Huckleberry Hearts (14 page)

“I don't know,” Cassie whispered.

“Because He doesn't love us, that's why.”

After a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand on his arm. His gaze intensified. “You probably don't want to hear this, but one thing I can promise you is that God loves you. He loves all of us. We're His children.”

“Then why does He make bad things happen?”

“I don't think God makes bad things happen,” Cassie said. “We live in a hard world. Things happen because we are mortal and frail. We're all going to die, and life is very unfair, but God sent Jesus to make everything right again.”

“How does He do that?”

“I don't know, except I know He
can
do it. The Apostle John said that God will wipe away all tears from our eyes. When we get to heaven, everything will be made right, and we won't be sad anymore.”

He shook his head. “Maybe.”

“Do you think your dad would want you to be angry that he's dead?”

Dr. Reynolds pressed his palm against his forehead. “It doesn't matter if he would want it or not. I'm angry, with or without his permission.”

“I'll bet your dad's in heaven growing cherries or farming or whatever it was that made him the happiest,” Cassie said.

Dr. Reynolds smiled in resignation. “He liked collecting old stuff like Indian arrowheads and fossils. One time he found an ancient shark's tooth while he tilled the dirt in the orchard. You would have thought he'd discovered gold.”

“Heaven is the place where every dream comes true and every moment is filled with happiness. Your dad's there. He's happy. He wants you to be happy.”

Dr. Reynolds studied his hands. “Could be. But I rather that he was still here.”

“Hopefully, knowing he's in a better place gives you comfort.”

“That's the problem. I don't know he's in a better place. I'm not really sure if God even exists.”

“Maybe you should give God another chance.” She flashed him an encouraging smile. “You may not believe this after what I just told you, but I know you can find your faith again.”

“You do?” In an instant he seemed to shake off his dark mood. He raised his eyebrows like he always did when he teased her. “I'm glad you don't think I'm a lost cause. And you said you liked me well enough.”

Her lips curved into a slow smile. “Well enough.”

“But what would I have to do to impress you? Dress Amish and chop wood? If a guy like me tried to be a better guy, would you ever give him another chance?”

Cassie wanted to say yes with every cell in her body. She wanted to yell it from the roof. But he was just saying words, and words meant nothing.

He eyed her with so much determination in his expression that she had to lower her eyes. She liked him. How could she bear to refuse him again? She shivered just a little.

“You're cold.” He stood and offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “I've been rude keeping you all to myself.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he nudged her around the quilts draped over easels and in the direction of the benches. “Let's get you by one of those heaters.”

“Thank you,” she said, grateful that the conversation was over.

“This conversation isn't over,” he said, grinning as if he'd won an argument, even though they hadn't been quarreling.

Her heart felt as light as a feather when she saw he wasn't inclined to hold a grudge. “There is nothing more annoying than a man who doesn't know when to give up.”

“Give up? Miss Coblenz, to keep from annoying you, I might back off. But give up? Nope. I'm not going to give up.”

Chapter Eleven

“Hey, Z, it's Blair. I know you're busy, but really? It would take about thirty seconds to pull your phone out of your pocket and call me. I'll be there in five weeks, and I want to make plans. It's only an hour from Stevens Point to Shawano. It wouldn't kill you to go out to dinner with me, would it?”

Zach blew a puff of air from between his lips and erased Blair's message. He really couldn't avoid this, no matter how badly he wanted to. He'd told Blair they could still be friends, but he hadn't really meant it. He'd be forced to revisit their breakup conversation, and he didn't especially look forward to it.

He put down his phone and resumed typing his report on the hospital computer. Maybe he'd avoid the conversation for another couple of days in hopes it would just go away.

He heard the yelling from all the way down the hall.

Cringing, he tried to ignore it as he sat at his desk and stared at the notes on the chart in front of him. The child's doctor could handle the problem. Zach couldn't barge in on another physician's patient, no matter how bad it sounded down there. Besides, the child was probably just getting a booster shot. Lots of kids went ballistic at the thought of getting stuck with a needle.

Another full minute of hollering down the hall. Zach heard Marla call for another nurse. The kid must be putting up a pretty good fight. Zach snapped his head up as he heard a metal tray crash to the floor. Something about the sound of a little kid in distress made his gut clench and his protective instincts take over. The little guy must have been terrified out of his mind. Maybe he should see if he could help.

He strode down the hall in the direction of the sound. A little boy who couldn't have been more than six or seven sat on a hospital bed doing everything in his power to keep Marla from sticking an IV line into his arm. Marla was about the age of Zach's mother, and a big woman, but she still couldn't manage to restrain the boy well enough to get a needle in. A woman, no doubt the boy's mother, sat on the bed behind him with her arms around his chest, trying to immobilize him. Alice, the other nurse, held his arm and pressed the boy's thigh with her other hand, attempting to get him to hold still while Marla did her best to find a vein for her needle.

The boy struggled and slapped at the nurses, his eyes red and his face soaked with tears. His pale skin and sunken eyes also told Zach that he was terribly ill.

For being as skinny as he was, he put up an impressive fight.

“Austin, you've got to hold still,” his mother said, trying to sound calm while obviously at the end of her rope.

“It's only a little poke,” Marla said. “Then it won't hurt so bad.”

Zach noticed a small coat and a blue and red striped scarf with a familiar coat of arms hanging on the hook inside the door. He didn't really believe in miracles, but this had to be more than a coincidence. He'd have to consider thanking God or karma or the universe for that beautiful scarf. He stepped into the room and placed a hand on Marla's shoulder. “Can I help?”

The sweat beaded on Marla's forehead, and she huffed the air out of her lungs. “He needs antibiotics, Doctor, but he won't let me put the IV line in.”

“Let's put this down for just a minute,” Zach said, taking the needle from Marla and smiling reassuringly. She nodded and took a few steps away from the bed. Alice also stepped away. Maybe the little boy would relax if he weren't poised for a struggle. Zach placed the needle on Marla's rolling tray and pushed it a good three feet from the bed.

The boy's mother slid her arms from around him as Zach pulled up the rolling stool and sat next to the bed. He held out his hand. “I'm Zach.”

The boy eyed Zach's hand suspiciously and slid his right arm behind his back.

“What's your name?”

The boy sniffed as if he couldn't care less.

His mother bit her bottom lip. “This is Austin.”

Zach glanced at Austin's mother. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes just like her son. “I'm Dr. Reynolds. Nice to meet you.”

“I'm Jamie Stetson.”

Zach grinned. “Like the hat?”

She returned his smile. “Yep. Like the hat.”

Zach turned all his attention to the little boy. “Do you play soccer, Austin?”

Austin furrowed his brow and nodded. He probably wondered if Zach could read minds.

Zach pointed to the scarf hanging on the hook. “Can I take a look at that scarf?”

Austin still didn't speak, but a wisp of a smile crossed his face as he nodded.

Zach lifted the scarf from the hook and sat down again, spreading it on the bed next to Austin. He widened his eyes as if the scarf were the coolest thing he'd ever seen. “Is this an official FC Barcelona scarf?”

“My dad bought it for me in Spain.”

“Sick.”

Austin nodded earnestly while still keeping his hands safely behind his back. “Totally sick. It's got the coat of arms on both sides.”

“Is Messi your favorite player?”

“Yeah. Everybody said he was too little to play soccer. Like me. All the guys say I'm too little.”

“I like Messi, but my favorite Barca player is Jeremy Mathieu.”

“Who's that?”

“He plays center back, like me,” Zach said. “I used to play soccer.”

Austin folded his skinny arms across his chest. “Were you any good?”

“I was pretty good. I played for UChicago.”

“I want to play for Barcelona.”

Zach propped his thumb under his chin and tapped his index finger on his jawline. “You have to be pretty tough to play for Barcelona.”

“I fell off my bike last week and didn't even cry.” Austin lifted the hem of his hospital gown to reveal an impressive scab on his knee.

“Then you're tough enough to get a needle poked in your arm, I think.”

Austin immediately shoved his hands behind his back and scrunched his face as if he were going to cry. “But it's going to really hurt.”

Zach patted Austin on the knee. “One time our soccer team was up one-nil in a game against our biggest rival. In the last minute of the game, the other keeper played the ball over the top, and the forward caught it on a dead run. There was nothing between him and a goal but me.”

“What did you do?”

“He came fast with the ball, but I knew if I knocked him over, I'd get called for a foul and he'd get a penalty kick. So I stood my ground and let him run into me.”

“Did it hurt?”

Zach winced. “Like being run over by a truck. Knocked the wind out of me too. I thought I was going to die.”

Austin bloomed into a smile. “But you stopped him?”

“Dead in his tracks.”

He fingered the stitching on his Barcelona scarf. “Mom says something's wrong with my heart.”

“Is it?”

“What if they stick a needle in me, and I don't wake up?”

Zach felt heartsick. The biggest thing any little boy should have to worry about was if his mom forced him to eat broccoli for dinner. “Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared. Being brave means that you're scared, and you do it anyway.”

Austin rubbed his eyes as if to push back the tears. “But they've already taken a lot of blood, and it hurts.”

Zach pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, it hurts, but not as bad as when you scraped your knee. If you want, I'll let Alice give me an IV first so you can see what it's like.”

Austin looked surprised. “You don't need one.”

“That doesn't matter. Alice could give me an IV while Marla gives you one. Would that make you feel better?”

“Okay,” Austin said, sounding not altogether convinced.

Zach turned and nodded at Marla. With her hands on her hips, she curled one side of her mouth and sidled out of the room to fetch another IV tray. She probably thought he was crazy.

Zach rolled up his sleeve and sat next to Austin on the bed. “Will you let me wear your scarf while Alice pokes me, or would you rather wear it?”

“I think . . . I want to wear it,” Austin said.

“Okay,” Zach said. “If you think it will help.”

“Yeah. I think it will.”

 

 

Zach unrolled his sleeve as he hurried down the hall. He'd left his next patient waiting for over fifteen minutes. Not good. Patients tended to get grumpy when they had to wait. He'd have to apologize profusely and give them an extra dose of Reynolds charm. That usually worked on people. Except for Cassie Coblenz. She was immune to his charm. The very thought made him slouch.

“Dr. Reynolds,” Marla called. He turned to see her running down the hall to catch up to him. She placed a hand on his arm. “I don't think we ever would have gotten an IV into that boy. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. I got a SpongeBob Band-Aid out of it. I consider it a fair trade.”

“You deserve a whole box of SpongeBob Band-Aids. You are an angel sent from God.” She winked at him and walked back the way she had come.

Zach shook his head and watched her disappear down the hall. He was only aware of one angel on earth, and he was going to visit her tonight. Of course, the angel thought he was coming to change the dressing on her grandmother's foot, but his real purpose was to show the angel he wasn't such a bad guy and maybe convince her to go out with him.

But Cassie must never suspect he had ulterior motives. He had a plan to sneak up on her.

His heart raced. Trying to win her approval was scarier than getting an IV.

Chapter Twelve

“You're all set, Anna,” said Dr. Reynolds, snapping the latex gloves off his hands and stuffing them into his bag.

Mammi rotated her ankle and examined the new dressing the doctor had given her foot. “Your wrappings just get better and better, Dr. Reynolds.”

“Why, thank you. It never hurts to get extra practice.” Zach finished replacing supplies in the bag that the home health nurse had let him borrow.

Mammi reached over and patted the doctor's shoulder as he knelt beside her recliner. “It's always such a thrill when you come. Don't you agree, Cassie?”

Cassie stood at the sink, trying hard to ignore the thrill of having Dr. Zach Reynolds in their home. He was too good-looking by half, and that smile sent her to the moon every time he flashed it, almost as if he were smiling at her on purpose just to see if he could make her heart race about a thousand miles an hour.

She swirled the dishrag in the water, not doing a very good job of cleaning the dishes, but at least looking busy enough that the doctor wouldn't suspect how sidetracked she got when he came over. He was becoming a major distraction. How could a girl get serious about studying for the GRE when all she did was sit at her laptop and daydream about the attractive doctor?

She looked up from her sink of dishes to see Mammi and Dawdi eyeing her expectantly, and Zach gazing at her with a sheepish grin on his face. Was there a question hanging in the air she should have answered? She picked up a plate and swiped the rag across it, giving her memory a chance to retrieve Mammi's question. “Oh, yes, we love having you come over, Doctor.” The answer was sincere, but should she be encouraging him with so much enthusiasm?

Zach's face relaxed into a casual smile. “I'm not sure why. All I do when I come over is eat.”

“You're a growing boy,” Mammi said. “You need good food in your belly for your circles tonight.”

“You mean his rounds, Mammi,” Cassie said.

“I know it's not politically correct to compliment a woman's cooking,” Zach said, “but, Cassie, you are an amazing cook.”

Cassie blushed. “I'm not horrible.”

“Not horrible? Those rolls you made on Thursday melted in my mouth like warm butter. And your huckleberry pie could be served at the White House.”

“She learned how to cook from her mammi,” Dawdi said. “Annie Banannie is the best cook I've ever seen.”

“Now, Felty,” Mammi scolded. “We're talking about Cassie. Don't divert the doctor's attention.”

“I have to run an extra five miles every day just to keep from getting fat.”

“Well,” Mammi said, “it's the least we can do for all the help you've given my foot.”

“And all the help you've given my farm,” Dawdi said. He sat on the sofa next to Mammi's recliner rolling skeins of yarn into balls.

Zach checked to make sure Mammi's wound vacuum worked properly. “I haven't been that much help.”

“Of course you have,” Mammi insisted. “Our buggy has never been so oily.”

Cassie smiled to herself. Dr. Reynolds had been coming around for almost two weeks to change the dressing on Mammi's foot, and every time he had come, he'd asked Cassie or Dawdi to teach him how to do something on the farm. Even with his impossible schedule at the hospital, he was eager to learn some useful Amish skills, but she had no idea why he'd ever need useful Amish skills as a doctor.

Cassie had taught him how to milk the cow, which he turned out to be very good at. He had strong arms and hands, so all she really had to teach him was the proper downward pulling motion as well as how to keep the cow from kicking the bucket over or giving him a good whack in the shins.

Dawdi had taught him how to care for the buggy, how to hitch the horse to it, and how to drive it. The driving had been a short lesson because they'd done it in the dark, and Dawdi hadn't wanted to take it down the hill on the ice.

Zach had proved a fast learner, but Cassie hadn't expected anything less. A guy didn't get into medical school by being thick in the head. But why was he so determined? What benefit could he get from knowing how to drive a buggy or fill propane lanterns?

Zach came to the kitchen sink where Cassie kept vigil over the plates. Her heart pitter-pattered like rain on the roof when he sidled next to her and washed in the second sink. He scrubbed his hands like a doctor, thoroughly and clear up to his elbows. She pulled a towel from the drawer and handed it to him before he had to search for one. His smile looked like sunshine.

“Denki,” he said. “Did I say that right?”

She smiled at his attempt to learn Deitsch. “Jah. Very good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Now you're just being nice. My accent is atrocious.”

“You're making a good try at it.”

Grimacing, he picked up the dish towel and started drying Cassie's clean dishes. “When my piano teacher said ‘Good try,' it was secret code for ‘you might be better suited for the harmonica.'”

Cassie's face got pleasantly warm when he looked at her like that. “I would never say any such thing about your language skills.”

“Only because you're too nice to say anything bad about anybody, but what you're really thinking is that the only language I'm ever going to be good at is pig latin.”

“What's pig latin?” Dawdi asked.

Cassie giggled. “A language so hard that only the pigs can speak it.” She handed him a plate. “This is the last one, Doctor. Thanks for your help.”

“What else can I do before I go? My shift doesn't start until eleven. I know I'm not much help around here, but I'd like to learn.”

Mammi picked up her knitting needles. “Do you know how to chop wood, Doctor?”

Zach folded his towel neatly and set it on the cupboard. “Chopping wood is one Amish thing I'm actually good at. I chopped a lot of cherrywood growing up.”

Mammi glanced at Dawdi. “He could chop wood for the you-know-what on Saturday.”

Dawdi leaned back, frowned, and folded his arms. “I don't want to know anything about that.”

“What's the you-know-what?” Zach asked.

Cassie caught his eye and shook her head slightly. Puzzlement traveled across his face, but he knew enough not to ask. “He doesn't need to chop any wood, Mammi. Luke is planning on coming early Saturday morning to chop as much wood as we'll need.”

The doctor stiffened at the sound of Luke's name. “Why leave it for Luke when I can do it?”

“It's dark,” Cassie said.

“I can take a lantern.”

“It's cold.”

“I'll wear a coat.”

Cassie pushed her lips to one side of her face. “Then I'll hold the lantern for you.”

“It's cold,” he said.

“I'll wear my coat.”

He nodded as if deep in thought. “If you come out, it will give me a chance to show off my muscles by the light of the moon.”

Could he read her mind? She pretended to be unimpressed. “You've seen one bulging bicep, you've seen them all.”

He flexed both arms. “Not mine. These babies have been known to strike fear in the hearts of soccer players.”

She grinned. “I don't see that well in the dark.”

Zach smiled mischievously and growled from deep in his throat. “What do I have to do to impress you, Amish girl?”

“For one thing, quit calling me Amish girl.”

They both laughed, and Zach went to the hook to retrieve their coats and scarves. Cassie put on the mittens that she had stuffed into her coat pocket, and Zach donned the beanie that Mammi had made him. “Okay, Mammi and Dawdi,” Cassie said. “We're going out to chop wood.”

Mammi nodded. “Have fun.”

They shut the door behind them, and Cassie lifted the lantern from the hook on the porch.

Zach zipped up his coat. “So what is the you-know-what your dawdi doesn't want to talk about?”

“We're butchering his hog on Saturday, and we need lots of wood for the scalding fire. Every spring he buys a hog to raise, and every winter the family butchers it for him. Killing animals makes him very upset. For his sake, we try to pretend it's not happening.”

“But that's why he buys a hog every year, isn't it?”

“Yes, but he doesn't even want to know when we're doing it. We've put it off an extra month already. The family butchers his pig while he stays in the house and reads
Where the Red Fern Grows
or some other very sad book.”

Zach furrowed his brow. “Maybe he would feel better if he didn't raise a hog every year.”

“Mammi likes the bacon.”

Cassie pointed the way to the toolshed, even though Zach already knew where it was. He found the axe and also a whetstone just in case. Dawdi's substantial woodpile stood on one side of the shed complete with a thick chopping block.

Cassie held up the lantern as Zach stood the first log on the chopping block. He winked at her and swung the axe with such force that one swing cleaved the log in two. Maybe it wasn't too dark to admire his muscles. “You know how to chop wood.”

“Did you think I was exaggerating?”

“I'm glad you won't be losing any limbs for the sake of Dawdi's woodpile.”

She watched as he placed another log on the chopping block and reduced it to kindling in a matter of seconds. He swung the axe as if he were born with one in his hand. With the sweat beading off his forehead, he took off his coat, giving her a better view of those muscles. This activity was as entertaining as anything she'd done for a very long time.

“You're going to wear yourself out for the hospital tonight,” she said, as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“I've got to work off that
yummasetti
you made. What is it, about a thousand calories a bite?”

“Too rich?”

“Like liquid gold.” He smiled at her so she knew that was a good thing and swung the axe down on a thick piece of hardwood. “It's kind of amazing that all Amish men aren't several hundred pounds overweight.”

“They work hard. Dishes like yummasetti are meant to stick to your ribs for a long day in the fields.”

Zach concentrated hard on the next piece of firewood. “I've seen enough of the Amish to know that hard work is a way of life.”

“Especially on a farm in the summertime. We'd milk cows and gather eggs, plow fields, weed gardens, care for the horses, all before lunchtime. I had chores inside too.”

His lips twisted wryly. “No wonder you left.”

She shook her head. “Plain life is almost easier. We only go to school until eighth grade. When I got to the junior college, I was so far behind everyone else I had to take two years of remedial classes after I got my GED.”

“But you did well enough to get into UChicago.”

“I studied hard,” Cassie said.

“How did you afford it? School and living on your own?”

“I didn't need much. I shared an apartment with five other girls.” Her lips quirked upward at the thought of that dilapidated box that passed for an apartment. Three space heaters and four blankets and she had still been afraid of freezing to death every night. “I worked part-time during school. Full-time in the summers. I took a year off between sophomore and junior years to work two jobs and save enough to go back, and I patched together several grants and student loans.”

He had stopped chopping altogether to stare at her.

Self-consciously, she played with a strand of her hair. “Senior year I got a partial scholarship.”

He rested the axe on the ground like a cane and leaned on it. “I had it easy. My dad's life insurance paid for everything.”

“I wouldn't say you had it easy. You went to medical school. Most people can't even dream of being that smart.”

His lips curled. “Dumb luck.”

“I don't think so. You're making the most of the talents God gave you.”

He lowered his head, as if he didn't want to talk about the impressive fact that he was a doctor, picked up another good-sized log, and stood it on the chopping block. He took a swing. “Something happened at the hospital this morning. It made me wonder.”

“About what?”

“They were having trouble getting an IV into this little kid. He was pretty scared. I went in to try to help. He had a soccer scarf.”

“A soccer scarf?”

“Soccer fans love team scarves. This kid had an FC Barcelona scarf, which isn't cheap and isn't easy to come by, so I knew he must be a soccer fan. It gave us an instant connection. He calmed down enough that the nurses could give him the IV.”

Cassie's heart swelled. “You were his superhero.”

He shook his head. “If he hadn't worn his scarf to the hospital, I wouldn't have known. How many doctors in Shawano played collegiate soccer? And who around here knows who Messi is?”

“Messi?”

“The greatest soccer player in the world.”

She studied his face. “You don't think it was a coincidence.”

“I don't know what to think. You know more about this stuff than I do. I used to think I knew, but simple faith doesn't cut it when life gets complicated.” He buried the edge of the axe into the chopping block and rubbed his hand down the side of his face. “Does God really care that much about a frightened little boy in Shawano, Wisconsin?”

“You mean, does He care enough to send you to save the day? I know He does.”

Zach gazed at her before picking up the wood he'd chopped and tossing it into the woodpile. “Then why didn't He care enough to save my dad?”