“I can go and be back…” Before he even finished his sentence, Joseph turned and started out the door.
“It is no use.” Elnora turned back toward the window. Fresh tears glistened on her cheek. “It is no use. Jeremiah went last night.”
“He did?” Thomas sounded slightly hurt. “I would have gone.”
Elnora continued. “It was no use,” she repeated. Emotion broke her words. “There was no doctor there anymore.”
An air of hopelessness settled around them, filling the room with a stifling sense of desperation. “Was there no one who could come to help?” Rebekah’s voice squeaked as her cracking words mimicked her mother’s.
“I do not know. Jeremiah begged of anyone to come help. People are so busy these days, getting ready for planting season…” Elnora’s voice trailed off. “Gelassenheit,” she whispered to nobody in particular. “Your fater’s health is in God’s hands, now.”
Silence shrouded them for what seemed like an eternity. Not even baby Dawson made a sound. Only Samuel’s jagged breathing broke the tension.
“Hey,” Thomas said. “What is that?”
He pointed out the window to a speck in the distance.
Joseph stepped over to investigate.
“Looks like an answer to a prayer if you ask me.” Joseph’s voice rose in hopeful tones. “It looks to be a man, coming up from the direction of town.” He laid one hand gently on his mother-in-law’s shoulder. “And he is carrying a medical bag.”
***
Another long roll of thunder met them as they opened the door to the stranger with the neat, gray beard and kind, blue eyes. “I heard tale from a very excited boy that you folks may be in need of some medical assistance.”
“That would be my brother, Jeremiah,” Rebekah said. “And he is right we are in need of a doctor, but we heard one was not available in town.”
“Might I ask who you are, sir?” Joseph, ever logical, narrowed his eyes.
The tall man, wearing a smart black coat with matching britches, removed his top hat with one smooth gesture. “Certainly. My name is Fogarty. Fogarty Thomas Johnson.” His smile, though mostly obscured by his beard—the likes of which Rebekah had never seen, even in all her travels. It lit up his eyes with a grandfatherly warmth. “I am the newest addition to Montgomery. I only recently relocated here from the young township of Clearwater, Minnesota to open my barbershop. Since the clinic closed down when the good doctor moved west,” he nodded toward Rebekah as if in answer to her comment about the lack of a doctor in town.
Fogarty continued. “I inherited most of his patient load.” He replaced his hat. “I suppose it lends credence to the truism that even doctors can be struck by the fever. Gold fever, that is.”
“Thank you for coming out.” Rebekah stepped back so that Fogarty could step inside. “It looks like you just beat yet another storm.”
“Keen eye you have, Miss—”
“Graber. Rebekah Graber.” She stuck out her hand as she had so often when dealing with the Englischers.
“I would have been here sooner, if not for the previous storm.” Fogarty took her hand and bent slightly at the middle. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Graber.”
“This is my husband, Joseph, and our son, Dawson.”
Fogarty greeted them both in turn, in a strange, gentlemanly fashion that she had not encountered, even on the streets of New York City.
“My brother, Thomas,” she continued, “and my mater, Mrs. Stoll, are upstairs with my fater. It is he who took sick.”
He touched the tip of his hat and nodded toward Thomas, who had appeared behind them. “Hello, young man. Might you be able to take me to see Father?”
“Yes sir.” He motioned with his arm. “This way, Mister Foghorn.”
The man’s chuckles were joined by Rebekah and Joseph.
Thomas tried to smile, but his little lips simply didn’t allow themselves to be turned upward. “I apologize for messing up your name.”
“Not at all,” the older man said. “How did you know that was my nickname in primary school?”
Normally, that would have spurred on a conversation with Thomas about what life was like when Fogarty was in primary school, where he lived, and what he thought of people giving him a new name. But not today. “Pa is upstairs.” Thomas turned and trudged dejectedly up the stairs, with heavy steps.
“After you, sir.” Joseph gestured toward the stairs.
Joseph held out his arm for his wife. Rebekah melted into his side. Neither needed to speak their shared thought. Hopefully, this Englischer gentleman really is an answer to Thomas’s prayers.
***
Once they reached the bedroom and he had greeted Elnora properly, Fogarty knelt at the bedside. He took his time examining Samuel. Slowly. Methodically. Beginning at Samuel’s head, Fogarty felt her fater’s scalp and down his neck, all while wearing a severe frown of concentration.
Rebekah’s heart sank as she watched the examination. I am shocked that Pa is sleeping through this. He should be moving or at least responding.
Joseph’s squeeze around her shoulders told her he understood, even though they had shared no words.
The old barber looked in both of Samuel’s ears and turned his head this way and that.
Working his way down, he felt under her Pa’s arms and down to each of the fingers. Ever gentle, he pressed each fingernail and examined the reaction carefully before moving to the next one.
Rebekah, Joseph, and Thomas watched intently. Elnora, however, had accepted baby Dawson from Joseph and together, grossmammi and the bopplin sat in the rocking chair that faced the window and rocked absently. Elnora did not watch as Fogarty examined her husband. Instead, she stared forlornly out the window as tears tracked silently down her cheeks.
After Fogarty had pressed each fingernail, he held Samuel’s wrist gently in his hand and, eyes closed, began to count quietly.
