.”

“Who could've known Amos would fall off a roof?” Frances protested with a shake of her head. “And how were we Plain folks to know about all those forms we were supposed to have a lawyer fill out? Floyd told them we didn't believe in signing away God's control over us to doctors we've never met—and that it sounded like another way lawyers and doctors were setting themselves up to make more money.”

“I'm sure the doctor appreciated that part,” Mattie murmured, “even if I believe Floyd was right.”

Frances let out a shuddery breath, looking very weary. “They told me to go home and get some rest—puh!—and to come back tomorrow when they had some test results.”

“
Jah
, same here. And bless him, Truman has offered to take off work tomorrow so he can bring us back.”

Truman nodded. “Do we want to get a bite to eat in the cafeteria, or just head on home?” he asked. “Maybe they have sandwiches already made up that we could eat in the truck.”

“Let's see about that,” Mattie suggested. “I don't feel like I could eat a bite, but I'm sure you're starving.”

About fifteen minutes later the three of them were walking out to the parking lot with wrapped chicken salad sandwiches. Mattie wondered how it could be such a pleasant evening, frosty but calm outside, after they'd endured such an ordeal in the waiting room. The stars, scattered across the night sky, sparkled peacefully, as though God were still in perfect control of everything that was going on.

When they reached Truman's truck, Mattie turned to gaze at the hospital building. It was impossible to know which one of the many windows belonged to the room Amos was in—or to know if he was awake, or aware of his condition, or in pain . . .

Watch over him, Lord. Help us figure out a way to get him the care he needs. We can't do this without You
.

Mattie wiped a stray tear from her cheek before she climbed into the big pickup. She hated leaving Amos in the hospital alone, but it was the best she could do for now.

Mattie hoped with all her heart that this verse from the Psalms would prove to be true.

Chapter Ten

Despite the chill in the evening air, Mary Kate sat out on the porch swing swaddled in an afghan. Sugar and Spice were curled up on either side of her, demanding that her hands be on them, but her mind wandered free . . . toward the barn behind the house, where Roman and his brother were doing the livestock chores. It felt good to know they were nearby while she wasn't sure what was going on with her father and mother—even if Gloria was banging around in the kitchen, making a big deal of fixing the Schwartz boys a snack.

At the sound of her sister singing “You Are My Sunshine,” Mary Kate shook her head. Bless her heart, Gloria couldn't carry a tune with a bucket in each hand, but she was determined to get Roman's attention by belting out—in a wavering vibrato—her hope that he wouldn't take her sunshine away

A movement beside the porch caught Mary Kate's eye. Roman, Noah, and Queenie came quietly to the porch steps and sat down—and Roman pressed his index finger to his lips and pointed toward the kitchen, signaling for Mary Kate's silence. As more of the familiar old song drifted out through the screen door, the Border collie's ears perked up. When the dog tilted her head back and began to howl along with Gloria's singing, Mary Kate got the giggles.

“Queenie, stop,” Noah murmured as he wrapped his arm around the dog's neck.

Roman turned to peer through the door. “Uh-oh. Here she comes,” he whispered as he, too, tried to silence the singing collie.

The screen door banged as Gloria stepped out onto the porch. “So what's the deal with your dog? The Peterscheims and Uncle Lester and everyone else will realize you guys have come over here.”

Roman shrugged. “It's not like we're trying to hide,” he pointed out. “We fed and watered your horses—”

“Queenie picked up on that tune pretty fast, don't you think?” Noah interrupted, trying not to laugh.

Even in the dusk, Mary Kate couldn't miss her sister's irritated expression. “For your information, ‘You Are My Sunshine' is one of the most enduring songs of all time,” she said archly. “My grand-
dat
used to sing it—to
me
, because he loved me so much.”

Mary Kate struggled to keep a straight face. “The neighbors could hear you every bit as clearly as they heard Queenie,” she remarked. “They're probably wondering why you're singing so loudly with the windows wide open, chilly as it's getting.”

“What do they know?” Gloria muttered. Then, in the blink of an eye, her attitude changed. “Since you fellows were nice enough to tend the horses, I fixed you a little bite to eat,” she said in a sugary voice. “Roman, if you'd come in and help me carry it—”

Mary Kate was relieved to hear the rumble of a pickup truck as headlights illuminated the road leading to their house. Poor Roman. Was he as tired of Gloria's overblown flirtation as she was? “There's Truman's truck!” Mary Kate said, easing the cats out of her lap. “Let's go see if Mamm's with him.”

“But—but the grilled cheese sandwiches will get cold!” Gloria protested as the two fellows stood up and started toward the road.

Mary Kate didn't miss the chance to join Roman and Noah. If her sister chose to stay behind, whining, that was her choice—Mary Kate was just glad to see her mother getting out of the truck. When Mamm saw her, she rushed toward Mary Kate with her arms open wide.

“Oh, but it's
gut
to be home,” her mother said. “If I never set foot in a hospital again, it'll be too soon. Except we're going back tomorrow, hoping your
dat
will be able to come home with us.”

Mary Kate hugged her mother tight, then eased away. Even in the darkness, Mamm's face appeared haggard from the ordeal she'd endured. “So he's all right then? Just a bad bump on the head?”

Truman got out of the driver's side, greeting Mary Kate and the Schwartz boys. “We'll know more about your
dat
and Amos tomorrow after the doctors run some tests,” he replied. “I hope you'll all get some rest so we'll be ready for whatever they tell us. If there's anything you'd like me to do before I head home, just say the word.”

Mary Kate smiled at their neighbor, truly grateful for his compassion. “Roman and Noah have done the chores, so I think we're ready to turn in for the night,” she said. “It's a blessing to have such kindhearted friends here looking after us.
Denki
for your help, Truman.”

“I wouldn't feel right leaving your
mamms
to face the hospital by themselves. It's a strange world inside those walls,” he remarked with a shake of his head. “We don't know a lot more about your
dat
or Amos than we did when the ambulance pulled away, but at least we've done the best we could for them.”

“Roman—and Noah—have taken such
gut
care of us,” Gloria put in sweetly. “If you'd come inside, we could have those grilled cheese sandwiches I made.”

“
Denki
, but I'm heading home,” Truman said with a nod to Mamm. “I'll stop by about eight o'clock for you, Frances, if that's all right.”

Mamm sighed wearily. “
Jah
, and meanwhile we'll pray that God's holding Floyd and Amos in His hands through the night while they're in the care of strangers.”

Gloria reached out to grab Roman's hand. “But you—and Noah—can come on in,” she wheedled. “We could visit and have a warm bedtime snack—”

“I'd better check on Mamm and get home to Deborah,” Noah said with a knowing smile. “
Gut
night, all.”

As Roman watched his brother stride down the road with Queenie trotting beside him, Mary Kate sensed he was desperate to leave, as well. But when Roman met Mary Kate's gaze, he reconsidered. “Well, maybe I could stay for a moment,” he murmured. “But you ladies all need to get your rest. It's been a difficult evening.”

Smiling triumphantly, Gloria headed toward the house with Roman in tow. Mary Kate hung back, slipping her arm through her mother's. “So will Dat be all right?” she murmured. “I thought it was a
gut
sign that he was calling out orders to the ambulance guys while they wheeled him inside it.”

“And he didn't get quiet until the doctor gave him a sedative so they could run their tests,” Mamm said with a shake of her head. “When he wakes up, maybe he can talk some sense into those folks about how we Amish don't believe in the medical intervention they were talking about—such as life support machines, if Amos's heart or breathing stops while he's still unconscious.”

Mary Kate sucked in her breath. “My word, I've never heard of such a thing,” she murmured, massaging the side of her belly. “I—I sure hope Minerva can deliver my baby so I don't have to go to the hospital—”

“Oh no! Fire!
Fire!
”

Mary Kate released her mother to rush awkwardly up the steps at the sound of Gloria's desperate cries. Even from the porch she could smell burning food, but when she entered the house she saw no flames, although Roman was pouring flour into the skillet. Gloria was standing by the open window, fanning at the black smoke that filled the kitchen.

The odor of the burned food made Mary Kate feel nauseous, so she stopped in the front room. “Don't tell me you left the burner on under those grilled cheese sandwiches while you came outside—”

“So they'd be hot when we came in to eat them!” Gloria protested. “I—I just wanted to have a nice snack ready for—”

“There! The food's stopped smoldering now,” Roman said as he ran water into the skillet. A sizzling noise filled the kitchen and steam rose from the sink. “Nice of you to think of us, Gloria, but I'll head on back to Noah's now.”

Once again Mary Kate felt acutely embarrassed about the ruckus her sister had caused, but what could she do? If she accompanied Roman outside, Gloria would rush out to join them.

She smiled at Roman as he paused in front of her. “Sorry about all the fuss,” she murmured. “And
denki
for doing our barn chores.”

“You're welcome,” he whispered. “Maybe next time we'll be able to visit a bit.
Gut
night, Mary Kate.”

As Mary Kate watched Roman leave, she hoped he wouldn't be so put off by her sister's carelessness—and Gloria's singing—that he wouldn't come back.

Mamm went over to the sink and shook her head. “Well, my favorite skillet's so scorched I'm not sure we'll ever get the burnt butter and cheese scrubbed out of it,” she murmured ruefully. “But we'll deal with that tomorrow. I've had all of this day I can handle.”

“
Gut
night, Mamm,” Mary Kate murmured. “I'll keep you and Dat in my prayers.”

Her mother nodded sadly and made her way through the unlit front room toward the stairs. With an exasperated sigh, Gloria followed her.

Mary Kate let the cats inside and shut the front door. Breathing shallowly, she closed the kitchen windows against the cold November air, regretting that it would take several hours for the acrid smell of smoke to dissipate. She listened for footsteps crossing the upstairs rooms . . . the sound of water running in the bathroom . . . the silence that told her Mamm and Gloria had gone to bed.

Mary Kate doused the kitchen lamp. She was becoming accustomed to the placement of their furniture and the shadows it cast in their new home, and as she climbed the stairs she felt thankful that their family had moved to Promise Lodge—and that Roman Schwartz seemed to think she was worthy of his time.

As she entered her room, moonlight was casting a soft glow on her hardwood floors. When she looked out her window, she could see Noah's new white house basking in the moon's ethereal glow. A lamp flickered in one of the upstairs rooms.

“
Gut
night, Roman,” Mary Kate whispered wistfully. “Sleep tight.”