THE FLOODWATERS ROARED their fury in her ears. The little girl scampered across the rough-hewn boards. She made the final leap across the water to shore before Hannah was fully out of the boat. Hannah crawled across the bridge floor after her daughter. She heard a crash and looked back to see Reece’s canoe fly into the air and land upside down. What had happened to him? She crawled back to the end of the floating bridge closest to Reece and searched the water.
The muddy water churned with flotsam: tree limbs, pieces of metal roofing, old tin cans, and car parts. Then Reece’s head broke the surface, and he gasped for air. “Hannah, help me!” His arms flailed.
He’d saved her from Trudy. She had to help him. Hannah searched for a branch to hold out to him. There, a loose one poked up from the mass of limbs and trees lodged against the bridge. She tugged it free and reached out to Reece. The desperation in his face made her lean too far, and she nearly toppled into the water with him.
She tried again, flinging the end of the branch into his face. He grasped it in one hand, and she began to pull him toward the bridge. The nearer he got to her, the more the waves crashed over his head. At this rate, she would drown him. She pulled harder. A surge of water covered him again, then he popped up several feet closer. He’d lost hold of the branch, but he managed to grab a limb that protruded from the blockage.
His gaze on her, he began to crawl up onto the logjam at the base of the bridge. Hannah turned and sidled away from him, toward her daughter and safety. He could fend for himself now. Her conscience was clear. She reached the other end of the bridge. The gap between the bridge and the shore had widened. Could she make it? She coiled her muscles and sprang for the shore. Her outflung hand grasped a tree root, and she hauled herself up with it until she lay face forward in the mud.
If she had the strength, she’d kiss the ground. Her vision darkened, and she fought to stay conscious. They weren’t out of the woods yet, literally. She had to get Caitlin to safety and send back help for Matt. She became aware that Caitlin was shaking her and rolled onto her back to stare up into the beautiful face of her baby girl.
“Miss Hannah, the bad man is coming,” Caitlin whispered. “You have to get up.”
Hannah managed to sit. Pain gripped her back, her legs. Blood ran from her knees from crawling along the rough logs. She bit back a groan. A sound behind her caught her attention, and she turned to see Reece standing on the collapsed bridge. The structure bucked like a wild thing and began to break apart. He wore a victorious grin that widened when he saw her watching him.
“I’m coming, Hannah. Wait for me.”
“Run, Reece!” Hannah screamed. “It’s falling apart.” She knew she should grab Caitlin and run as fast as they could, but she couldn’t move, caught by the drama playing out in front of her.
The surging water intensified as a new round of flotsam hit the bridge. The structure shuddered. Reece’s victorious grin morphed into wild-eyed terror as the boards under his feet rolled. He tried to drop down and grab a board, but the thing bucked again. He flipped into the air and came down hard. Hannah heard something crack when he hit the beams. The next instant the bridge splintered, and pieces of wood flew in all directions. Reece’s hand flew up in a silent plea, then the debris rained down on him and he disappeared under the onslaught.
Hannah sank to her knees and put her face in her hands. There was no way he could have survived that. She was free, she and Caitlin. Free to live their lives out from under his cruelty. But she ached for the man he might have been. And if not for Reece, she would lie in the cistern with Matt’s mother.
She staggered to her feet again. “We’ve got to find your daddy,” she told Caitlin.
They looked up to hear the whop-whop of a chopper overhead. How did the EMTs know where to find them? Her blood surged at the knowledge that Matt had to have called it in. She raced back along the bank with Caitlin. Around the curve and through the mud with the creek roaring its triumph. She could see the shack in the distance, then she heard Ajax barking. He sounded frantic, but weak, too, and her initial joy began to drain.
Then she saw Matt. Crumpled in the water. Ajax barked again, then took hold of the collar of Matt’s shirt and tried to tug him from the water that sought to claim him. The dog was losing the battle. He looked battered and weak from the effort. Hannah put on a burst of speed and reached Matt’s side. She grabbed him under the arms and, with Ajax’s help, managed to get him out of the water’s grasp.
She rolled him onto his back and saw the awful wound in his belly. All the while she waved her arms to flag down the chopper, she knew she was going to lose him.
TWENTY - SEVEN
“Children are treasured by the Amish. They take however many children God chooses to give. They’re never considered a burden. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them.”
—HANNAH SCHWARTZ,
IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts
Equipment choked the room at the IU Med Center. Hannah sat close to the bed and watched the monitors. Not that she understood them, but if sheer force of will could keep Matt’s vitals good, she would stare at the things until she went blind.
Angie peeked in the door, and Hannah went to meet her. “Any change?” Angie asked.
“No, he’s still unconscious.”
“Any new update from the doctors?”
“They still say it will be a miracle if he pulls through.” Hannah clutched her hands together. “How’s Caitlin?”
“Gina has her. She’s asking for her daddy.”
“I don’t think she should see him like this. Hannah glanced back at the battered man in the bed. He hardly looked like the Matt she knew and loved.
“But what if he dies, Hannah? Wouldn’t you want a chance to say goodbye if it were your daddy?”
The question hit Hannah hard. She did wish she could have kissed her parents one last time, could have smelled her mother’s hair to imprint it on her memory. She didn’t have the right to keep Caitlin from her father. She resituated her grip on her hope. “I won’t let him die.”
Angie put her hand on Hannah’s cheek. “He’s been shot in the stomach, girl. He’s got liver damage, intestinal damage. You’ve got to face facts.”
“I’m facing facts. I know he’s not going to die. Listen, I’ve got to get back to him.”
“What about Caitlin?”
Somehow the thought of letting Caitlin see her daddy like this made Hannah grit her teeth. She would not give up. “Not yet,” she said. “Maybe when he wakes up.”
Angie squeezed Hannah’s arm. “I’ll bring you a sandwich this evening. You want anything now?”
“No, I’m not hungry.” The thought of food made her shudder. She just wanted Matt to open his eyes and look at her with that gaze that told her he could swallow her whole. The expression that said he saw her. Just as she was, warts and all. And loved what he saw.
She’d just returned to the bed to take his hand when she heard another tap at the doorjamb. This time the doorway crowded with Amish friends and family: Luca, Sarah, the bishop, cousins, friends. At least twenty people stood outside in the hallway.
Hannah stepped to the door to greet them. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve come to pray for Matt,” Luca said. “He’s a good man, Hannah.”
She could hardly speak past the boulder in her throat. “Yes. Yes, he is,” she managed. When she stepped to the side, the group filed into the room and surrounded the bed. When she joined them, they made room for her at Matt’s side. She held his hand while her friends gathered round and stood in silent prayer.