They entered the cafeteria, a spacious, carpeted room with banks of floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the weather looked raw and blustery, with flurries of snow swirling wildly. Leah shivered, missing the sun-drenched Texas weather.
“This place makes the best cake. They call it Chocolate Decadence and believe me, it is!” Molly said. “Want to try a piece?”
“Is that a trick question? You bet I do!”
Molly went to the dessert area of the food bar and returned with a plate of triple-layer chocolate cake studded with white chocolate chunks, slathered with chocolate icing and drizzled with dark chocolate syrup. She also carried an extra plate and two forks. The cake tasted so good, Leah savored each rich bite with a sigh.
“Feel better?” Molly asked.
“Much.” Leah laid down her fork. “If I forget to tell you later, thanks for being so nice to me.”
“You’re easy to be nice to, Leah.”
“You really make me feel like a person instead of a medical dilemma. The doctors make me feel like I’m some sort of puzzle to be solved.”
“Doctors get so focused on a patient’s symptoms and medical data that they sometimes lose sight of the human element. I guess that’s where nurses come in. And I’m glad you feel that I’m your friend. For me, that’s an important part of nursing.”
Leah took another bite of cake. “I was thinking the other day about what it might be like to be a nurse. I mean, everyone has to do something for a job. Do you think I would make a good nurse?”
“It’s hard work,” Molly said. “And getting harder. I plan to go back to school in the summer just to learn more about certain diseases. Nursing isn’t for the fainthearted, Leah.”
“And maybe I’m not smart enough.”
“If it was just memorizing medical information, anyone could go into nursing, but in order to be a good nurse, you must genuinely want to take care of sick people. I’ve been on different rotations all over this hospital, and I’m telling you, some people are real pills. They’re demanding and cranky and you have to keep reminding yourself that they aren’t purposely trying to make your life miserable.”
Leah laughed. “Is that why you stick to the pedi floor? Because you’re bigger and can make the kids do what you want?”
“How’d you guess?” Molly’s eyes twinkled; then her face softened. “Actually, I’m on the pedi floor because I really like the kids and hate seeing them suffer. And”—she took a breath—“because of Emily.”
“Who’s Emily?”
“She was my sister.”
“Was?”
“She died when she was just fourteen—more than twenty-five years ago. And I haven’t gotten over it yet.”
“Your sister died? What happened to her?” Leah saw pain etched in Molly’s face.
“It was leukemia. Back then we didn’t have the drugs and chemotherapy protocols we have now. Bone marrow transplants were highly experimental too. Most kids who got the disease died.”
Leah shuddered and thought of Grandma Hall. “How old were you when it happened?”
“Emily was diagnosed when I was eight and she was twelve, but I remember it like it was yesterday. My parents were beside themselves. And for a while, I was jealous of all the attention Emily was getting. But once I saw how sick the chemo made her, I got over being jealous.”
“I never had a sister, but sometimes I wish I did.”
“Well, Emily truly was a special girl. She was smart, pretty, popular, but not the least bit stuck-up. I adored her. When she got sick, she was in the hospital for weeks at a time. We lived on a farm, and the only hospital that had a children’s oncology unit was three hundred miles away. Mom had to stay with Emily, and during the week Dad worked and stayed with me while I went to school.
“On the weekends, he and I would drive the three hundred miles to visit. I resented it at first, but one time when I got there, Emily was vomiting horribly and all her hair had fallen out from the medication. It was such a shock seeing her bald, I broke down crying and ran out of the room. Emily had had beautiful, long hair, and in less than a week it was totally gone.”
Leah saw the mental picture all too clearly. “How did you decide to become a nurse?”
Molly pushed her cake plate aside and leaned back in her chair. “There was a nurse on the floor, an elderly woman, who would sit with my sister for hours when my mother had to get away and get some rest. She was so patient and kind. I’ll never forget her. She knew the special patients, the really sick ones, by name. She called them her little angels. Every time Emily had to return to the hospital, Mrs. Duncan was there to take care of her.”
“Did your sister have to go back to the hospital often?”
“Not at first. But when she was barely fourteen, she went out of remission, and then she was there almost all the time. The week she died, I stayed out of school. My dad had a neighbor look after the farm, and we all sat by Emily’s bedside, watching her die.”
Molly paused, and visions of Grandma Hall on her deathbed passed through Leah’s head. “It was terrible,” Molly said. “But Mrs. Duncan stayed with us the whole time. And at Emily’s funeral, she took the day off and drove to our place for the service. I knew then that I wanted to be like that lady. I never considered being anything but a nurse.”
Molly’s story had touched Leah. “I’m really sorry about your sister. And I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.” She told Molly briefly about her grandmother’s illness and death. “I know how much Ethan and his sisters believe in God, but I wonder why God lets these things happen.”
“God doesn’t owe us an explanation,” Molly said. “But still, there’s something comforting about faith. And it’s hard not to believe in God when you live on a farm all your life. Every winter, all life seems to die. Yet every spring, life returns. Scientific explanations aside, it always seems miraculous to me.”
Leah thought about Ethan and his family. Maybe their faith sprang partly from their sense of belonging to the land.
Molly looked at her watch. “I’m late for duty.”
The two of them hurried back upstairs, Leah deep in thought. Maybe after this biopsy was complete and she was back on Neil’s farm, she could think about making friends at her new high school. Maybe this new life in Indiana wouldn’t be so bad after all.
If only my mother can just make this marriage work.
Leah was given a pill to help her sleep that night, and early the next morning a nurse gave her a shot to relax her before her surgery. The medicine worked; she was feeling very calm when an orderly arrived and rolled her on a gurney down the hall to the elevators and the surgical floor.
Once in the O.R. area, Leah was shifted to a gurney and hooked up to an IV line. Efficient nurses busied themselves with patients waiting in a line of hospital beds for one of the four operating rooms. Even though she was feeling relaxed, Leah wished at this moment that her mother could be there.
Dr. Thomas appeared. He wore a green surgical scrub suit and a green cap over his hair. “How’re we doing?” he asked.
“A little scared,” Leah mumbled.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, once the anesthesiologist gets hold of you, you’ll sleep through the whole thing.” He patted her shoulder.
The anesthesiologist talked to her briefly, then slipped a needle into her IV line. “This is going to make you sleepy,” he said.
He left, and Molly’s face peered down at her. “Hi.”
Leah managed a smile of gratitude. “You came to see me.”
“I couldn’t let you go in there without telling you good luck.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?”
“No. They’ll take you into recovery, and once you’re fully awake, you’ll be brought back to the floor. I’ll see you there.”
Leah reached for Molly’s hand, and as the medication spread, making her feel weightless and numb, she mouthed, “Thank you.” The last thing she saw was Molly’s smiling face
and, over Molly’s shoulder, the face of Gabriella. Leah wanted to thank the other nurse for coming too, but the drug was making her so drowsy, she couldn’t. Gabriella blew her a kiss, and then a curtain of darkness descended over Leah.
She regained consciousness in another room, where other patients were also awakening from operations. Nurses took her blood pressure every fifteen minutes and offered her sips of water. Her knee was sore and bandaged, and her finger had been rebandaged. Had the doctor taken a sample of that bone for the biopsy too? In no time she felt clearheaded, and an orderly took her back to the pediatric floor.
As the orderly rolled Leah’s bed into place, Rebekah cried, “You’re back! Oh, Leah, you’re back.”
Leah said, “I slept through the whole thing.” Her throat was sore, and when Molly came to welcome her, she explained, “That’s from the tube they put down your throat during surgery. It’ll clear up in a day or two.”
“Have you heard anything about what’s wrong with me?” Leah asked.
“No. They’ll call your mother and talk to her about it.”
“Why? I’m the one going through this. My mother’s halfway around the world. Don’t I have any rights?”
“You have lots of rights. It’ll be up to your doctor. He’ll decide how much to tell you. And I know Dr. Thomas. He’s pretty straightforward with his patients.” Molly gestured to a vase of beautiful flowers sitting on Leah’s bedside table. “These were delivered while you were having your biopsy.”
“Who sent them?” Molly handed her the card. It read: We’re thinking of you. Recover quickly. Call you later. Love, Mom and Neil. Leah was pleased, and also a little embarrassed about her outburst. She peered up at Molly. “I guess they didn’t forget what was happening today.”
“I guess not,” Molly said with a grin. “I hear the lunch trays, so I’ve got to run. I’ll check in with you before my shift ends.”
Rebekah sidled over to Leah’s bed. “Are you all right, Leah?”
Leah scooted up in the bed, putting on a cheerful expression for the child. “Just fine. See?” She pulled back the covers and showed Rebekah her bandage-wrapped knee. “The doctor took a tiny chip of my bone and sent it to the lab to be examined.”
“Why?”
“To see why it’s sore. To see why my finger broke for no reason.”
“My oma has rheumatism,” Rebekah said. “Mama fixes her some tea to make it stop hurting.” Her face brightened. “Maybe she can make some tea for you.”
“Maybe.”
The door swung open. Expecting the lunch trays, Leah turned. But the doorway was filled with Ethan. Rebekah ran to him.
Leah’s mouth went dry and her heart hammered. He had come, just as he had promised.
“Hello, Leah.” Ethan scooped Rebekah up in his arms and approached Leah’s bed.
“Hi.” She realized that she didn’t have a bit of makeup on, not even lipstick.
“Your biopsy went well?”
“I did fine, but I don’t know anything yet—”
“Where’s Mama?” Rebekah interrupted.
“Mama’s home, fixing you a welcome-back dinner. Papa’s downstairs signing you out. You’re coming home.”
“Gabriella already told me.”
Leah’s heart sank. She was glad for Rebekah, but she was going to miss all of them. “Did Charity come with you?” she asked. “I wanted to tell her goodbye.”
“She is here. She dislikes the elevator and is walking the stairs.”
Charity entered the room, flushed from the climb, her eyes sparkling. After hugging her sister, she asked Leah about her surgery.
“Help me, Charity,” Rebekah said. She’d gone to the closet and dragged out a small duffel bag.
Minutes later Mr. Longacre arrived. Not wanting to be in the way while they packed up the child’s few belongings, Leah eased out of bed and into the hall, using a pair of crutches. Her knee was sore, but she hobbled down to the rec room. It was crowded with children.
Leah let herself into the library, which was empty. She sank into a chair and stared at the floor. Her days and nights in the hospital stretched before her like a ribbon of lonesome country highway. Her mother and Neil wouldn’t be arriving for three more days.
When she heard the door open, she willed the intruder to go away. She wasn’t in the mood to be disturbed.
“Leah?”
She turned to see Charity. “Are you all leaving now?”
Charity nodded. “Rebekah wants to say goodbye. And so do I.”
“Goodbye,” Leah said. She started to say, “Tell Rebekah I’ll call her,” then remembered that they didn’t have a phone. She sighed. “All right, I’ll be back to the room in a minute.”
Charity stepped forward. “I’m glad you are alone, because I want to give you something.” She thrust out a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.
“What’s this?”
“A gift. For Christmas. I made it for you.”
Instantly Leah felt ashamed. She’d been feeling sorry for herself and hadn’t given a thought to a present for anyone. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“I hope you like it.”
“Can I open it now?”
“If you wish to.”
Leah heard eagerness in Charity’s voice. She tugged at the string and pulled away the paper. Inside lay a piece of linen cloth, and on it, etched in meticulous tiny pink and green cross-stitches, was a cascade of small blossoms surrounded by leaves. Her name, LEAH, was stitched in the center. “It’s so beautiful! Thank you.”
“Do you really like it? It’s a covering for a pillow for your bed. I hope every time you look at it, you will think of me.”
Leah didn’t know how to sew, but she knew fine stitching when she saw it. The threads were even and delicate, and the image of Charity working so diligently to create the gift brought a lump to Leah’s throat. “I won’t forget you,” she said. “You’re a real friend, and your gift is wonderful.”
“Plain people are not supposed to feel prideful, but I feel much pride. Perhaps God will forgive me for this small sin,” Charity confided shyly.
Leah stood and hugged her. “I’ll put this on my bed as soon as I get home.”
“Before we return to the room, Ethan wants to talk to you,” Charity said.
Leah felt her heart almost stop. “Ethan’s with you?”
“Right outside the door. I told him I would make an excuse to Papa so that he could have some time alone with you.”
“Your father wouldn’t approve, would he? He wouldn’t want Ethan to be alone with an English girl. I don’t want the two of you to get into trouble.”
Charity retreated to the door and with a mischievous grin said, “Sometimes it is easier to get forgiveness than permission.”
When Ethan came into the room, Leah felt her mouth go dry. He was so tall, and his serious blue-eyed gaze turned her knees to jelly. She had long since gotten over his old-fashioned way of dressing. The shapeless, unstylish dark fabric covered the gentlest person she had ever known. He walked over and stood looking down at her. “I will be leaving soon, Leah.”
“Then I guess this is goodbye forever.”
“You cannot say that, for no one can see into tomorrow.”
She squared her jaw. “If you weren’t Amish, I could phone you. I could drive to your house and you could come to mine. I could meet you at a mall. We could go to a movie together. I could ask you to a dance at my school.”
“But I am Amish.”
Leah fought back tears as she grasped the impossibility of their situation. “Are you going to take Martha Dewberry for another ride in your buggy?” She pictured a warm summer night under countless stars. And Ethan in the moonlight with another girl. An Amish girl.
Gently he ran his fingers along the side of her face. “There is only one girl I want to take in my buggy. It is not Martha.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better, Ethan?”
“I told you, Leah Lewis-Hall—I do not lie.”
“Have you ever kissed her, Ethan? Have you kissed any girl?” Leah’s voice was barely audible, and she was trembling. Her heartbeat quickened.
Mutely he shook his head.
She whispered, “Will you kiss me?” She wanted to be his first kiss. Her mother once told her that the first kiss was the one a person never forgot. She wanted Ethan to remember her for all time. “For hello and goodbye at the same time,” she added.
He lifted her chin with his forefinger and very slowly lowered his head until his mouth was only inches away. His breath smelled like cinnamon and felt warm on her skin. Gently he pressed his lips to hers, and she closed her eyes and sank into the velvet softness of it. Leah had been kissed before, but she knew that this kiss, Ethan’s kiss, was the one that would matter to her for the rest of her life.
When he ended the kiss, when he stepped back, she saw that he looked shaken. She hoped he didn’t feel guilty about kissing her. “I—I …” She fumbled for words.
He placed the tips of his fingers against her mouth. “Your lips are lovely, Leah. Worth waiting for.” He took a deep breath. “My father may come looking for me. We should return to the room.”
“If I leave with you,” Leah said, “he’ll see what has happened between us on my face. I can’t hide it.”
Ethan nodded. “Then you return to the room and I will go straight down to the lobby.”
She cast him one last lingering look and hurried from the room as quickly as her sore knee would allow. Pausing outside the door, she fought to regain her composure.
Rebekah sprang toward her like an overeager puppy when Leah stepped into their room. “I’ve been waiting for you to come! I couldn’t go without saying goodbye.” Rebekah flung her arms around Leah’s waist. “I miss you already.”
“I’ll miss you, too. You were the best roommate in the whole world.”
“Papa has taken Rebekah’s things down to the lobby,” Charity said, her gaze sweeping Leah knowingly. “The bus is leaving soon. Ethan?”
“He went straight downstairs.”