A Wells Landing Christmas Page 27

  “Why are you sitting on the barn?” she asked. They had been through this enough times that she knew it was better to have him realize that what he was doing didn’t make sense and correct it on his own. Otherwise he would argue and sometimes turn belligerent, as he didn’t understand what was happening around him.

  He laughed. “It’s not a barn.”

  “It’s not?” Maybe better to play along.

  “Of course not. Can’t you see it’s an airplane?”

  The men around her shifted uncomfortably. No one knew what to do or how to respond.

  “Should we call the chaplain?” one of the city officers asked.

  His partner nudged him in the ribs. “He doesn’t need a chaplain; he needs an Amish preacher-leader-guy.”

  Oh, no. The bishop was the last person they needed witnessing this. There would be enough to account for once she got him down, but until then, no one needed to know except the handful of people already witness to the matter.

  Ivy ignored them all and concentrated on her grandfather. “Why are you sitting on an airplane?” she asked.

  He swung his feet, and her heart dropped with the motion. All he had to do was get a little off balance, and he would come crashing down. “How else am I supposed to let the men know I’m one of them?”

  She had no idea what he was talking about, but playing along was definitely better than upsetting him. “Of course.” Her tone clearly conveyed how silly of me.

  “They’ve done nothing but make fun of me,” he said with a small pout. “My clothes, my beard. The fact that I don’t have a moustache. My accent. Everything they could laugh at about me they have, but I’ll show them. I’m tough.”

  “Of course you are.”

  The whole situation was beyond weird.

  “You can’t go halfway around the world to fight the enemy if your fellow soldier doesn’t trust you. Everyone will die.” He shook his head. “That’s messy.”

  One of the city policemen took a step toward her. “Is he a vet, miss?”

  She had never been asked such a question, and it took almost a full minute for his meaning to become clear. He wanted to know if her grandfather had served in one of the Englisch wars? “Of course not.” The words were automatic. Everyone knew that the Amish were pacifists. How could a man be a pacifist and fight in a war? It just didn’t make sense.

  “Sure looks that way to me,” another of the men said. Ivy didn’t notice who he worked for, but judging by the length of his braided hair, she would think the Indian police.

  Her grandfather? A veteran? The thought was baffling. It was true; she didn’t know everything there was to know about him. He had lived many years before she’d been born, and though he loved to tell stories, that didn’t mean he had told her all of them.

  “I’d say it’s been too long for it to be PTSD,” one of the officers said. Ivy didn’t bother to see which one. She was trying to get her mind around the scene before her.

  And she wasn’t entirely sure what PTSD was, only that there was a billboard with something about it on the way to Taylor Creek.

  “He’s been having problems with his memory lately.” It should have felt good to share that burden of truth, but it only made her worry more. What would happen to him if the county services got involved? She had heard the tales of people losing their children and family members being sent to hospitals. But she had no idea how these things worked. Who decided all that, anyway?

  The wail of a siren sounded far away, getting louder as the fire truck drew near. The lumbering red vehicle easing down the lane seemed too big and bright for the situation they were facing.

  “What are they doing here?” Ivy asked.

  Daryl took a step forward. “It was my idea,” he confessed. “I thought maybe if they brought a cherry picker . . .”

  Ivy had no idea how a fruit harvester could help them now, but noticed the bucket container on the extendable arm attached to the back of the fire truck. If that was what he meant...

  She took a couple of stumbling steps forward. Her grandfather was still sitting happily on the edge of the roof, his legs swinging as if he hadn’t a care in the world. At that moment, Ivy supposed he hadn’t. At least he hadn’t the presence of mind to know that he had any cares beyond here and now.

  “Keep them back,” she said, pointing to the firemen and their gigantic ladder. “Let me talk to him.”

  The sheriff’s deputy looked a little skeptical, but nodded. Ivy supposed he must be the one in charge, for no one disputed his command.

  Ivy took a couple of hesitant steps toward the barn. “Dawdi?” she called. “Why don’t you come down now? You’ve proved your point, jah?”

  He seemed to think about it a moment. “I’m not sure. These boys don’t look convinced.” He waved an all-encompassing arm toward the crowd of first responders.

  “We’re good,” one of the men said.

  “Sure. You can come down now,” another one added.

  “We can set you up a ladder,” the lead fireman offered.

  Dawdi thought about it for a moment. “You’re not going to tell the CO, are you?”

  The man scoffed. “Of course not. What that jerk doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Dawdi chuckled as Ivy wondered how he knew her grandfather’s CO was a jerk. “I can do it.” He started to stand, and all the men on the ground leaned toward the barn.

  “No, don’t,” the deputy said. “This nice MP is going to set up a ladder.” He motioned to the fireman.

  Ivy’s head swam with all the letters being tossed around. She had no idea what any of them meant.

  “MP, huh?” Her grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Not so fast.” He shifted as if to stand.

  The fireman kept coming with the ladder, but in the blink of an eye, Dawdi lost his balance and fell from the roof.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Dawdi!” The scream was unrecognizable, though she knew it to be her own. He fell entirely too fast, yet in slow motion. The two images superimposed on each other, until she didn’t know what was fact and what was fiction. “Dawdi.”

  She slid to her knees beside him.

  He groaned, and she touched his face, unwilling to do more, though she wanted to scoop him into her embrace. At his age, a fall like that . . .

  “Stand aside.” Gentle hands circled her arms and eased her to her feet.

  “But—” She started to protest, then realized these were EMTs who had come on the fire truck. Thank the Lord they were there. She allowed them to put her aside and looked on as they started to examine her grandfather.

  Lord, please let him be okay, she prayed. I know I’ve made more than my share of mistakes, but he’s a good man and deserves better than this.

  Though why he believed he was on an airplane was a mystery to her. She had never thought about it, but she knew her grandfather had lived a life she hadn’t known everything about. But she had always imagined farming and singings and courting pretty girls. Not wars and airplanes. She just prayed now that she had the opportunity to ask him about it.

  One of the uniformed men brought a stretcher to the edge of the throng around her dawdi, and before she knew it, they had him loaded into the back of an ambulance.

  “Come on,” Cephas said, lightly touching her elbow. “This kind man has offered to take us to the hospital.” He indicated the sheriff’s deputy standing just behind him.

  Ivy nodded. She hadn’t thought about that. She was still reeling over the accident. How she would be getting to the hospital hadn’t even crossed her mind. But now it wasn’t just her, but her and the bishop.

  She followed them over to the white patrol car and slipped into the back seat while the bishop took the spot next to her. She had hoped he would sit in the front with the deputy, but she wasn’t that lucky.

  “It’s time, don’t you think?” He spoke Dutch; she was sure it was so the officer wouldn’t understand. She had some explaining to do, but Cephas was fair and wouldn’
t embarrass her in front of a stranger.

  “Time for what?” she asked. She was stalling, and they both knew it. But maybe if she put this off, even by a few minutes, the Lord would give her the solution she needed.

  “Ivy,” he said in that gentle, caring way of his. But that only made it harder.

  “I don’t want to call her,” she said, satisfied when her voice didn’t crack. “We don’t need her.”

  “I understand that you’re hurt, but you have to do what’s best for Yonnie.”

  He didn’t have to say the rest. Next time Dawdi might injure himself worse than today. She had heard talk of a possible concussion and maybe a broken arm and leg. He wouldn’t be able to stand another fall like that. He shouldn’t have to.

  Ivy had mulled over the words for the rest of the trip to the hospital in Pryor. Now she was sitting in the front seat of Bruce Brown’s sedan as the miles to Wells Landing streaked past the window. Her grandfather was stretched out across the back seat, his leg in a cast from the top of his thigh to the tips of his toes. His arm was in a sling and some sort of brace. The break in his wrist was worse than the one in his leg, and they would have to wait for the swelling to go down before they could cast it. Thankfully, he didn’t have a concussion and wouldn’t require surgery. The Lord had been looking out for him after all. But what of Ivy?

  Was she just being prideful? Had her pride nearly killed her grandfather? This had all been about what she wanted. She hadn’t even bothered to ask him. If Dawdi wanted to move to Indiana, he could have gone when her mamm left, but he hadn’t. Ivy just assumed that he hadn’t wanted to go. Had she been wrong? Did her grandfather even know his mind?

  She shook her head. She wasn’t being fair. He needed to decide for himself, and after that, she would figure out her place. But Costa Rica with Logan Dallas was looking better and better. What a place to start over. What a place to begin again. Helping others, shedding the responsibilities that Wells Landing held for her. No one would know her there. And even if they did, they wouldn’t find her behavior as scandalous as the good Amish citizens back home.

  Her heart thumped at the prospect, part excitement, part anxiety. If she knew her mother at all, there would be a message for her at the phone shanty just down the road. Mamm would tell her that she would come and get Dawdi and take him back to Indiana to live with her and Alan Byler. And Ivy should come too. But she wouldn’t. She might allow Dawdi to be uprooted for his own safety, but she wouldn’t be able to look at him knowing that she had quit him when he needed her the most.

  But do you want to go to Costa Rica?

  It didn’t matter. Hadn’t she learned that the hard way? What a person wanted and what they ended up with were sometimes miles apart. This was one of those occasions.

  * * *

  Getting Dawdi through the night was a chore in itself. It wasn’t that he was a bad patient, but he had trouble getting comfortable. The pain medicine that the doctor warned them might make him sleepy had the opposite effect, and he seemed to be having weird daydreams throughout those darkened hours. By the time sunrise came, Ivy was exhausted and more than grateful that it was a non-church Sunday. She would have to call the doctor and have him get her dawdi a new pain medication, but in the meantime she had eased his suffering with one of those nighttime pain relievers that eased aches and helped a person sleep. He had finally conked out, but for how long was anybody’s guess. Right now all she wanted to do was catch a nap before heading over to Daryl’s house. She wanted to give him the update and hopefully use his phone to take care of the outstanding hospital business.

  She settled down on the couch, lying on her side and covering herself with an afghan her mammi had made years ago. Chester curled up in the crook of her knees, purring and kneading, so thankful that things were settling down.

  Ivy stared at the fire, watching the flames dance across the logs. She had decisions to make, too many and too important to make on little or no sleep, but they needed to be resolved, and immediately. All she had to do was say the word, and her mother would come after Dawdi.

  It was Sunday, December 31, New Year’s Eve. The last day of the year. How ironic, or maybe it was befitting, that she had to make these decisions, these life-changing decisions, on the last day of the year. Tomorrow everything would change. Like it or not.

  She jumped when a knock sounded at the door. She blinked, not realizing until she was awakened that she had been asleep. Was someone knocking? Or was she dreaming? Maybe it had been Dawdi. She paused, listened, then the knock came again.

  Ivy hopped to her feet and hustled to the door as Chester followed behind her. She placed one hand on the knob to open it, then checked the mirror to make sure her kerchief was still in place.

  Logan Dallas was standing on the other side of the threshold. Perhaps he was the last person she had expected to see.

  “Logan.” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

  “Can I come in?”

  She took a step back to allow him entrance. “Jah. But we’ll have to be quiet. My dawdi is sleeping.”

  He smiled. “I thought the Amish were up before the sun.”

  “Usually.” She led the way to the living room, Chester following behind. “We had a little accident yesterday.” They settled down, him on the sofa and her in the rocking chair just next to it, and she told him about Dawdi’s fall.

  “I’m glad he wasn’t hurt worse,” Logan said when she had finished her tale.

  “Me too.”

  He nodded, and a moment of silence fell between them. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Leaving?” Her heart jumped in her chest. She had been able to think of nothing else, all night long. Starting over in another country, a chance to be someone else, someone who wasn’t dragging around a suitcase full of sins. But she hadn’t thought it would be tomorrow!

  “That’s sudden,” she finally managed. “I thought you were going to stay awhile.”

  He clasped his hands between his knees and looked into the fire. “Yeah, me too, but the guy I came with is ready to go back.” He chuckled. “He’s originally from the Caribbean and not used to such weather. He’s ready to be warm again.”

  Ivy tried to smile, but her lips stuck to her teeth. This was her chance. Take me with you. That was all she had to say. So why were the words stuck in her throat? Her mother would come soon and take Dawdi away. She wouldn’t be able to stay in this house and live off what she made at the bakery. She would have to find a roommate. Or move. Maybe both. But if she went with Logan, it wouldn’t matter. She could stay in a tent, help those less fortunate. Do God’s work. And maybe then He would forgive her.

  But the words wouldn’t come.

  Be brave. It was the only instruction she had. But brave about what? Telling Logan she wanted to tag along? Going to Costa Rica? Moving to Indiana? Staying in Oklahoma? What? What was she supposed to be brave about?

  If only she knew.

  But she couldn’t go with Logan. He was perhaps the most handsome man she had encountered, with his streaky blond hair and enticing grin, but he seemed to think that the two of them could have something special. And maybe they could, except for one thing: She was in love with Zeb. Always had been. Always would be. It wouldn’t do to give a false hope to Logan, or even one to herself. Whether she went to Central America, stayed in Wells Landing, or made her way to Indiana with her mamm and Dawdi and Alan Byler, she would be a spinster, because she had hurt the man she loved one too many times.

  Logan stood, and she followed suit. “I just came by to thank you for being so kind to my grandfather in his final days. It means a lot to me that he had a good friend at his side before he passed.” He shot her a teary smile. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  Ivy blinked back her own tears. “There’s no need. I’m a better person for having known him.” The words of his poem jumped to her mind. She couldn’t remember them all and vowed to read it again before going over to call the doctor. “Are you su
re you won’t stay for a while longer? Maybe have a piece of pie?”

  “It’s nine thirty in the morning.”

  She shrugged. “I guess it’s an Amish thing.” She had grown up eating pie at all hours of the day.

  “That may be something I have to adopt for my own, but I do need to be going.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little card. It was about the size of a regular business card. “That’s my sat phone number,” he explained.

  She wasn’t sure what a “sat phone” was, but didn’t ask.

  “I wanted you to be able to get in touch with me.” He shrugged as if it was a stupid idea, but he had followed through regardless. “Just in case . . . whatever, you know?”

  She looked at the number and swallowed the lump in her throat. Was now the time to be brave? She didn’t know.

  “I know the Amish don’t have a lot of phones, but I know you can use one, and if you need me . . .” He tapped the card with one finger. “You can find me.”

  “Danki,” she choked, then cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  He smiled and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “It was nice knowing you, Ivy Weaver.”

  “Same to you,” she murmured.

  Then he leaned in and kissed her cheek, then stepped out onto the porch. He waved once before Ivy shut the door and leaned against it.

  That wasn’t her brave time. At least she didn’t think it was. She wasn’t sure. She needed more sleep. Or to drink some coffee. Maybe have a piece of pie. She needed to call the doctor, check on her grandfather. So many things.

  Instead she looked at the card in her hand. The number was scrawled there in bold black letters. Strong, unapologetic. Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything. How about a new life?

  She pushed off the door and walked toward the kitchen. Sleep wasn’t an option, so coffee was the next best thing. She had to get down to Daryl’s and call her mamm. Maybe that was her be-brave moment: to own up to God’s will. To stop fighting for the things she wanted and accept what was to happen.