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Healing Love

By Laura V. Hilton

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Chapter 1
October
Kristi Lapp flicked the reins. “Come on, Samson. Slow isn’t the only speed possible, ain’t so?” She needed him to pick up the pace, but unfortunately, Samson seemed to think slow was the only speed possible. Silas Troyer had banged on her door earlier to alert her that his frau, Susie, had gone into labor, then hurried his horse and buggy down the lane to notify other family members.
Kristi was especially excited about this boppli. Susie had four girls, each a year apart, and she believed this one would be a boy. She said she carried him different. Mamms usually sensed these things. Kristi agreed with her prediction.
A herd of deer stepped onto the road right in front of Kristi, not paying much attention to their surroundings. None of them even glanced her way. Kristi pulled a rein slightly to the right to move her horse closer to the side of the road.
She smiled at the sight and recalled a similar herd meandering across the backyard of her parents’ house. She admired their focus on their goal. It reminded her of her own goal of getting to Susie’s side. She tightened her grip and flicked the reins again, hoping that might encourage Samson to move quicker.
A roar of a powerful engine broke the serene setting. As the deer crossed the center line into the other lane, a red sports car sped over the top of the hill, moving much faster than the speed limit signs on these roads. She puffed out an exasperated breath at how the idiot should be able to see the “watch for buggies” signs … especially since she’d passed four of them in the last mile.
Apparently seeing the deer, the driver swerved sharply into Kristi’s side of the road. She gasped. A scream lodged in her throat and she tried to steer closer to the edge of the road. A chill ran up her spine at sight of the steep ditch.
The herd scattered, running in different directions.
One of the deer spooked. Pivoted. Made a mad dash straight toward her horse. Samson reared before coming down on the deer. The stallion took off at a run straight toward the ditch.
Kristi planted her feet against the front of the buggy, pulling back on the reins with all her might. “Whoa, Samson!” Leave it to Samson to find another gear at the totally wrong time.
The car sped by.
The buggy lurched as it rolled over the deer then tipped into the ditch. Panic filled Kristi. Her heart rose up into her throat, constricting her breath. She dropped the reins and tried to grab for the side of the buggy to keep from falling.
She missed. Instead, she flew out of the buggy as it tipped beneath her, the horse still dragging it as he ran.
She tried to twist so she wouldn’t land on her back. She wanted to break the fall with her arms. Instead, she slammed into something hard mid-twist. Pain engulfed her.
What would happen to Susie if she wasn’t there to deliver the boppli? Especially since she’d had some problems with the last delivery?
***
Shane Zimmerman flipped on his fog lights as the low-lying clouds created interesting shapes and shadows out of the woods lining the rural Missouri highway. He scanned the area for deer ousted from their natural habitats by hunters. Of course, rutting season also brought them out of hiding. Not that he was a hunter. He just treated the animals injured by mistake, like the Great Dane back at his clinic recovering from surgery to remove an errant bullet. In time, the dog would heal.
Shane leaned forward and grabbed a CD, then slid it into the player. Music from Lord Songs’ latest release filled the car. He flexed his shoulders in an effort to relieve the tension of the busy day. He looked forward to getting off his feet at home, catching up on his Bible reading, and watching the evening news.
As he crested the top of the hill, something in the ditch caught his attention. Shane tapped the brakes. A buggy wreck. He scanned the area, but didn’t see any people or the horse. Someone must have released it and carted it home. Either that or put it down. Still, his stomach churned at the thought of a possibly injured horse.
Returning his gaze to the highway, he slowed. A young buck lay on the road, still alive, and struggling.
Shane edged his Jeep toward the shoulder then clicked on the warning flashers. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he got out, the annoying ding from the car trailing him. His heart pounded. As he walked toward the animal, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. The deer’s wild brown eyes fixed on him, full of fear. It lurched to a stand, but quickly fell back to the hard pavement, where it stayed. Its labored breaths intensified. Someone hit it and had driven off, leaving it to die. Possibly the same person who hit the buggy? It couldn’t be a deer/buggy combo, not with the horse and people gone. He’d probably never know.
“It’s okay.” Shane spoke softly.
The deer’s ears wiggled and he struggled to his feet again.
“I’m here to help you.” Shane stepped closer, keeping watch on the not-so-great rack of antlers.
The buck didn’t understand him and didn’t intend to receive help. He limp-dashed to the edge of the road and then into the forest, where he would probably die. Shane couldn’t do anything about that. He wasn’t going to chase an injured wild animal through the woods. He didn’t carry much medical gear in his Jeep anyway. Only what he might need for treating farm animals.
With nothing left to rescue, Shane turned back to his vehicle. As he did, he studied the buggy off to the side of the road, tipped sideways in the ditch. A strong urge came over him to check things out.
No point in hurrying. The buggy appeared to be abandoned. He rubbed his eyes, weary. The surgery on the Great Dane had come after a long day at the clinic.
He stared down into the leaf-covered embankment at the edge of the road.
Shane tilted his head and squinted. A woman? Gold hair peeked from under a white Amish prayer Kapp, the black bonnet having fallen off beside her head. She wore a maroon dress and black apron. “Hello?”
No answer. His breath hitched.
Had she hit the deer? Or had the deer hit her? He frowned. A buggy versus deer accident was definitely not as common as one involving a car and a deer. But where was the horse?
Heart pounding, he scrabbled through the brush into the ditch. Crouching beside the woman, he caught the metallic scent of blood. The brighter red on her dress wasn’t part of the fabric. He lifted the material enough to clearly see. One leg lay at a weird angle. Definitely broken. A bone protruded from her skin.
He couldn’t help her. His expertise was with animals.
But he was the only one there.
And she needed help.
“Hey.” He touched her left hand. It felt warm. He noted the shallow rise and fall of her chest. His fingers moved down to her wrist, feeling for her pulse. She was alive, but unresponsive. He opened his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the dispatcher answered, he said, “I’d like to report a buggy accident. We need an ambulance. The woman is unconscious and bleeding with a badly broken leg. Looks like a serious injury.” He added their approximate location.
Glancing at the bone protruding from her leg again, Shane shuddered. Animals, he could handle. Humans were too easy to identify with. He pushed her hair away from her neck. Her pulse was too rapid and weak. He breathed a prayer that help would arrive quickly. As he looked into her face, recognition pushed him off balance. This lovely woman lived next door to him. The one with the weeds growing wild in the backyard, in direct contrast to her well-maintained garden beside it. What were the odds of that? He’d seen her there a few times. She owned a beautiful Siberian husky.
He glanced at her hand, checking for a wedding ring, then chastised himself. Amish didn’t wear rings. He should have remembered that. Besides, he’d only seen an older man next door and an older woman, presumably the man’s wife. Her parents?
The “Lapp” on the mailbox was the only clue Shane had to her identity.
He’d have to stop by the house to let her family know about the accident. Someone would be worried sick when she didn’t show up.
Ms. Lapp moaned. Her eyes flickered and opened. Shane stared down into grayish-green eyes. “It’s okay. Help is coming,” he murmured.
“I hurt. My head… my leg…” She winced, pain and tears filling her eyes. “Who are you? I’ve seen you before.”
“I’m Shane Zimmerman. Your next door neighbor.” He reached for her hand and folded his fingers around hers. “You’ll be fine.” A jolt shot through him, a connection startling in its intensity, completely unexpected. He had no explanation, other than being overly tired.
Shane shifted, sliding on the leaves, and accidentally bumping her. She moaned again, and closed her eyes. He stared down at the red spreading on her skirt, lifted it again, and grimaced. She needed help fast or she’d bleed out. Animal or human, he didn’t want death on his hands tonight.
God, help me. Shane jerked off his sweatshirt and pressed it against her wound, knowing he could be introducing harmful germs. There wasn’t a choice. He tried to make her as comfortable as he could, without letting up the pressure. Even though she didn’t rouse again, he explained everything he did, including tying a tourniquet around her leg. Then he sang a couple of Amish songs. The ones he could remember most of the words to. Time hung in the air as he waited for help to arrive.
Finally, a pickup screeched to a halt on the side of the road, sending gravel spitting. A man grabbed a medical bag as he climbed out of the truck. “Ambulance is right behind me. Did you move her?”
“No. But I bumped her, and caused more damage. Might have punctured an artery. I’ve done my best to slow down the bleeding.”
The man slid down the edge of the ditch. “I have some emergency flares in the back. Mind setting them out while I take a look at her?”
Shane did as bidden, then walked to the front of the buggy. The leather straps of the harness that attached the horse to the buggy had frayed edges, indicating the horse had broken free, possibly when the buggy tipped. He looked around for signs of an injured animal, but didn’t see any. He went into the woods a bit, but didn’t see or hear anything. Then he scrambled back into the ditch to help, if he could.
The ambulance rolled to a stop beside the pickup, lights flashing. A police cruiser pulled up behind it. Shane headed to his Jeep. He dug a rag out from behind the front seat and wiped his bloody hands while he prepared to make the statement the police would no doubt require. Maybe he’d go to the hospital after he talked to her husband—family—someone. Anyone Amish would do. The news would get out.
Finally, the ambulance wailed away, carrying its passenger toward the hospital in Springfield. Shane continued two miles on his way toward home, keeping an eye out for the horse. He passed his small plot of land without any sign of the animal.
He pulled into the drive next door, hurried up to the house, pounded on the front door, then listened. Nothing. After several moments, he knocked again. Amish kept their doors unlocked, but he didn’t feel comfortable opening the door and calling out. He rapped one more time, just to be sure.
“Hey!”
Shane turned in the direction of the shouted word as the neighbor on the other side of the road strode out on his front porch. “Can I help you?” The man descended the steps.
“I’m looking for Ms. Lapp’s family. She was in an accident.”
The man came closer. “She ain’t married. She hurt bad?”
Shane nodded. “Bad.” Would she survive the trip to the hospital? His heart clenched.
“Donald Jackson. The wife and me live there.” The neighbor pointed over his shoulder to the house he’d just exited.
Shane stretched his mouth into a tight smile. “Shane Zimmerman, neighbor on the other side.”
“Oh, the new guy. The vet, right? Welcome to Seymour.”
“Thanks.” It hardly seemed appropriate to exchange pleasantries when someone’s life hung in the balance. He shifted. “Does she have any family?”
Donald shrugged. “Everyone has some. See her parents and other people around from time to time. Sometimes lots of buggies are over there. Besides, aren’t all the Amish related? Seems I heard that.”
“Seems that way sometimes.” Okay, this man was no help. A howl from the backyard reminded him about the Siberian Husky. “I’m going to check on the dog.” Shane left the porch and walked around the house to see if the dog was chained or kenneled outside.
Donald trailed him. “I think the barn is always unlocked, so you could get the dog food out. I never see her lock it anyway. But then I don’t watch her twenty-four seven.”
Shane raised one eyebrow. This Donald had apparently watched her enough to know about the barn and the dog food. Seeing the dog in a large kennel in the backyard, Shane opened the gate and went in, shutting it behind him. He turned around and leaned on the top. “Nice meeting you, Donald. I’ll just make sure the dog has fresh water, then I’ll go.” He needed to find someone Amish.
The red and white Siberian husky whined and jumped up, wrapping him in a hug. Shane hugged it back. This breed of dogs was so affectionate. He rubbed her neck, and when the dog grinned, he stepped back. The dog followed him to the outside spigot. Shane filled the metal water dish with cold water, then checked the barn. It was unlocked as Donald said. The dog followed close at his feet, growling. It was a friendly growl, as if she carried on a one-sided conversation.
Shane scratched the dog behind her ears. “I’ll be back later to get you some food.” He hesitated. “No, I’ll do it now.” He turned back to the barn and slid the wobbly doors open, going into the darkness. He paused, wishing for his flashlight, then remembered his Amish grandfather had always kept a lantern near the door. He turned back and groped along a shelf, finally feeling the metal of the lantern. He lit it using matches he found on the same shelf. It didn’t seem right, being in a stranger’s barn, but the dog would be hungry.
He found the dog food and scooped some into a dish and straightened, then looked around again. This was an Amish farm. There’d be cows. Chickens. Horses. Maybe other animals to bed down. He sighed. He’d wanted to go back to the hospital to check on Ms. Lapp. A nicker sounded and Shane turned to see a sweaty horse coming into the barn, still pulling the frayed strands of a harness. Ah, the missing buggy horse. He led it back into a stall. The dog followed, whining the whole way. He checked the horse over for injuries while he rubbed it down. It appeared fine, other than his wild eyes and shaking head, probably from the shock of whatever had caused the accident.
He finished up with the horse, calming him as best he could, and glanced around again. He’d find another Amish family to do the rest of the chores. Helping Amish grandparents and doing what needed to be done alone were two different things. Though he could probably handle it.
Still, he wanted to check on Ms. Lapp. Why did she weigh so heavy on his mind? He’d done his duty to her, a stranger. But…
He turned, his decision made, he returned the dog to the kennel, and rubbed behind her ears. “I’ll be back.”
The dog whimpered and flopped down on the ground, looking at him reproachfully, as if she feared abandonment in her time of need.
“Ms. Lapp was in an accident, but she’ll be okay, Girl. I hope.” Shane crouched down to the dog’s level. “I’m going to the hospital to check on her.”
Another whine. The dog rested her head on her front paws, apparently resigned to his leaving.
Shane turned from the barn and climbed into his vehicle to drive home. After a quick shower, he dashed to his Jeep, and headed toward the hospital.
Would she survive? His grip tightened on the steering wheel. Surely she had family. His neighbor on the farm on the other side of him was also Amish—and shared the surname Lapp. They should know. Their driveway was up ahead.
A man came out into the yard to meet him when he pulled in. Shane introduced himself and told him about the accident.
The man frowned. “Jah, we’re her family. I’m her onkle. Timothy. I’m caring for their livestock while her parents are in Sarasota, Florida, visiting family. I was getting ready to head over there. Her name’s Kristi.”
“May I give you a ride to the hospital?”
Timothy took a step back. “Nein, I’ll get in contact with the bishop, and he’ll get the word out. And I’ll make a call down to Florida to tell her parents.”
Shane nodded and as Timothy headed back to the barn, he drove away. Why was he spending his time going to a hospital to check on a woman he didn’t even know? He probably wouldn’t find out anything with current medical laws. But still… Something drew him.
At the emergency room, Shane approached the front desk. “Kristi Lapp, please.”
The lady behind the receptionist desk checked something on a computer then looked up. “If you want to go to the emergency waiting room a doctor will be out to talk with you.”
She must be in more serious condition than he’d thought. Or maybe time had gone by slower than it seemed. Shane went down the hall to the small waiting area and poured himself a cup of coffee. A sit-com played on the television, but the room was empty except for him.
He found a seat in a corner and picked up a magazine. Not seeing anything in it more interesting than the drama he was caught in, he put it back. Instead, he prayed for Kristi, and the doctors working on her. It felt strange, praying for a woman he didn’t know, and waiting for news as if she meant something special to him. It seemed she did. But what? He didn’t know why he felt this connection with a woman he just met—and in such a manner. He hadn’t felt this strong a connection since Becca… He pushed the thought away.
He was glad he’d found out her name. Calling her Ms. Lapp seemed so wrong. Others came into the room and left during the what-seemed-like-hours he waited.
At last a doctor came into the room. “Family for Kristi Lapp.”
Shane blew out a breath. Not family, but the only one there who even pretended to know her. Hopefully, the doctor wouldn’t ask. He got up, feeling a twinge of guilt at his implication. Impersonation.
The doctor led him into a private conference room. “She’s in recovery. We have given her a blood transfusion and we’ll be monitoring her hemoglobin and hematocrit—that is, blood values. As soon as we are sure they are in the normal range, she’ll be referred to an orthopedic surgeon, for a procedure we abbreviate as O.R.I.F. It stands for Open Reduction, Internal Fixation.”
Shane nodded, understanding the medical term, but the doctor must have felt obligated to explain because he talked on.
“Open Reduction—that means we have put the bone back in the position it's supposed to be. Internal Fixation—we have stabilized it with a rod down the center of the bone, and plates on either side, to keep it in the position it's supposed to be in, until nature takes her course and it heals completely. The plates may be removed, if the bone heals well. Also, her femoral artery was nicked, but she’ll be fine. Lost a lot of blood. We had to give her three units. She’s going to have substantial bruising and probably be in considerable pain.”
“She regained consciousness?”
“Not yet. But brain activity is normal, and we expect no complications.”
“Thank you.” Shane started to move away.
“If you want to wait, the nurse will let you know her room number.”
Shane stopped and faced the doctor. “I’ll come in tomorrow.”
The doctor frowned. “I’m sure your wife will want to see you when she wakes up.”
Wife? Hardly. That role had already been filled once.
***
Kristi woke up in an unfamiliar room filled with beeping noises. She stared at the celery green wall with a television mounted to it. A beige-colored curtain hung on her left side, a big, dark window on her right. The hospital? She’d survived then. Had her horse? Who found her?
Had Susie delivered her boppli? Kristi groaned and twisted around on the bed.
A bedside table, filled with a plastic pitcher and a small tumbler sat beside her, as well as a bouquet of six pink rose buds, baby breath, and other greenery.
Roses? Who would have sent them? Maybe the person who found her.
She slowly reached out her hand, pain washing over her anew. It seemed every part of her body hurt. Despite the discomfort, she tugged the table nearer and pulled the white envelope out of the plastic fork thing stuck in the vase with the flowers.
Her left hand had an IV needle stuck in it, taped down. She grimaced at it. She’d have a bruise there, probably, but it seemed that’d be the least of her injuries. A blanket covered her legs, but even as the room swirled in a blur of pain, she could see the thickness from the area most of the pain radiated from. Could feel the discomfort of her leg. She opened the envelope and pulled the plain white card out.
You’re in my prayers.
Shane Zimmerman
Ach, sweet, but she didn’t know any Shane Zimmerman. Did she? Her head pounded as she tried to figure it out. No one came to mind.
Maybe the mystery man would come up to the hospital to see her.
She pressed the card to her chest and closed her eyes, imagining a tall, handsome Amish man.

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