30. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
" J ust a little more to the right!"
Elijah held the extension ladder firm while Samuel, shading his eyes with his hand, backed up and peered overhead.
"Nearly there," Samuel announced. "Careful, Jon."
And this was why the Amish didn't put Christmas lights on their roofs, Elijah thought sourly. Because it was stupid. And dangerous. Also electric, but that was beside the point.
The big old bank barn had lights along its roofline already. They stayed up all year, according to Samuel. But a section of the lights were out, and Jon was trying to fix it. So there he was at the top of the extension ladder, way too dang high off the ground.
Jon leaned farther to the right, stretching out his fingers.
"That's the one!" Samuel said.
A muttered curse floated down from above as Jon attempted to unscrew the little bulb he could barely reach.
Elijah got a sick feeling in his stomach. "This ain't good." He looked pleadingly at Samuel. "Tell him to stop. Please."
Samuel grimaced. "Ja. Jon, leave that one. Don't—"
Just then Bennie came running in from the pasture, squealing like he was being murdered, barreling hell-for-leather along the cement walkway next to the barn. He was chased by a big gray pig, Wilfred, and his cohort, Samson. Elijah only had time to register the on-coming pigs when Benny ran under the ladder—a black blur. Wilfred dodged right to do the same, but he didn't quite make it. He banged into the side of the ladder.
Everything happened in slow motion. Elijah felt the ladder wrenched from his fingers as he fell to the side. He landed on his elbow. The pain was sharp but nothing compared to the stab in his heart as he felt, rather than saw, the ladder crash down. Jon landed feet first, his boots making a sickening, too-loud thump before his body crumpled to the cement. A scream tore from Jon's throat that Elijah hoped to never hear again as long as he lived.
"Jon!" Samuel rushed to him and knelt down. "Oh, Gott in Himmel! Are you okay?"
Jon wasn't okay. Elijah pushed to his knees and scrambled over while Jon rolled on the cement, his face mask of agony. "Oh, fuck. Fuck!"
"I'll call Eddie." Samuel dug out his phone and started speaking in a panicked voice.
Elijah put his hands on either side of Jon's face. "Jon. Jon! Please look at me."
Jon opened his eyes. They were glazed with shock and pain, like a downed cow Elijah had seen once, and it was awful.
"What is it?" Elijah asked. "What hurts the worst? It's not your back." He could tell Jon's back wasn't broken by the way he was thrashing in his agony, his shoulders coming up as he rolled back and forth.
"My ankle," Jon gritted out. "Oh, fuck, it hurts!"
Elijah remembered seeing Jon come down feet first. He'd probably shattered an ankle or leg, or even both legs. Jon gripped Elijah's arm so hard, it would leave bruises. Elijah looked around and saw Samuel was off the phone. He stood there, frozen in horror.
"Samuel, take Jon's hand!" Elijah ordered. He held out his arm with Jon's gripping hand and Samuel managed to transfer Jon's grip.
Elijah scooted down Jon's body to his legs. He pushed up the denim. The flesh of his calves was a pale color—shock—but his left leg was already swelling, and a tendril of red under the skin crawled up from his sock. Jon held that leg still as his right leg kicked with the pain. The damage was mainly in the left one, then. It must have taken the brunt of the fall. Probably a broken ankle, possibly bones fractured in the foot and leg.
Elijah hesitated. Removing the boot would hurt like hell, but it would be worse to leave it on. The swelling would be terrible.
"Samuel, go get the big clippers hanging in the aisle," he ordered.
"What are you gonna do?" Samuel asked.
"Cut off my foot," Jon gritted out, obviously joking, which was a good sign.
"The boot needs to go," said Elijah.
"Eddie's callin' 9-1-1. They'll do that when they get here. It could be broken."
Elijah hesitated, unsure what to do in this scenario. The English doctors had been called. Maybe he shouldn't try to help.
"Do it," Jon said. "Get it off, please!"
Elijah looked at Samuel. Samuel nodded. He peeled off Jon's hand and raced into the barn.
Elijah took Jon's hand. "You'll be all right."
"Stupid," Jon said. "Stupid fucking light."
"It's okay. Your back ain't broke; that's the main thing. Legs can heal."
Jon started to snark back, but a wave of pain hit him, and he squeezed his eyes shut and went back to rocking. "Oh, God, it hurts. Fuck, it hurts!"
"I know," Elijah said. Two heavy rocks sank in his stomach—one was Jon's pain, and the other was that he couldn't bear Jon's pain. Couldn't.
Samuel returned with oversized long-handled clippers. They were used for trimming hooves and other heavy-duty work.
"I'll tell you where, and you clip," Elijah said. He instructed Samuel to cut up the pant leg so they had better access, and then he unlaced Jon's boot, his fingers surprisingly sure and steady—because they had to be. He pulled the laces as wide as he could and instructed Samuel to cut down the middle of them.
Eddie came running up, a phone pressed to his ear. "Oh my God! I'm on with 9-1-1. How is he?"
"Elijah thinks it's his leg," Samuel said breathlessly.
"The flap," Elijah said, pulling away the side of the boot. Samuel cut the boot's tongue. While Jon groaned and tried to hold still, Elijah and Samuel cut away as much of the boot and sock as they could, then Elijah carefully tugged the remnants off Jon's toes. The swelling kept pace with them, growing into every area they exposed, his skin an ugly purple-red. Eddie was saying something to Jon, but Elijah had no room in his head for anything except the procedure until it was done.
"Can we give him somethin' for pain?" Samuel asked Elijah. "Aspirin? Anythin'?"
"9-1-1 says not to give him anything until the paramedics get here." Eddie said, still holding the phone to his ear. He grimaced. "It'll probably be twenty minutes. They're at an accident site on route 30."
Twenty minutes. That was an eternity of pain. If Elijah had Dawdi's bag, he could give Jon something to ease his suffering. But he'd given up braucherei. He had nothing.
Only that wasn't true.
Jon rolled in agony. He reached for Elijah's hand and Elijah gave it to him. "Oh, God! It hurts so fuckin' bad."
"Try to breathe," Elijah told him. Jon could only hold his gaze for a moment before the pain had him rolling again.
"Can't," Jon said, gasping. "Can't breathe."
Elijah's knowing had been hovering just out of reach, but now it came into his heart with conviction. He knew what he had to do. Not only because of the suffering Jon was in, but because that pain itself could lead to shock, even a heart attack. Any number of terrible things. The body would try to escape that kind of pain.
He knew the choice he was making; that he'd have to leave the farm. But that was a price he was willing to pay. Because he loved Jon. And Elijah could no more bear his pain than he could cut out his own heart.
Elijah closed his eyes and prayed for permission, but the voice didn't speak. Still, there was no hesitation in his heart. He would do what he must.
"Samuel," he said. "There's a wooden bucket in the room where the firewood's stored. An old wooden bucket. Get it and fill it with water."
"What for?" Samuel asked.
Eddie opened the door to the pig barn and pulled out a galvanized metal pail. "This?"
"No, it must be wood," Elijah said firmly. "Samuel, go!"
Samuel got to his feet and ran.
"What do you need it for?" Eddie asked.
Elijah ignored him, still gripping Jon's hand. He'd seen that old bucket any number of times. It was probably a hundred years old, but it was still sturdy. He'd had the thought, if he ever needed it….
Jon thrashed.
"Jon," Elijah said.
Jon tried to look at him.
"I'm gonna help you with the pain, okay?"
Jon didn't ask how. He just nodded his chin. "God, yes. Please. Anythin'."
"I will. It'll be better in just a minute." He took both of Jon's hands. "Pay attention to your breath. Okay? Slow it down." He demonstrated loud, slow breaths. Jon tried, but the pain was too overwhelming. His body was panicking.
Samuel came back with the wooden bucket.
"Fill it with water," Elijah said.
Samuel ran back inside with the bucket, probably to use the sink with the heated pipes, their main source of water at the barn in the winter. It felt like forever before he returned, water sloshing. He set the bucket next to Elijah.
Elijah took a deep breath. He put one hand in the bucket of water while the other gripped Jon's hand. He closed his eyes and murmured the old prayers in German.
"With this water and Christ's dear blood, I banish your pain and do you good! Holy Spirit, through the mercy of Christ our lord, draw this man's pain away. God most holy, through the mercy of Christ our lord, draw this man's pain away. Christ, in your knowledge of suffering and your dear mercy, draw this man's pain away. Let me take the pain. Let it pass through me. Let the water draw the pain."
The hand that gripped Jon's hand burned like he was holding it over a flame, then the fire moved up to his wrist. Black shards of ice darted up his forearm, ached in his elbow, stabbed his biceps. The pain crossed his shoulders, hot and stinging, and down, down, his other arm burning, his elbow burning, his wrist on fire, and into the water.
It was a black river that went on and on, seemingly with no end as it flowed into him, through him. It was bad. It was real bad. Elijah didn't know if he had the strength to take it, but it was Jon, and he held on. The water in the bucket grew warm, then hot. Still Elijah let the black river flow. He sensed Jon relax below him, his hand grow slack. Still, Elijah gripped it and channeled away the pain. Sweat broke out on his forehead, ran down his face. His stomach grew warm and nauseous. He swallowed down vomit. His head spun. But still, he didn't stop. Still, he pulled the pain from Jon and sent it into the water.
It was like the power of God running through him. He'd told himself he didn't miss this, didn't want to do braucherei. But oh, the feeling! Even through the pain, and the nausea, and the burning heat, a spark inside him rejoiced at being able to help Jon, at having, through the great grace of God, the power to do this, to have this gift to offer the world, to offer to the man he loved. He loved Jon so. Fully and completely, whether Jon ever returned his affection or not. Elijah's eyes grew damp with the agonizing bliss of connecting to the divine, of the power he was channeling through his body.
He became aware of distant sirens. There was a touch on his shoulder. "Elijah."
Elijah opened his eyes to see Eddie and Samuel staring at him.
"Let go," Eddie said firmly. "That's enough."
"Please stop." Samuel wiped away a tear, his voice shaky. "You're hurting yourself."
Elijah looked down at Jon. His face was calm, his eyes were closed, and his breathing was deep and steady.
Elijah released Jon's hand abruptly. The hand that was in the water felt so heavy, he couldn't lift it. The black shards in his body scattered, sending a dark fog spreading through him. He held on to consciousness long enough to say, "The water's bad poison. Dump it far from the farm and any streams."
Then he remembered no more.