A rogue thought of the nameless boy who died under young Fogarty’s care came to her mind. He had nobody to love him. To clean him. To make sure he was dressed in fresh clothes and in a soft bed. She steeled her mind and grit her teeth. But Joseph has these things, all these things, all wrapped up in me. And I will provide them, not just for Joseph, but for the nameless boy, too.
She began as she had before, by removing the quilt in such a way that all the vomit was on the inside. Then, she rolled the sheets up toward him. Just before she tucked it beneath him to introduce the clean sheets, she discovered the source of the smell. Joseph’s bowels had let go, and his bladder too.
Rebekah’s heart sank. Her strong, handsome husband was completely dependent on her in ways that he would be mortified to learn of later. Her love for him, however, grew even more.
“In sickness and in health, my love,” she said. “I will take care of you always, no matter what life throws our way.”
She cleaned his face first, careful to make certain his mouth was cleaned well. She leaned down close to him and, even though his eyes were closed, squeezed his cheeks gently. “I love you, Joseph Graber. No matter what. This is your wife speaking to you, and I need you to get well.”
Once the vomit was cleaned up, she tended to the rest of him. Careful to preserve his dignity, she cleaned her husband with all the love and gentleness he deserved.
And that the young nameless man also deserved but was unable to receive.
Once Joseph was clean, Rebekah decided to go ahead and give him a bed bath. She chattered away as she washed his hair, arms, hands, chest, and back. Ever careful, she washed around the dressing. Then, she figured why not go ahead and change it?
So, she did.
With slow, deliberate movements, she peeled back the dressing and examined his wound. Strangely, it was not nearly as bad looking as it was yesterday. Sure, he had two shiners and a horrible cut and a large, mottled, discolored bruise, but it was not the horrific sight it had been the day prior. She dabbed the wound to clean it and was pleasantly surprised when it did not feel as mushy and put a fresh bandage over it. For a moment, she thought she saw Joseph wince.
“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.
