Arms of Mercy Read online

  Elijah yawned. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, but he couldn’t allow himself to fall asleep on this leg of the journey either. Not with Catherine so far away. Using his feet, he pushed his duffel bag under the seat ahead of him as far as he could, but it still left no leg room with his seat mate’s oversized bag jammed under there too. Just be thankful. They were safely on the bus, once again heading south. How was Cat getting along? With her sensitive nose, was she as repulsed by the pungent scent of urine as he?

  Catherine sank into the seat, relieved the driver had finally allowed them to get on the bus.

  Seated across the aisle, the woman who had come to their rescue extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Thelma Marshall. I met your husband earlier at the diner. I’m sorry to say I bent his ear asking so many questions.”

  Catherine considered correcting the Englischer about her and Elijah’s marital status, but what was the use? Doing so would be like swatting a hornets’ nest with a broom. She’d be swarmed by more questions she didn’t want to answer. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Catherine Glick.”

  “It’s a blasted shame how poorly you and your husband were treated. To think that driver was going to abandon you at that diner—it makes my blood boil, is what it does.”

  Catherine smiled. “We really appreciate your help.”

  “I figured you needed someone to speak up for yas. I know your people are kind and meek and all that.” She leaned closer. “By the way, I was bluffing the driver. The only thing I’ve ever organized was a community yard sale.” The woman chuckled.

  “I think you had everyone fooled.” A giggle bubbled up within Catherine, unraveling tension that had balled up her nerves. She leaned into the aisle and looked toward the back of the bus for where Elijah was seated but couldn’t see him.

  “Third row from the back,” the man sitting next to her said. His deep voice sounded musical to her ears.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the elderly man. “Excuse me?”

  “Your traveling friend. He’s seated on the aisle, three rows from the back.”

  The man had on a large floppy hat like the type she’d seen men wear at The Amish Table after fly-fishing. The way he had the hat pulled low and the brim flopped in front of his face, she wondered how he noticed where Elijah had sat. But when she looked again for Elijah, she spotted the tip of his straw hat exactly where the man had said. “How did you . . . ?”

  “You located him?” He smiled warmly.

  “Jah, thank you.” She returned his friendly smile, hoping it came across as genuine, because inwardly she was wishing he was Elijah. The sun shone brightly through the window, but Catherine hadn’t felt so mentally and physically exhausted in her life. She would close her eyes and try to sleep some if she knew she wouldn’t absentmindedly use the man’s arm as a pillow as she had Elijah’s.

  Catherine turned over in her mind the conversations she’d had with Elijah on the journey so far. “We were married in name only. Three months.” Had Elijah mentioned who told him she and Zach were courting? No. Elijah had omitted that tidbit of information, but why? He’d been misinformed. She and Zach were friends. They shared a few walks together, but they weren’t courting—then.

  She recalled the ground was covered in frost the morning Zach had stopped by the house. When he arrived, he used the excuse of needing to speak with her brother, but a short time later, he was asking to court her.

  “Is it true the Amish only go to school through eighth grade?” Thelma asked, pulling Catherine back to the present.

  “Jah, it’s true. We are finished with our book learning by then, but we continue to learn useful things such as cooking and sewing.” Catherine politely answered a slew of questions. Even the Englisch customers at The Amish Table hadn’t probed their plain lifestyle as much as Thelma did.

  “How do you keep food cold if you don’t have a refrigerator or freezer?”

  “We have an icehaus. And the root cellar stays kalt too.”

  The woman’s questions continued, and Catherine wasn’t sure if Thelma would ever get her fill of information. But their conversation did pass the time.

  “What happened to your ticket? Did I hear it was stolen?”

  Catherine nodded. “I was feeding a piece of sausage to a stray cat, and a man came out of nowhere and took mei bag.” Her thoughts flitted to Elijah running after the hooded man. The brazen bag snatcher could have been carrying a gun or knife.

  “You poor thing. You must have been frightened to death.”

  “It all happened so fast.” Thank You, God, for protecting Elijah when he ran after the crazed man. Catherine leaned into the aisle and turned to search for Elijah. Not seeing him, she leaned her back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  When she opened her eyes again, Thelma’s head was tilted up, her mouth was hinged open, and she was making irregular, raspy sounds with intermittent snorts that would almost wake her up.

  “That’s sleep apnea,” the man next to Catherine said. “She doesn’t listen to her doctor and lose the extra weight that would make her sleep better.”

  “You know her?” Catherine whispered.

  “Not directly.”

  Catherine kneaded her hands together, wishing she had her crochet hook and yarn to keep herself busy. At least the inquisitive woman had fallen asleep, and the older man beside her wasn’t too talkative. She glanced beyond the man and gazed out the window at the rolling snow-covered hills. It must be a beautiful sight in the fall when the trees were full of reds and yellows and oranges. As it was, the sky was darkening with snow clouds.

  “First time traveling?” the man asked.

  “Jah, do you know where we are?”

  “People refer to this area as Ohio’s hill country. It’s part of one of the oldest mountain ranges, the Appalachian.”

  “Are you from around here?”

  “Oh no, child. This isn’t my home. I’m just passing through.” He glanced out the window. “We’re going to get rain.”

  “You don’t think those are snow clouds?”

  He shook his head. “Clouds are low. It’ll be rain mixed with ice crystals.” He turned to her. “Would you like to sit by the window since this is your first time traveling?”

  She wanted to gaze at the new landscape, and even though he offered to trade seats, she still didn’t wish to impose. “That’s kind of you to offer, but I’m fine here.”

  “How far are you traveling?”

  “To Florida.” Should she have shared that information with a stranger?

  “Following the sparrows south, are you?”

  Catherine straightened a wrinkle on her dress. “Joining them, I suppose.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” The man scratched his bristly white whiskered jaw. “The birds have already flown south for the winter.”

  An image of the lone sparrow she’d seen perched on the fence post came to mind. Not all of them went south. Pondering God’s promise of providing for the sparrow, Catherine decided she wasn’t much different. Here she was sitting on the bus—without a ticket—out of her element of comfort. She was grateful she only had a few dollars in the bag when it was stolen. She had sewn most of her money into the hem of her dress, although it wasn’t enough to purchase a new ticket. Like the sparrow, she, too, would have to rely on God’s provision.

  Icy rain splattered the window, making long streaks across the glass. Inside the bus turned dim from the loss of sunlight. Gloomy days such as this were best spent putting a puzzle together with her nieces and nephew or relaxing by the woodstove with her needlework. She wrung her hands, stopped, then found herself absently wringing them again.

  With a sense of foreboding, she lifted up from the seat a little and strained her neck to look out the front windshield at the road. The back-and-forth movement of the wiper blades, working hard to clear sleet away, made her nauseated. As the bus traveled fast around a winding hillside, her body automatically leaned into the turn. The driver had said something about ma
king up time, but was it really necessary to go this fast?

  Another sharp corner. Focus on something other than the sleet hitting the windshield. But it was no use. The wipers whooshing from side to side as the bus rumbled along the narrow road caused her stomach to roil. Acid coated the back of her throat. The passengers’ chatter muffled into the background.

  She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, letting the calming breath relax her tightened muscles. The fragrant scent of lilacs filled her senses as she drew in another deep lungful of air.

  Horns blared.

  Someone screamed.

  Oncoming headlights breached the fog—the only warning she had.

  Chapter 16

  The screeching sound of brakes engaging and tires locking preceded the powerful impact that sent Elijah airborne, along with several other passengers, various electronics, and a cascade of overhead luggage, during the 180-degree whiplash spin.

  Elijah landed with a thud in the adjacent row; his right shoulder thwacked the window. With no warning, flying debris pummeled him; blood oozed from the side of his head. At the same time, another passenger collided with him and something rammed into Elijah’s back, striking his left kidney with a mighty blow that left him gasping for air.

  An eerie half second of silence fell over them as the bus came to a stop. Elijah lay perfectly still, crumpled at the bottom of a heap, twisted in ways his body shouldn’t go, and waiting for the other person or maybe people to come to their senses and move.

  “Where’s my baby!” A frantic mother’s chilling scream pierced the air.

  Whimpering and moans echoed throughout the bus cabin. More glass shattered. The scent of burning rubber filled his nostrils and brought tears to his eyes. He had to get out from under the pile so he could find Catherine, but even the slightest movement seared his shoulder with what felt like the pointed end of a red-hot fire poker.

  He tapped the arm of the man who had pinned him against the floor but didn’t get a response. Had the man stopped breathing? Elijah gave him a harder nudge. No response.

  Warm blood trickled down Elijah’s cheek and pooled in the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips, the metallic taste bitter on his tongue. His nose, cheeks, legs, and hands were cold. A numbing sensation blanketed him like morning fog covering a field.

  The mother was still searching for her baby, her cries grating on his ears. Others tearfully called out their loved ones’ names.

  He joined the chorus of voices. “Catherine Glick!” A piece of luggage dropped from an overhead bin onto him and triggered a chest spasm that stole his breath. He panted shallow breaths, his lungs crackling like burning logs. Holding his breath, he squeezed his eyes closed and bit back a yelp.

  A few seconds later he mustered enough strength to call out again. “Catherine?” He winced. Lord, I need You. Catherine needs You. Is she unable to respond? I don’t hear her. Please, help me find her.

  “It’s gone!” someone shouted. “The front of the bus is gone!”

  “Sir, please return to your assigned location. Sir?” a voice shouted over the chaos.

  Elijah ignored the emergency worker’s instruction. The area where he’d been assigned, based on the green identification tag around his wrist, was set up along the mountain side of the road.

  Dazed after the accident, he couldn’t recall how he made it off the bus, just that he did. Perhaps the lapse in memory was some sort of protective mechanism God had designed to stave off hysteria in times like this. Those able to move around searched for loved ones in the same trancelike state.

  “Catherine Glick?” he called out.

  A bystander tapped Elijah’s arm. “Sir, I’m Garnet, a first responder for Rescue Unit 442. Can you tell me your name?”

  Elijah’s eyes went in and out of focus on the uniformed man’s face. Attempting to stand in place, his body swayed as if the ground was moving.

  “It’d be best if you lie down.”

  “Nay, I have to find Catherine.” He shuffled a few steps but stopped when an emergency vehicle arrived on the scene.

  Garnet positioned himself in front of Elijah, blocking his path. “Let’s move to the other side of the road so we don’t hinder the ambulance crew from their work.” He motioned to the mountain side of the road where other passengers were seated along the curb.

  Elijah’s ears rang. Everything was spinning. His knees buckled and he collapsed. He was sucking air when the man aided him into a lying position on the cold, wet pavement.

  “I need a backboard over here.”

  Elijah willed his body to move, but his muscles refused. Pain rippled along his nerves, and he cried out as two men logrolled him onto a sturdy board.

  “I’m going to do a quick assessment,” Garnet explained, opening the toolbox he’d been carrying. “Is that okay?”

  Elijah reluctantly agreed.

  Garnet took his blood pressure and pulse, flashed a bright penlight into his eyes, and asked him questions as he touched places on Elijah’s body that caused him to flinch.

  “Can you tell me your name?” The man’s hands surveyed his head and neck.

  “I have to . . . find . . . Catherine,” Elijah rasped. “Have you . . . seen her?”

  “I haven’t treated anyone named Catherine, but we have several crews on the scene. Let me check you out, then I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Elijah Graber.”

  “Do you know where you are, Elijah?”

  “On the—” He shied away from the man when his hands touched a tender spot on his ribs. He squeezed his eyes closed and panted a few short breaths to defuse the ripple of pain spreading over his body.

  “Keep talking to me, Elijah.” Garnet pressed on Elijah’s hips first from the top, then from the sides.

  “Elijah? Where are you?”

  “On the side of the road?” he finally said, forming his reply into more of a question. He had no idea the name of the road or, for that matter, what state they were in. Pain shot through his right leg.

  The man’s hands moved down his left leg, his ankle, foot. “Does this hurt?”

  “A little.” He lied.

  “I’ll need to inspect it further.” Garnet retrieved a pair of scissors from his emergency tackle box, then snipped the seam of his blood-soaked pant leg, exposing his flesh as far up as his thigh.

  “Can you tell me what day it is, Elijah?”

  “Friday . . . or Saturday maybe. I don’t know.” He was more concerned with the amount of blood the wound was oozing. He hadn’t felt the sting until the gash was exposed to air.

  Garnet opened several packages of bandages and applied them, along with pressure, to the site. After a long, uncomfortable moment, he wrapped Elijah’s leg with a tight bandage, then addressed the gash on his forehead. “What bus were you on?” he asked, while securing the gauze on his head with a piece of tape.

  “Where’s Catherine? Have they found her?”

  “The rescue squad is still sorting patients.”

  “Budget Bus. I have to know if Catherine is all right.” Elijah tried moving, but shards of pain tore through his leg and now his arm. It was then that he noticed his shoulder, separated from its socket, dangling like an appendage on a cloth doll.

  “Keep as still as you can.” The worker placed two fingers over Elijah’s wrist, studied his watch half a minute, then pinched his fingertips. “I’m going to immobilize your arm with a sling. You have a strong pulse and good circulation, but you’ll need to tell me or one of the EMTs if your fingers start to tingle or go numb.”

  “Okay.”

  Once the sling was in place, the man made a few notes on the back of a small card, then attached the green tag by a string to his sling. The tag read: Triage Priority 3.

  “Elijah, I have more patients to treat.” Garnet closed his emergency tackle box. “It might be a while before an ambulance is available to transport
you to the hospital, but someone will check on you periodically. It’s important to remain as still as possible. You most likely have a few broken ribs, and they could potentially puncture your lungs if you move around.”

  While the first responder had been fussing over him, wrapping tape around his rib cage, a fleet of fire trucks and ambulances had blocked his view of the ravine and, more importantly, of the other passengers being treated. A wavering panic hit Elijah as Garnet picked up his medic box. “What about Catherine? How will she know where I am?”

  “If I’m able to locate her, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  If? Elijah’s nerves couldn’t handle the uncertainty, but he thanked the man, then waited for him to walk away before pushing up from the wet ground. Too restless to wait for news to get back to him, he set out to find her himself. First he checked the “green zone” without success. Next he limped between two fire trucks to get closer to the heart of the crash site.

  The bus that had hit them lay on its side, partially dangling over the side of the cliff and emitting death groans that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Men wearing reflective rain gear and helmets worked steadily to fasten the vehicle’s chassis with thick belts and chains to stabilize its teetering. Meanwhile, a mixture of agonizing cries filled the air.

  Over to his right, a dozen or more bodies lay sprawled over broken glass. Tagged with blue identifiers, Elijah wondered if they’d been left to die. The emergency crew members were concentrating their efforts on another large group of people.

  He canvassed the area. Some bodies were missing limbs, others were covered in blood, their faces swollen and unrecognizable. A woman’s sob summoned his attention. He couldn’t be certain it wasn’t Catherine, so he followed the wailing voice drowning out all the others. He found the woman sitting down and rocking back and forth against the crumpled guardrail, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Elijah stopped one of the caregivers. “Have you seen a woman named Catherine?”

  “No, sorry.”

  In the chaos of suffering and utter bewilderment, one man with a bandanna wrapped around his head was more interested in emptying suitcases than addressing the chunk of flesh flapped open on his cheek. He went through two pieces of luggage, pocketing whatever treasures he could find.