“Joseph, are you all right?” She petted his face gently and peered down, hoping to catch any sight of movement or consciousness.
Nothing.
She was concentrating so intently, that she failed to notice she had company.
“I made some liniment for Joseph’s wounds. It is there in the little jar on the nightstand.”
Fogarty’s voice made her jump. Sure enough, a little white jar she had not noticed before was there.
“Danke, Fogarty.” She lifted the jar to her nose and took a whiff. “It smells good. What is it made from?”
Fogarty strode inside and joined her at the head of the bed. “Honey, with its natural antiseptic properties, is the base. Added to that is comfrey root, which grows wild around here, along with some sweet oil to bind, lanolin to soothe, and aloe vera gel to heal.”
“That is quite the healing touch you have in that jar.” Rebekah scooped a little out with one finger and lifted the bandage she had just applied to Joseph’s head. Carefully, she smoothed it onto the worst part of the wound.
“Well done,” Fogarty said. “A natural nurse.”
“Thank you again for your kindness and generosity. With your time, your talents, and your stories.”
Fogarty stepped over to where she had dropped the soiled linens and quilt. “I apologize for bringing the horrors of war into your peaceful home, Rebekah. Please forgive me.”
“No forgiveness necessary.” Rebekah’s answer came quickly and honestly. “I am humbled that you shared your stories with me. Thank you.”
Fogarty nodded. “Well, I suppose you have matters well in hand here.” He gestured down to the soiled linens. “Do you mind if I take these down for you?”
She smiled. “I would be grateful.”
With that, Fogarty was gone, and Rebekah continued with her task. Every now and again, she peeked up at Joseph’s face for any hint of movement. From time to time, she thought she saw something, a flicker or a flutter. But nothing that stayed.
Rebekah shrugged. Maybe tomorrow.
She dressed him in a fresh shirt, then washed his legs and feet.
His legs are looking much better. That impalement wound was very odd, but it seems to be healing quickly. She scooped out a bit more salve from the little white jar and dabbed it on his leg wounds. I will need to be sure to ask for a bit more of this, or perhaps he can even teach me how to make it.
After dressing Joseph in clean nightclothes, she remade the bed with the fresh sheets. She selected a cornflower blue quilt from the quilt closet and spread it over her mann.
Without warning, she had begun to sing. She made up the song as she went along. Something about early mornings, hot coffee, great company, and war stories.
When all her tasks were finished, she eased herself down on the bed next to him. “Oh, Joseph. You look so hurt and tired. But you seem much better than yesterday if that makes sense.” She took his limp hand in hers. It was so pale. She tried not to focus on that. Instead, she stroked his hand gently.
“I know things look a bit hopeless right now, but Dawson and I—well, we are not giving up on you. Not now, not yet, not ever. So, remember that as you heal. We love you, and we need you. Here, well. With us.” She half expected him to answer her. But he did not. He did not even twitch a muscle, but she refused to be deflated. Instead, she laid down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder.
A handful of days ago, he would have put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him until their bodies met, as though one had been divinely sculpted for the other. Then, they would have fallen asleep that way, cozy and content, until Dawson screeched deep in the night and one of them had to go tend to him. It was an easy, loving routine and Rebekah had failed to realize how much she missed it until now.
“I miss you, my love,” she murmured as her own eyelids began to flutter. “I know things seem hopeless now. But believe me when I tell you that I feel richer than anyone else in the world.” She yawned but needed Joseph to hear this story. “I have you, a beautiful husband who is fighting so hard to get well. I know you are fighting hard. Not only because I know you, but because I can see it in you, too.” She squeezed his fingers lightly. “And I have a father who has willed himself well, just to come and help me take care of things around the house while you heal. It is so nice to spend time with him and watch him with the bopplin.”
As she began to doze off, she thought she felt Joseph squeeze her fingers in return. Whether it was a wishful dream or reality, she could not be sure. Still, cuddling next to her husband for an afternoon nap was priceless.
***
Once Rebekah awoke and made her way downstairs, she found that Fogarty had brought the clothes basket downstairs as he promised he would. It sat in the mudroom, fairly begging to be washed. In the kitchen, Fogarty and Samuel chatted at the table. Rebekah strode over in time to see Fogarty remove a fat leech from her fater’s arm and apply a new slimy, slender leech in the same place. She opened her mouth to speak but instead covered it with one hand. Dawson watched the entire goings on intently from his grossdaddi’s lap.
“Ah, Dochder.” Samuel smiled at her appearance but did not take his eyes off the leeches. “Did you have a nice nap with Joseph?”
Unable to speak, Rebekah could only nod.
A thin trickle of blood slid down Samuel’s wrist.
“There now,” Fogarty proclaimed. “We know it is working. Good, thin blood.”
Her stomach turned over on itself. She had intended to tell them about Joseph possibly squeezing her fingers, but if she had tried to speak, she may well have vomited right there in her own kitchen, all over the leeches, her table, her sohn, everything. Anyway, it was probably simply a dream. A dream she wished would come true.
Careful to keep her mouth covered, she pointed to the washing basket with one hand and went quickly to grab it. She tried to think of anything but leeches as she carried the aromatic basket out into the spring afternoon. A piece of the men’s conversation floated out after her.
Samuel’s voice. “Fogarty, you are as good to me as any brother. You may as well be the brother I never had.”
Rebekah was careful to say nothing, because she knew her father did in fact have a brother. His younger brother, who was born, Elnora said, when Samuel was only a year or so old. The baby, called Abram, passed from life after only a few short months on earth. Or perhaps it had been a few short weeks. Rebekah could not rightly remember, and her mother had only voiced the conversation once. A proper time to bring it up again for clarification had never presented itself, so she had kept silent.
Still, the story of her young uncle’s untimely passing and her father’s inability to recall his being alive at all was depressing. Though she could not blame her father, he certainly was not old enough to remember anything about him or that time in his life, but it was odd to hear him say that he never had a brother. Because he did have a brother. A brother in heaven.
Rebekah pondered this as she made her way with the dirty laundry down to the little river that tinkled along behind their home, and she could not help but smile, despite the bone-gnawing exhaustion that had made itself at home within her. With all the brotherly thoughts pushed aside, she was able to turn her mind back to the here and now. To her blessings. To her family. “Rich is an understatement,” she told the fat robin that hopped along the riverbank beside her, seeking out worms. “I would venture to say that each of us in the Stoll-Graber family is richer in love than anyone else I know.”
Chapter Eleven
The sun was dipping well into the western sky by the time Rebekah returned home with the clean, wet laundry. She loved how it smelled, like lye, cold water, and sunshine. Which makes sense because that is precisely what is in there.
As she was hanging the sheets on the line, she realized her cheeks ached.
That is odd.
She reached up and felt them, and realized she was smiling.
“You look happy, dochder.” Samuel appeared at the end of the clothesline. “It does my old heart good to see my eldest bopplin happy.”
“And it does your dochder’s heart good to see her fater happy and healthy. The leeches from Fogarty must really help, even though they make me kind of ill to look at.”
He nodded. “I believe they do.” He sank down into a chair that he had obviously brought out for just that purpose. “And if I really let myself think about them, they make my stomach churn a little, too.”
Rebekah chuckled. “I can only imagine. I suppose you cannot let yourself think of them at all.”
“Well, I have to think of them the right way. Those little things, I believe, have helped make me well enough to come see you and the bopplin. And that is good enough for me.” He nodded a curt nod at Rebekah as if to punctuate his feelings about the leeches. “That Englischer barber is really something else. I am quite glad to know him.”
She slid a clothespin over the sheet and stepped down the line. “It seems you two have become fast friends.”
Samuel smiled. “Friendship is more worthwhile than gold.”
“Jah,” Rebekah said. “You have taught me that from when I was small as Dawson there. Hey, speaking of Dawson, where is he?”
