Read an Excerpt
A Dream of Miracles
An Amish Wonders Novel
By Ruth Reid Thomas Nelson
Copyright © 2016 Ruth Reid
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4016-8834-9
CHAPTER 1
Mei sohn needs to see Doktah Roswell. It's an emergency." Mattie Diener stood before the receptionist's window with three-year-old Nathan on one hip, and Amanda, her eighteen-month-old daughter, teetered on her other.
The young woman looked up from her computer screen and slid the sign-in log closer to Mattie. "What's Nathan's problem today, Mrs. Diener?"
"He's nett himself." Mattie gently lowered Amanda to the floor at her side in order to free her hand to sign the forms. She jotted the pertinent information on the log, then handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.
Mattie cradled Nathan tighter to her chest as heat radiated from his little body. She'd given him feverfew earlier, but this time the herb did little to bring his fever down. Mattie placed her hand on his moist forehead. "He's burning up."
The woman's eyes widened as if seeing Nathan for the first time. "And I see he has a rash." She removed the headset that connected her to the telephone, rolled her chair back from the desk, and stood.
"Jah, it's a ... heat rash."
The receptionist held up one finger. "Stay right there. I'll get the nurse." She disappeared behind the partitioned wall of file cabinets.
Little Amanda clung to Mattie's legs, her round face buried in the folds of Mattie's dress. She should have asked her best friend Grace to watch Amanda. Her daughter was shy around strangers. Although not a bad thing, it did make her daughter clingy, even more so when she was overly tired. Amanda's crankiness had started last week when the temperature had risen above eighty, a record high for the second week of June in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.
Whispers spread amongst the roomful of people. Mattie glanced over her shoulder and scanned the waiting room with an apologetic smile. Doctor Roswell's office was always abuzz with patients. Well respected in Badger Creek, the country doctor took his time listening to his patients' concerns no matter how many people waited to see him.
She'd brought Nathan into the office numerous times since his birth three years ago. Doctor Roswell always managed to squeeze her son into his busy day. She studied her sleeping son. Nathan's lips were cracked, and he was panting with shallow breaths, his face blotchy with a beet-red, prickly heat rash. Oh, please hurry.
A few moments later, the door leading to the back hallway opened, and the nurse ushered Mattie and the children down the hall and into one of the empty rooms. "What brings you in today, Mrs. Diener?"
"Nathan's had a high fever most of yesterday and today." Mattie lowered Nathan onto the paper-lined table. He flailed his arms, but Mattie was able to settle him by gently stroking the side of his face. "I gave him feverfew, but it hasn't helped. The rash just started." Amanda tugged on Mattie's dress. She bent down and gathered her daughter into her arms.
The nurse eyed him closely. "It doesn't look like chicken pox to me," she mumbled.
Made sense why they had rushed her into a back room. Avoid the possible risk of spreading the virus. Only this wasn't chicken pox. She'd cared for her younger sisters when they were covered in spots, so she knew Nathan's was a simple fever rash. "I agree," Mattie said. "I think it's a heat rash."
"We'll let the doctor do the diagnosing." The nurse placed the tip of the ear thermometer in Nathan's ear and held it in position until it beeped. She discarded the plastic protective cap, then returned the instrument to the wall charger.
"He has a fever, doesn't he?" Mattie's dress was still damp from his sweat.
"Yes, it's 102.6." She jotted the number on the paper attached to a clipboard. "You said he's had a fever for two days. Any vomiting or diarrhea?"
"Nay."
The nurse placed her hand on Nathan's wrist and monitored her watch. Afterward, she made a few notations on the form. "He isn't normally this quiet, is he?"
Mattie shook her head.
The nurse crossed the room and paused at the door. "The doctor will be in to see him shortly."
Mattie lifted her hand to Nathan's head and brushed the mop of wet curls away from his face. Bands of sweat dotted his forehead. "Lord, he's so frail. Please watch over him. Mei children are all I have," she whispered as the door opened.
A thirtysomething woman wearing a cranberry-colored dress under a long, white doctor's coat entered. As she crossed the room, her matching cranberry heels clacked against the laminate floor.
"I'm Doctor Wellington," she said, extending her hand.
Mattie shook the woman's smooth hand and tried to hide her surprise at how firm the doctor's grasp was for a woman. "I'm Mattie Diener. Where's Doctor Roswell? I hope nothing has happened to him."
The woman smiled. "He's on sabbatical."
Mattie crinkled her brows, unsure if that was good or bad.
"A much-needed vacation," the doctor explained, moving to the sink to wash her hands. Her friendly demeanor shifted to a professional nature once she approached Nathan. "How long has he had the red blotches on his face?" She began unbuttoning his shirt.
"They just appeared. I think the fever brought them on." Mattie scrutinized the doctor's facial expression. If the doctor was alarmed by Nathan's mottled chest, her expression didn't show it. Doctor Wellington continued the assessment, pressing her hand on Nathan's abdomen in several places. Her son's lips curled into a slight frown and his eyes opened. He stared several seconds, almost stupor-like, then closed them again.
"Is he normally this lethargic?"
"He's nett acting like himself, if that's what you're asking."
She scanned the nurse's notes. "You gave him feverfew?"
"Jah. Normally it brings his fever down in a few hours, but nett this time."
"How much did you give him?"
Mattie shook her head. "I didn't measure the exact amount. I made it into a broth. Yesterday he drank it throughout the day, but today he refused it."
She reviewed the chart. "No vomiting or diarrhea. How has his appetite been?"
"Other than the broth, he hasn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, and it wasn't much. Usually I can encourage him to breastfeed when he refuses everything else, but he wasn't interested."
"How often does he breastfeed?"
"When he's sick, restless. The attachment seems to calm him down."
Nathan stirred. He opened his eyes, then blinked a few times under the room's bright lights. As if focusing for the first time on the doctor, his eyes widened and he let out a shrill cry.
"It's okay. I'm right here," Mattie said in Pennsylvania Deitsch. She reached for his tiny hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "This is Doktah Wellington."
His gaze slowly drifted to the opposite side of the table but darted back to Mattie, his face puckering with fear.
"Bruder kronk?" Amanda began to whimper.
"Shh ..." Mattie kissed her daughter's temple. "Your big bruder is going to be okay."
Doctor Wellington leaned closer to him. "Can you tell me your name?"
Nathan ignored the doctor and locked his gaze on Mattie.
"His name is Nathan," she volunteered. "He doesn't know many Englisch words yet." She looked fondly at her son. His rosy cheeks brought out his blue eyes, the spitting image of his father, her late husband. Andy's cheeks would turn red after he'd worked outside in the cold weather and then stay that way for hours.
Doctor Wellington peered up from the chart, arching her thin, penciled brows. "He's three years old. He should be talking."
"He does ... to me." Had this doctor never treated an Amish child? They only spoke Pennsylvania Deitsch until they reached school age. When the doctor's brows angled in what appeared to be disapproval, Mattie opened her mouth to explain, but Nathan's moan pulled her attention back to her son.
Nathan licked his cracked lips. Breathing out of his mouth had caused them to dry. She would dab some more beeswax on them once they returned home.
The doctor started to check his ears, and he tossed his head.
"Nathan." He stilled at Mattie's sharp rebuke. She softened her tone. "It's okay."
"His ears are clear. Can you open your mouth and say ah?" The doctor demonstrated by opening her mouth wide, exposing her perfectly white teeth, and sticking out her tongue. When he finally mimicked her action, Doctor Wellington's forehead wrinkled. She leaned closer, aiming a penlight into his mouth. "How long has he had blisters in his mouth?"
"I'm nett sure." Such important details shouldn't come as a surprise. What else had she missed?
The physician went to the phone on the wall and dialed. "Please pull Nathan Diener's complete medical records and bring the file to me." She washed her hands again, then reexamined Nathan's mouth. "You don't know how long he's had the blisters?"
Mattie swallowed hard. The doctor's tone had sharpened, her penetrating eyes silent accusers. Mattie shook her head. "Nay. Until you brought them to mei attention, I had no idea."
A soft knock on the door pulled the doctor's attention away. The nurse entered and handed her two thick binder files. "Here's the chart you requested."
"Thank you." Doctor Wellington took a moment to scan the stack of documents.
"He's been sick a lot," Mattie said, breaking the silence. The doctor merely nodded without looking up and flipped to the next page. When she finally closed the file, her exam became more precise, less informative. Mattie chewed her lip. She wanted to ask questions, but she also didn't want to interrupt the doctor.
Nathan's whimpering at the constant probing stirred Amanda, who soon joined the chorus of sobs. Mattie rocked her daughter in her arms, trying to soothe her before the doctor suggested she take Amanda out of the room.
Doctor Wellington pressed Nathan's tongue down with a flat wooden stick, then felt his neck and under his arms. When she pinched his fingertip, Nathan retracted his hand and tucked it under his armpit.
"Let her look at you." Mattie redirected her attention from her son to the doctor. "He's nett like this with Doktah Roswell." She stroked his sweat-matted auburn locks. "We'll be going home soon."
"He needs to be admitted to the hospital for observation," the doctor said, writing something on the paper attached to the clipboard.
"I can observe him from home. Doktah Roswell usually gives me a list of things to watch for."
She looked up from her notes. "He's dehydrated and needs fluids."
"I'll make sure he drinks plenty of fluids." And she would bring him in to see Doktah Roswell once he returned from vacation. At least his exams were never abrupt. Besides, she still had a pile of unpaid hospital bills from when Andy was admitted.
Mattie lowered Amanda to the floor, then gathered Nathan into her arms. "Can you tell me when Doktah Roswell will be back?"
"Mrs. Diener, your son has been seen in the clinic multiple times." She motioned to the thick files the nurse had brought her. "Don't you want to get to the underlying cause of his problem?"
Mattie squared her shoulders. "Of course I do." Was the doctor suggesting Mattie didn't care for her son? She hadn't been in the room more than fifteen minutes. How could she make such accusations? "He has a weak immune system; Doktah Roswell knows all about him."
Doctor Wellington removed a form from the clipboard. "This is his admission orders. When you get to the hospital, you can give them to the nurse. I'll be by to check on him later."
Mattie hesitated. Her mind was going a million directions. She couldn't very well leave the horse tied up for hours in the hospital parking lot. Usually she arranged rides from her Englisch friend in advance. Did she even have Cora's phone number with her?
The doctor glanced at the form, then looked at Mattie, her expression hardening. "I strongly advise you not to refuse medical care for your child."
* * *
Bo Lambright loosened his tie as he entered the desk-lined office. From across the room, he nodded at his coworker, Max Roker, and lifted the fast-food bag of cheeseburgers he'd picked up at the drive-through on his way back from court. Bo's stomach had growled the better part of the morning as he waited to give his testimony. He set the fast-food bag and sodas on his desk, plunked down on the chair, and pawed through the bag of foil-wrapped burgers. He glanced at Max's handwriting scrawled on a neon-green Post-it Note stuck to his phone. Dinner] — tomorrow. Judge Nettleton.
Not the call he was expecting when he forwarded his calls to Max's extension, but he wasn't surprised. His mother only called to remind him of the important dinners. And lately, finding him a wife was a high priority. Or maybe she felt deprived of grandchildren. Since he turned thirty-two last month, she'd made plenty of innuendos about following the best laid plans — not his, not God's, but hers. Judge Nettleton was convinced it meant him running for political office and/or settling down to start a family. With the right wife, of course.
Bo glanced at the check marks on the wrapper of the first burger he removed from the bag. No onions. Extra mayo and pickles. He passed the sandwich to Max, whose desk butted up against Bo's.
"Thanks." Max unwrapped his burger, then lifted the bun to double-check for onions as he always did. "What do you know, they got it right today." He sniffed as he reassembled the burger.
"You still sick?" Max's sinuses plugged every spring, and for six months out of the year he talked nasally.
"Allergies." He wiped his red nose with a napkin.
Bo opened his desk drawer, then removed his tie and dropped it inside. "Did you try honey like I told you?"
"Not yet." Max chomped his hamburger.
"You're going to suffer another year?" Bo undid the top button on his shirt and rolled his sleeves mid-forearm.
"I'll pick some up."
"You need local honey. Don't buy the stuff in the grocery store or you won't build immunity to the pollen growing in this area."
"Yah, yah. Did you see the message that your mom called?"
"I don't know why she calls my cell phone and my work line to leave the same message." He shrugged. His mother was painstakingly thorough and bored since she retired. "I take it Josh's schoolteacher didn't call back?" The hard winter had forced the county to extend school until the end of June to make up the snow days, and Josh, one of Bo's troubled teenagers in the foster system, was in jeopardy of failing due to not showing up for classes.
"Nope. Just your mother." Max took a drink from his coffee cup and cringed. "This stuff's nasty."
"Add some ice and whipped cream and sell it for eight bucks. You'll make millions."
"We're in the wrong business." Max chuckled. "By the way, what happened in court?"
"Steinway went light on the bruiser." Bo took a bite and washed it down with a sip of cola. "I hope every time the man lights a cigarette in jail, someone shoves it down his throat for what he did to his kid." Bo thought taking lashes from a leather strap was cruel growing up, but that paled in comparison to being used as an ashtray. Judge Steinway had gone too soft on the jerk. Bo wouldn't have shown mercy. The poor excuse for a father deserved life. As it was, with the time he'd already served in jail, it wouldn't be long before the man was back at home inflicting the same pain on his kids. Bo had seen it time after time. The past always had a way of repeating itself.
Max swept his mouth with a napkin, missing some mayo on the corner. "Are you going to meet us at O'Riley's after work?"
"Nope. On call." Bo took another bite. As good as this burger tasted, he should have ordered two.
"Thought Davis was."
"We traded." The phone rang. Bo set the burger on the desk, reached for his drink, and gulped a mouthful before picking up the receiver.
"Child Protective Services, this is Bo Lambright."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A Dream of Miracles by Ruth Reid. Copyright © 2016 Ruth Reid. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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