“Alright, mann,” she began, attempting to keep the tone light. “Now, I will carefully roll you the other direction so that I can pull the quilt under you completely. Get ready now.”
Get ready Rebekah.
“Are you ready?”
Carefully as promised, she rolled Joseph once again, this time in the opposite direction, and worked with deft and nimble fingers to pull taut the quilt roll beneath him. When she was satisfied that it was wrinkle-free and he was as centered atop it as she could make him, she stood up and studied what she had done.
Through squinted eyes, she studied his head, which was still bleeding.
Rebekah, why did you fail to put something on that to staunch the bleeding? No wonder he is so pale!
Searching her pockets, she found nothing, and searching the ground, she found even more nothing of use. Thinking quickly, she removed her covering from over her blonde hair and placed it on Joseph’s head.
Oh, my darling mann, how comical this could be if under any other circumstances. However now, it is not comical. It is a matter of life and death. Your life or your death.
Careful not to press too hard on his mushy forehead, she installed the black covering worn by married Amish women over his head. She tightened the covering strings just enough so that it was tight across his forehead, but not too tight, lest she do more injury.
She straightened her back and began to study Joseph again.
Head wound, covered. Thankfully, with black cloth, so I cannot see how much he is bleeding. I pray it stops the bleeding and does not hurt him more.
Her gaze drifted down his body to his shoulders and arms. They seemed unhurt, however, they needed to be tucked up, so he did not fall off when she began to drag him across the yard and into the house.
Kneeling, she crossed his arms across his chest.
That dreadful death pose. She shuddered and let go.
At once, his arms fell back to his sides.
Rebekah furrowed her brow and recrossed his arms across his chest. She unbuttoned the wrist button of each sleeve and slid the button of the left sleeve through the right sleeve’s buttonhole. Then, she did the same for the right sleeve’s button. Now, when she let go of his arms, they relaxed but did not fall from his chest. She nodded at her ingenuity.
His body, she studied his torso. Appears fine with no blood seeping through his clothes that I can see, though I will need to look for bruising to make sure Pepper did not stomp on him after he had fallen. That will have to wait until we are inside. She shivered in the wet coldness. He may freeze to death before I can get him moved inside if I do not hurry along.
She straightened her back again. Hips, legs, feet. Wait… Something on Joseph’s legs caught her eye. From under his calves, a red ring had spread onto the quilt. I did not notice any bleeding here before, or did I even bother to look?
Rebekah leaned to investigate. She slid one hand under Joseph’s leg and tried to lift it, but it would not budge.
What is going on?
She bent lower and it was only then she saw the wayward hunk of wagon wheel that had impaled her husband’s legs through his calves, pinning them together.
Cold stones fell in her stomach as an air of hopelessness mixed with urgency swirled around her. The tremble tried to return to her hands, but she shook it off. Anger at her slowness heated her blood and spurred her on.
“No, this is not happening out here,” she said. “I am taking my husband inside!”
She wiped her hands on her filthy apron, streaked with an equal mixture of blood and mud and rainwater, and hurried to the head of the quilt. Grasping it in both hands, she began to pull.
Thankfully, the ground was still icy enough that Joseph slid rather easily, despite being dead weight, over the ground. Rebekah tried not to think of how difficult pulling him through the soppy mud would be and put the thought out of her mind immediately.
Positive thoughts, Rebekah. Positive thoughts only.
After a few feet, her arched back and taut arms screamed for a break. A break which she refused her burning muscles.
If I stop now, I may not start again. I will take a break when I get to the corral gate, long enough to get it open.
From the barn door, Pepper peered out with wide, worried eyes. She was a sweet old mare that had come to them from an Englischer family who had bought some of Samuel’s wheels. They had been unable to pay, so they paid with their old mare, instead.
She and Buttermilk, Rebekah’s beloved milk cow, had gotten along famously and were quite inseparable, except during storms. Whenever the weather turned sour, Buttermilk receded to her stall, nestled down into the hay, and fell promptly asleep. She was probably still sleeping now, unlike Pepper who became nervous and agitated during storms.
Buttermilk’s calf, Cream, had found a wonderful home with Rebekah’s parents as a gift for baby Beanie, whom Rebekah had helped bring into the world. In part of her mind, Rebekah prayed Cream and all the Stoll family at her childhood homestead were okay and had survived the storm without injury.
“I wish you could understand me, Pepper,” Rebekah puffed as she pulled Joseph along on the quilt. “I would ask you to help me pull Joseph across the yard and into the house. The look on your face says you want to help.”
If ever an animal could look ashamed, Pepper wore that look now.
“Do not fret, Pepper. This was not your fault.”
She pulled a little more, then spoke again. “Both Joseph and I know that you do not like storms, isn’t that right Joseph?” She paused. “See Pepper, did you hear him? He said he knows.”
Pepper whoofed from the safety of the barn, as though she really understood what Rebekah was saying to her.
“We know,” Rebekah continued, “that you are a sweet old girl who would not hurt a fruit fly. At least, you would not mean to. Joseph knows it, too.”
Pepper, of course, did not answer.
“I suppose,” she mused aloud, “if anyone is to be blamed for this incident, it is me. It was me who broke the gate by playing silly games. So, it was my fault that you got out in the first place.”
The muscles in her arms and her legs screamed, almost as much as her guilty conscience, as she pulled her husband along the icy ground, careful to keep his head off the ground, toward the corral gate. After what was probably minutes, but felt more like a special brand of eternity, her foot hit the wood of the gate.
