“Jah, jah he is.” A smile flickered across her lips as her heart swelled with pride for her little brudder as he grew into the man he was becoming but flitted away as her gaze fell to Joseph. “May I go see him?”
“Of course. He is all yours.”
Rebekah stepped across the room to Joseph’s side. “What was wrong with his legs?”
Ever patient, Fogarty fielded question after question as he had no doubt fielded fly balls so many years ago. He explained how, in tornadoes as he called them, wind blew pieces of debris so hard and so fast that they sometimes impaled people without them knowing, and even without them feeling it. There would usually be little to no blood loss and injuries could be incredibly severe. Luckily, Joseph’s was not. It was simply a scrap piece of a wagon wheel that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Or the right place,” Rebekah said. “If it had hit somewhere else, he may have been hurt worse. Or even killed.”
Fogarty smiled and bounced Dawson on his hip. “I suppose that’s the difference in faith and, well, me.”
Rebekah paused in her checking-over of her husband and glanced up at the old barber. “What do you mean?”
Fogarty ignored her innocent question. “Here. Your baby has been missing his mother.”
Rebekah accepted him with a smile. “Thank you for taking care of everything here today, in our hour of need. When we needed help the most.”
“You are most certainly welcome.”
Rebekah thought for a moment. “Some might call that divine intervention.”
Again, Fogarty ignored her.
Unfazed, Rebekah filled the silence with a burning question. “How is my Fater, Mr. Fogarty? And how is my husband?”
Fogarty ducked his head. “Your father is very ill. I believe he has a blood clotting disorder. I have seen it before.” He scratched his nose. “There is a chance he may not wake up. And if he does wake up, Rebekah, there is a chance this will keep happening, again and again, until it ultimately takes his life.”
Rebekah’s throat tightened. “Oh no.” Emotion clogged her throat.
“The report on Joseph is not much sunnier, I am afraid.” He stared at Rebekah until she met his gaze. “In addition to his leg injuries, Joseph was kicked in the head. He has suffered a major head injury. He has been unconscious since I arrived, and to hear Thomas’s report, since you found him. He was bleeding from the head, and the skull appears to be fractured though it is impossible to know how bad without the possibility of making it worse.”
“But he is alive now,” Rebekah ventured.
“Yes. Barely.” Fogarty turned toward the door. “Do you know how to care for him?”
Rebekah paused. She had never had to care for an invalid before, only infants. And Joseph was certainly no infant. “I suppose I had not really thought about it.”
“You will need to feed him his meals, make them liquid as best you can. Get him to drink as much as you can. If you can.”
Rebekah nodded as she followed Fogarty out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
“He will not be able to use the facilities to relieve himself. You will have to be mindful of his bowel and bladder habits and clean him when they occur. Change his clothes daily, and the sheets, too, along with the bandages on both legs and his head. Be mindful of his head wound that you do not make it worse.”
Rebekah’s head was spinning by the time they arrived at the front door.
“It will be hard work,” Fogarty said, “but I think you are up to the task. I have never seen such…”
He thought for a moment.
“Such ingenious measures taken to try and save somebody’s life.” Fogarty’s lips pulled up into a grandfatherly smile. “If he wants to live as much as you obviously want him to, the odds are in his favor.”
Finally, Rebekah found her words. “Thank you, Mr. Fogarty. Once I get things under control here, I will be in a position where I can pay you for your efforts.”
“Not necessary.” He turned and walked off the porch and into the night. “Oh, and Dawson, Thomas, and I cleaned up the glass in the living room. Covered the windows. And put the door back on, as well.” Fogarty lifted his hat in the moonlight. “Remember if you need anything at all, just send word. This old man will just be down the road.”
Chapter Eight
Rebekah stood in the doorway and watched as Fogarty walked across the yard and into the night. Without warning, Thomas appeared at her side.
“Mr. Fogarty was real nice and helpful,” Thomas said. “I did not figure he would want to feel left out or helpless, so I let him go on and tidy up down here while I watched Joseph upstairs. That way, we were both helping while you rested.”
Rebekah draped her arm around her little brudder’s shoulder. “Is that the way of it then?”
“Yes. Mostly. I suppose I accidentally rested, too.” Thomas stared thoughtfully into the dark. “So, he also went on and fed the horse and cow and chickens, after he put the door back on. He said it was right genuine what you did to get Joseph moved inside.”
“Genuine?” Rebekah smiled. “Or ingenious?”
Thomas flashed her his trademark gap-toothed smile. “Yeah, that’s it. The second one.”
“Well, it sounds like he was very lucky that he was here to help you.” Rebekah gave his shoulders a squeeze. “I know that you are a blessing to me every day.”
“Really, schweister?”
“Jah. Really.”
Thomas sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “That really makes what I am about to have to tell you so much easier.”
Rebekah froze, the smile on her face would have fallen, but instead, it stayed plastered there, while she stared into the darkness and waited for the rest of Thomas’s spiel. “Oh?”
