Brush of Angel's Wings Page 16

  Jordan set the buckets on the ground and took the shovel from Rachel. Within a few minutes, he’d created a long trench separating the woods and the stump.

  “That barricade should help keep the fire from spreading.” He swept his shirtsleeve over his sweaty brow, then doused the dead maple stump with the turpentine and set it on fire.

  Black smoke curled from the burning stump to the sky. Beside it, Tangus exhaled, his sulfurous breath adding to the dense cloud. He sang, enticing other demonic spirits to join him in circling the flame. As they did, they thickened the blanket of smoke. The suspended soot particles began to choke the subjects.

  Jordan covered his mouth and nose with his hand. He placed his other hand on Rachel’s lower back, directing her to move with him to the opposite side of the wall of smoke.

  Tangus sucked in the fumes and exhaled a hideous discharge from deep within his core. His companions joined in the folly of chasing the twosome’s every move with their poisonous, powdery vapors.

  With the embers stirred, sparks flickered toward the wooded area. The subjects were blinded with smoke and didn’t see the brush ignite.

  Nathaniel whirled in revolutions no human eye could follow. Disguised within a cyclone of sand, he moved over the wooded area and smothered the fire.

  “God has not permitted you to destroy the land,” Nathaniel declared.

  “I’m just amusing myself,” Tangus called out from behind his evil colleagues. With so many sets of eyes to mask, Tangus hated being anywhere near the light Nathaniel radiated from standing in God’s presence. Walled off by his companions, he used them as a shield to brazenly approach the fire. After a quick stirring of the roasting embers, sparks skittered toward the subjects.

  Rachel shielded her eyes from the flames’ roaring intensity, trying to find her way out.

  “Rachel!”

  She opened her eyes to see Jordan drop to the ground, swatting his flaming shirtsleeve.

  “Help him, God,” Rachel cried out loud as she snatched a water bucket and tossed the water over his arm. The flame extinguished. She dropped the bucket and collapsed to her knees next to him. “Please, God, don’t let him be hurt too badly.”

  “Thanks,” Jordan croaked. He lifted his unaffected hand to her face. “Don’t cry. You prayed and God answered.” He winced and dropped his hand.

  She stared at his arm. He needed more water. She reached for another full bucket.

  Jordan rolled to his good side and boosted himself upright. “I’m not—”

  She drenched his arm with the water.

  “What was that for? The fire was out.” He wiped his wet face with the sleeve of his unaffected arm.

  “Even a turkey keeps cooking after it’s removed from the oven.” She eyed another bucket.

  “No more. I’m—” he rasped. “I’m—”

  “You’re wheezing.”

  He pushed off the ground and stood. “I’ll be all right.” But as he spoke, his neck and chest muscles retracted with each laborious breath.

  Rachel doused the smoldering stump with the remaining bucket of water. Steam hissed from the charred wood.

  Jordan doubled over, coughing.

  “Let’s get you help.” Before he denied assistance, she put her arm around his waist. Although his breathing had eased by the time they reached the yard, she didn’t want to take any chances. “I’ll harness Ginger and take you to the clinic.”

  “No. You can bandage it as well as any medical person.” He waved his good arm in the general direction of the grossdaadi haus. “Let’s go inside so I’m sitting down when you slap the salve on me.”

  “You need a dokta. It might get infected.”

  “No. I’ll be fine.” He steered her around the corner of the little house.

  Rachel gave the door a nudge with her hip. Once inside, she helped him sit on a wooden chair, then lit the lamp to get a better view of his arm.

  “What’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

  “I need some supplies. I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the door, mentally compiling a list of things she would need. Scissors, bandages, soapy water . . . Where did Mamm keep the burn cream?

  She scurried over to the main house and worked swiftly to fill a basket with first aid supplies. The last thing she did was empty the cookie jar into a plastic baggie and toss the cookies in the basket.

  On her way back to Jordan, she glanced at the field. A trace cloud of black smoke hung over the area. “Lord, I ask that you place a hedge of protection to contain any lingering embers. And please heal Jordan’s arm.”

  The maple tree leaves overhead rustled in a sudden gust of wind. Beyond, a cyclone of sand swept over the field, snuffing out the fire. She stood, astounded, as the cyclone dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. She would have to go check it out later. Right now Jordan needed her help.

  “Doc, so good of you to make a house call,” Jordan said as she entered.

  She lined the medicinal items up on the table and debated the next step. Until the arm was fully exposed, she wouldn’t know the extent of the burn. First she needed to get a basin of soapy water ready.

  “Cookies?” He leaned toward the table and reached for the bag.

  She playfully slapped at his hand. “Those are for you—if you’re a gut bu.”

  She headed into the kitchen, added water to a basin, then shaved pieces of the bar of soap to make sudsy water. After getting a towel from the drawer, she carried the basin into the other room and set it on the table. She rested her hand on her hip and frowned playfully at Jordan.

  Jordan pulled the cookie away from his mouth. “What? I’m being gut,” he said as cookie crumbs spilled from his lips.

  She tried not to crack a smile. “Well. All right. Perhaps a sweet snack will soften the pain coming.”

  “Pain? There’s going to be pain?”

  She rolled her eyes at his pretend shock. “Of course there’s going to be pain, silly,” she teased. “The borax in the soap is bound to cause some discomfort as I clean out the wound. I’ll make sure to be as rough as possible.”

  He looked up at her with an impish little-boy look, and for a moment, she felt something she didn’t want to feel. She turned away, scanning the items in front of her, and selected the scissors.

  “Don’t think because I’m compromised here, you’re going to cut my hair.”

  She snipped the air with the scissors. “Why nett? It’s mei chance to work on my hair-cutting skills.” She reached for his arm. “Seriously. I have to cut your shirt.”

  Although the shirt was damaged beyond repair, she carefully snipped the cloth on the seam. Rachel sucked in a deep breath once she exposed the wound. She stared at the raised red area. No doubt it’d blister the size of his fist.

  “Don’t faint on me,” he said, easing his shoulder out from under the suspender strap.

  Rachel turned away as he pulled his unaffected arm out from the sleeve and let the shirt fall to the floor. She dipped a rag in the sudsy water, then squeezed out the excess. Turning back to him, she said, “The area needs to be cleaned so it doesn’t get infected.” She gingerly dabbed the washrag over the burn.

  Jordan winced.

  “I’m sorry.” She pulled back the washrag, paused a moment, then rinsed the rag before continuing.

  Jordan clenched his teeth.

  When she finished cleaning the wound, she tossed the rag into the water basin.

  Jordan’s body relaxed and he exhaled deeply. “Done?”

  “Nett yet.” Rachel picked up the aloe stems she’d clipped from the potted houseplant. She split open the spiny leaves and squeezed out the clear gel. “This might hurt,” she said, smearing a layer over the affected area.

  “Might?” His jaw twitched.

  “It’s supposed to be soothing.” Because of the severity of the burn, the plant probably wouldn’t bring much pain relief. “You need to see a dokta.” She wrapped the entire gauze bandage around his arm, then paused to examine her work.
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  “That it?”

  “Jah, but you need to keep it clean.” She began packing the unused supplies into the basket.

  “Okay.”

  “And dry.”

  “Do I get another cookie nau?” He reached around her for the baggie of treats.

  She felt her face flush. “I, uh . . . sure.” She stepped out of his way to pack up the supplies and to get her emotions back under control.

  “Thank you, Rachel.”

  “Jah,” she said without facing him.

  “I suppose I better put a shirt on.” He ambled toward the bedroom, still talking. “The others will be here shortly to start planting.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Alone with him, shirtless, wasn’t something she wanted to explain to the bishop. She left the supplies on the table and fled the house.

  For a moment Rachel didn’t know what to do with herself. Her heart raced, her thoughts jumbled, and her emotions screamed something at her she couldn’t understand. Be practical, she told herself. What needs to be done? The practical took over, and she marched to check on the area that had been on fire. When she got there, she stared in disbelief. The fire had consumed the entire stump, yet the area around it was covered in sandy white soil.

  She peered up at the sky. “God?”

  “Why do you stand amazed, child? God dispatched more of His angels the moment you asked for help.” Nathaniel stood amid his fellow heavenly hosts. Together, the glare reflecting off their joined radiance had driven Tangus from the surroundings. Yet Nathaniel knew Tangus wouldn’t keep his distance long, unless Nathaniel convinced his charges to continue with their petitions of protection.

  Behind her, Jordan cleared his throat. “Fire’s out.”

  His voice pulled Rachel away from her wandering thoughts.

  She smiled. “Jah, were you worried it might spread?”

  He inspected the area. “Where did the sand come from?”

  “That’s what I wondered,” she said, looking out over the contrasting black dirt in the field.

  Jordan blew out a breath. “God’s hand of protection was upon us.”

  “So you say.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jordan redirected his focus from the stump ashes to the buggies pulling into the yard. “Here they come. I’d better get my gloves.”

  “Please tell me you’re nett going to work in the field today.” Rachel kept pace at his side as he lumbered out of the field. “That’s a bad burn. It might get infected.”

  “Look, Rachel. My arm’s fine. And I’m not sitting in the house with a bunch of women.” He waved at Timothy and pain tore through his arm. “Don’t say anything about this to anyone,” he said as he walked away.

  From the corner of his eye, he could see Rachel cut across the yard toward the house. She meant well, but he couldn’t risk the men thinking he needed pampering.

  Jordan touched the bandage beneath his long-sleeved shirt and glanced at the sky. “God, others believe you will heal spontaneously. I know you’re capable, but since you didn’t do it the multitude of times I prayed before, I’m skeptical. So I’ll just ask that you heal this wound. The Hartzlers need my help and I can’t give it with this burn. So if it be your will . . . ,” he mumbled.

  “Good afternoon,” Timothy called out as he helped Sadie up the porch steps. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Jordan could see Rachel meeting them at the door and taking the food container from Timothy’s free hand. Before she stepped inside, she looked over her shoulder at Jordan and smiled. His heart skipped once. But then, when he saw Sadie touch Rachel’s smudged cheek, something flared within his chest. Recalling the feel of her soft skin, he blushed and looked away.

  Timothy held a smirk as he strolled across the drive toward Jordan. “I see you and Rachel worked on the stumps together.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You might want to wash your face.”

  “Mine?” Jordan dragged his sleeve over his face, then looked at the soiled sleeve.

  Timothy nudged him. “I wouldn’t worry about it. We’ll all be covered in dirt after working in the field.”

  Jordan swept his hand toward the gathering men. “I’m surprised so many came.”

  “There are still more kumming. Andrew Lapp will bring his four-horse team.”

  “This is amazing.”

  “Jah,” Timothy agreed. “That’s our way. We help one another in times of need.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute. I need to get my gloves.” He waved at the others as he jogged to the little house. He was pleased. With so many workers, it was likely the crops would be planted by the end of the day.

  Jordan grabbed his gloves off the table, then returned to the group. As he slipped them on, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat of a misfit among the seasoned farmers. Micah had taught him a lot, but without much practice, Jordan wasn’t feeling competent.

  He glanced at the house and suddenly understood that Rachel felt the same inadequacy and turmoil about cooking.

  Rachel and Naomi unloaded the food from the back of the buggy. As Naomi chatted about recent events in her family, Rachel scanned the crowd for Jordan. He stood with the group, arms crossed. She looked for a sign that he was favoring his injured arm but couldn’t tell from this distance.

  “You didn’t hear me, did you?”

  Rachel redirected her attention to Naomi. “What were you saying?”

  “William and I have been sitting on the porch every weekend. We talk about many things. Often we talk about little things like what’s happened in the community. Sometimes we talk about God. Or what we dream of. He is such a hard worker.”

  Rachel smiled. “That is wundebaar. And hopefully William isn’t as slow as Timothy. He sat with Sadie two years before he asked her to marry him.”

  Naomi giggled. “I’ve been dropping hints about increasing the size of the garden.” She nudged Rachel. “You should too.”

  “Mei garden is large enough.” She didn’t dare tell Naomi that she and Jordan had sat on the porch the past few evenings.

  Rachel stole another glance at Jordan. This time, their eyes met. He touched the brim of his hat as he joined the others heading out to the field. A spark of hope ignited Rachel’s heart. Jordan and Timothy headed into the same field with the bishop and Andrew Lapp. Perhaps while he worked with the bishop, Jordan would inquire about baptism.

  “Ach, I see who you’re staring at,” Naomi said.

  Rachel covered her smile behind her hand and nudged Naomi toward the steps. “I still have to prepare mei yummasetti.”

  Inside, most of the women had gathered in the sitting room to stitch their quilt blocks. A few fussed over Judith Lapp’s newborn daughter. Katie Bender asked for many details, no doubt collecting information to write about in the Budget. She chatted on, moving her questions to probe Sadie about her pregnancy.

  Rachel was glad she had tasks in the kitchen so she could avoid listening to her. She and Naomi rearranged the dishes, salads, and desserts on the long kitchen table.

  Naomi filled a pot with water and set it on the cookstove to boil while Rachel gathered egg noodles and other ingredients for the casserole.

  Sadie entered the kitchen and plopped into a chair. “Can you believe Katie Bender’s boldness?” Sadie rolled her eyes. “She told me I was large enough for triplets. Nett twins but triplets!”

  “Ach, I didn’t know you were having twins,” Naomi said, getting a saucepan ready for Rachel to fry the hamburger meat.

  “I don’t know for certain. My midwife had to leave town unexpectedly. Something about her mother down in Florida falling and breaking her hip.” Sadie fanned her face with her hand. “Is it hot in here?”

  “Your face is the color of beets.” Rachel reached into the cabinet and removed a glass. “I’ll get you a drink.” She turned on the tap water and filled the glass, then handed it to her sister. “You need to rest.”

  Sadie took it gratefully. “Denki.”

 
The hamburger began to sizzle and Rachel stirred it so it would brown evenly.

  Aenti Leah came into the kitchen, her empty cup in her hand. The oldest of all Mamm’s sisters, she still had plenty of spunk even though she’d had her seventieth birthday last fall. Rachel braced for the critical words she knew would follow her aenti’s appearance.

  “Miriam would have brought the kettle into the sitting room if she were here,” Aenti said.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been busy trying to get the yummasetti in the oven.”

  Aenti Leah ignored her apology, distracted by Sadie’s ankles. “I’ve never seen someone with your size ankles.”

  Many expressions crossed her sister’s face, but Rachel knew she would swallow the painful words and say nothing to her aenti. She didn’t usually listen to responses anyway.

  She peered into the pot of noodles, then glanced at Rachel. “Did you add oil so they don’t stick?”

  “Jah, Aenti.” Her aenti never failed to offer cooking advice at every gathering.

  “Salt?”

  Naomi got the kettle of hot water. “Can I refill your cup?”

  Aenti smiled at Naomi. “Certainly, dear.”

  “I noticed you brought your needlepoint. Maybe you could show me how to do the basket weave stitch.” Naomi put the kettle on the stove and guided Aenti Leah out of the kitchen.

  Once alone with Sadie, Rachel said, “Why did Aenti say that about your ankles? I thought worrying about weight was vanity.” She leaned closer to Sadie. “Besides, Aenti Leah could shed a few pounds herself, ain’t so?”

  Water from the noodle pot bubbled over and sizzled on the stove. Rachel grabbed a pot holder and strained the noodles. Then she assembled the yummasetti and slid the dish into the oven. She peered out the window toward the field. “They’re making gut progress.”

  Sadie groaned.

  Rachel spun toward her sister. “What’s wrong?”

  Sadie’s face grimaced as she held the side of her belly with her palm.