His Amish Choice. Leigh Bale

recoiled, fearing he might touch her. How could he know she had a concussion? He wasn’t a doctor. Or was he? She no longer knew much about this man. Was four years long enough for him to go to medical school? She had no knowledge of such things.

      She reached up and touched her forehead. A wave of nausea forced her to sit back. When she drew away her hand, fresh blood stained her fingers. No wonder a horrible pain throbbed behind her eyes and her brain felt foggy. Maybe Eli was right.

      “May I...may I wrap a cloth around your head? It’s important that we stop the bleeding. I’ve already done all I can for Jeremiah,” Eli said, his voice tentative.

      “Ja,” she consented, giving in to common sense.

      She sat perfectly still as he removed her blood-soaked kerchief. Her waist-length hair had come undone from the bun at the nape of her neck and she felt embarrassed to have him see its length. It was something special she was keeping for her husband on their wedding night. Thankfully, he politely averted his gaze as he opened the first aid kit.

      “Where did that come from?” She pointed at the box.

      He answered without looking up. “My buggy.”

      “How do you know so much about medical care?”

      He shrugged, his gaze briefly meeting hers. “I went through the training and am a certified paramedic. I’m specially trained to help in critical situations like this.”

      So, he wasn’t a doctor, but he might as well be. Although she’d heard about Amish paramedics and firefighters working back east in Lancaster County and Pennsylvania, she’d never met one before and was fairly certain her church elders wouldn’t approve. Higher learning was shunned by her people because it often led to Hochmut, the pride of men.

      “Is...is that what you’ve been doing among the Englisch?” she asked.

      He nodded. “Ja, it’s how I earned my living.”

      So now she knew. He must have worked hard in school to learn such a skill. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to know things, but neither did she approve of him casting aside his faith for such worldly pursuits.

      Eli cleansed her wound with an antiseptic towelette. His touch was warm and gentle as he wrapped her head with soft, white gauze.

      “You will need three or four stitches in the gash.” He gave her a soulful look, as if he could see deep inside her heart and knew all the hurt and longings she kept hidden there.

      She looked away.

      Sirens heralded the arrival of two ambulances and some police cars. Lizzie lost track of time as the officers set up a roadblock with flares and took their statements. She watched Eli untangle the harness and lead Billie out of the ditch. Speaking to the distressed horse in a low murmur, he smoothed his hands over the animal’s trembling legs. He then salvaged the bruised apples and put the filled crates into his own buggy.

      When the medics loaded them into the two ambulances, Annie leaned close against Lizzie’s side, her eyes red from crying. “Is Daedi going to be all right?”

      Lizzie reached over and took the child’s hand. “The Lord’s will be done, boppli. We must trust in Him to get us through.”

      As she spoke these words, she tried to believe them. If Daed died, could she forgive the boy who had caused the accident? Christ had forgiven all and she must do likewise, but she wasn’t sure her faith was that strong.

      “I’ll look after Billie.” Eli stood at the foot of the ambulance, holding the lead lines to the horse’s halter. His expressive eyes were filled with a haunting unease, as though he were anxious to leave.

      “Danke.” Lizzie gave a brisk nod.

      He stepped back and the medics closed the double doors. Lizzie laid her head back and closed her eyes. And in her heart, she carried a silent prayer that they would be all right.

      * * *

      The following day, Eli tugged on the leather leads as he veered Jeremiah Beiler’s three draft horses slightly to the left. The big Percherons did as he asked, plodding steadily down the row of alfalfa as they pulled the hay mower. The low rumble of the gas-powered engine filled the air. Eli glanced at the position of the sun, unable to believe it was afternoon already. Another hour and he would finish this chore. Jeremiah’s hay would be secure. It would take a few more days for the hay to dry, and then he would gather it into bales.

      “Gee!” he called, turning the team to the right.

      A movement brought his eye toward the red log house where Lizzie and her familye lived. Turning slightly, he saw her and two men heading toward him, stepping high as they crossed the rutted field. Even from this distance, Eli recognized the slant of Bishop Yoder’s black felt hat. His companion was Darrin Albrecht, the deacon of their congregation. Both men were dressed identically in black frock coats and broadfall pants. Eli had gotten word of the Beilers’ accident to the bishop late last night. No doubt the elders had come to check on Jeremiah’s familye.

      Lizzie accompanied them, wearing a blue dress and crisp black apron. As they drew near, Eli saw a fresh gauze bandage had been taped to her forehead, no doubt hiding several stitches from her visit to the hospital. She and the little girls must have just gotten home. He’d seen the Englisch midwife’s car pull in the driveway an hour earlier. She must have given them a ride from town.

      Sunlight glinted against Lizzie’s golden hair, the length of it pinned into a bun beneath her starched prayer kapp. One rebellious strand framed her delicate oval face and she quickly tucked it back behind her ear. Her blue eyes flashed with unease, her stern expression and brisk stride belying her injuries. Eli was eager to hear how she was feeling and also receive news of her father’s condition.

      Pulling the giant horses to a standstill, he killed the engine and hopped down off his seat. As he walked the short distance to meet them, he rolled his long sleeves down his forearms.

      “Hallo,” he called.

      He glanced at Lizzie, trying to assess her mood. Their gazes clashed, then locked for several moments. As always, he blinked at the startling blue of her eyes. Her expression showed a fierce emotion he didn’t understand. A mingling of repugnance and determination.

      “Guder nummidaag,” Bishop Yoder said.

      “It looks like you’ve been busy today.” Deacon Albrecht surveyed the cut field, as though evaluating the quality of Eli’s work.

      After being gone four years, Eli was surprised at how easily farming came back to him. It felt good to work the land again. It felt good to be needed. Holding the lead lines in his hands as the powerful horses pulled the mower had given him a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt since Shannon’s death seven months earlier.

      Thinking of his sweet fiancée made his heart squeeze painfully and a gloomy emptiness filled his chest.

      “You have done gut work for the Beilers,” Bishop Yoder said. “They will need the strength of a man on this place for a few more months, until Jeremiah is back on his feet. He will have surgery today and will be in the hospital awhile longer, until the swelling goes down so they can cast the leg.”

      Eli nodded, wondering what the bishop was getting at.

      Bishop Yoder placed his hand on Eli’s shoulder, his gray eyes filled with kindness, but also an intensity that couldn’t be ignored. “I’ve spoken with your father. He agrees that you should work here for the time being, caring for Jeremiah’s farm as if it were your own. But with this request comes a great responsibility and commitment to your faith. I know you have told me you are recommitted to Gott. Are you certain our way of life is what you want?”

      Eli hesitated. With Shannon gone and his confidence shattered, he had needed to get away from Denver and all the reminders of her death. Here in Riverton, he hoped to find the peace he so desperately longed for and a way to