42. Chapter 33
Chapter 33
E lijah wore his new black sweater and black pants. Jolie had given him a haircut, and he'd shaven clean. Samuel looked at him funny as he and Jolie left the house at 8 o'clock on January 3rd. Jolie breezily said they were going shopping.
It was a lie Elijah was grateful for. His stomach felt like two barn cats were in there fighting. Jolie kept patting his hand as they drove past farm fields to get to the freeway that would take them to the next big town—Lancaster.
"It's not life or death, Elijah," she said. "Either it will work out or it won't. But it's good experience, either way. Release the fear."
Releasing the fear sounded like good advice, but it was hard to convince his body. He could smell the sour tang of his own anxiety as he got out of the car at the hospital and took off his black Amish coat. It didn't go with these dressier clothes, so he left it behind. The wind was bitter as they made their way to the hospital entrance.
In the lobby, Jolie took charge of asking the receptionist for directions to the woman he was to interview with—Mrs. Price. And she took charge of leading them through a maze of corridors and elevators. Which was good because his nerves would have made it a challenge.
When they arrived at the door, Jolie handed him a folder with his resume inside. "In case she doesn't have a printed copy."
"This isn't gonna work," he said, wishing like anything now that he'd never let her talk him into this. It was going to be a disaster. And failing like that was gonna hurt.
She gave him a smile that looked worried around the edges. "Listen. Just be yourself, Elijah. Trust that things will go however they're supposed to. Remember who you are. You've a wonderful gift, so hold your chin up. And be yourself."
Be himself? Right then, he'd rather be anyone else in the whole world. But he gathered himself to turn and knock on the office door. If there was one thing working with Dawdi had taught him, it was that sometimes you just had to hold your nose and walk through the manure to get to the other side.
"Come in!" came a woman's voice.
The woman inside, Mrs. Price, was not what Elijah expected. She was plump and frazzled-looking with curly gray and black hair in a mess around her face. Her eyes were kind—and tired. She wore a flowered top over the bulk of a big bosom and stomach. She stood up and put out a hand. "Elijah Schultz?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Elijah shook her hand. Only after he took hers did he realize that his palms were sweaty from nerves.
She pretended not to notice. "Have a seat."
He sat down, surreptitiously wiped his hand on his black pants, and waved the folder. "I brought a resume."
"I already printed one." She had it on her desk, he saw, and she was studying it. "First, let me tell you about the position. On our hospice staff we have RNs—nurses—who meet with the patients regularly, and CNAs—nursing assistants—who go into the patient's home and help care for their physical needs like bathing and grooming. We have a chaplain who meets with them regularly, and we have volunteers who help the family with groceries or cleaning or just sitting with the patient. This position is for what we call a specialist. We have specialists such as musicians, massage therapists, even hairdressers, and most of those are volunteers. This is a staff position for a specialist in energy work because there's quite a bit of demand for it. We were thinking of Reiki or Healing Touch."
Elijah nodded, feeling foolish. Just as he thought, he wasn't qualified. Why had she even agreed to an interview?
"Basically, the way it works is that we would offer this service to the client. And if they so desire, they can book time with you. It doesn't cost them extra. It's all part of our hospice program."
"Okay." He glanced at the door and jiggled his leg faster.
"I must say, it's not often I get a resume like this. In fact, I have never interviewed an Amish braucher." She studied his resume again.
He gave a weak smile and felt faint. He felt like a horse was galloping toward him at breakneck speed. Disaster incoming.
When she looked up, her gaze was more intrigued than insulting.
"I'm not Amish anymore," he said.
"No?" She pursed her lips. "I noticed the phone number and address on your resume didn't look like an Amish area to me, but you never know."
"I left in September."
"May I ask why?"
Elijah froze. That was very personal. But he supposed someone looking to hire him would want to know if he'd been kicked out for stealing. Or something worse.
He stared at her. She looked calmly back. Jolie's words came to him, Just be yourself . Well, heck. Mrs. Price might as well know it all. Then she'd have plenty of reason not to hire him.
"I'm gay," he said abruptly. "My grandfather and I didn't see eye to eye on that. He was my teacher, from age five. I was 'sposed to follow in his shoes. He was—still is—the best braucher in the county."
She gave him a sad little smile. "I see. Well, Elijah, that won't be a problem here. We have a diversity initiative and we do not discriminate on the basis of age, race, or sexuality." She looked over his resume again.
He tried to collect himself. His hands were fists on his thighs. "I'm a good healer," he blurted. "But I don't have them certificates."
"I know. Your resume says you have extensive experience working with your grandfather on energy work including something called pulling pain."
He nodded. "Most of my life. I can take the pain from people or animals. You put it in water."
She nodded, her expression blank. He took a peek at her colors. They were hectic—a moving stew of blues, purples, oranges, and grays. This woman had a lot on her plate. The colors didn't tell him anything about what she was thinking, though.
She sighed and sat back. "The problem is, without certification, I only have your word for it."
"But you can get them certifications just by payin' money and sittin' in class, can't you? Don't mean you're a born healer."
She frowned. "Well, one assumes there is a level of competence expected— demonstrated —before a certificate is given. Moreover, you don't have any past work references I can check either."
His heart sank and his skin burned with shame. It was true. And why should she believe him? She didn't know him from Adam. "Sorry. Sorry for wastin' your time." He stood up. This had been an awful idea. He was nothing in this English world. Nothing and no one.
"Wait."
He stood there, breathing hard and looking at the floor.
"I am not… unsympathetic to your circumstances. And, I admit, I am a little intrigued. I wonder—would you be willing to demonstrate with a patient?"
He looked at her in surprise. "Now?"
She nodded, her expression grim. "We normally don't have hospice patients in the hospital. Hospice is meant to be done in the home. But one of our patients was admitted last night. He's very, very agitated. His wife could no longer handle him. He's in his last days. It's cancer." She leaned forward. "Would you be willing to meet him and see if there's anything you can do for him? Bear in mind, our goal in hospice is not to make patients well again. It's simply to ease their suffering so they can have as gentle a death as possible."
Elijah's pulse throbbed in his neck as his heart surged up. He knew that feeling, in no uncertain terms. His body was telling him: Yes! Yes, this . He nodded. "Sure. If I can help so, I'd be glad."
She stood up. "Okay. This is very unconventional, but I can't think of any other way we can proceed. Come with me."
She walked around her desk to the door, and he followed.
Out in the hallway, he glanced at Jolie. He gave her a shrug to say he didn't know what was going on himself.
He followed Mrs. Price to the elevators and up two floors. She briskly led him down a hallway past patient rooms. She spoke quietly to him. "His name is John. Like I said, he's very agitated and was up all night. The nurses had to restrain him because he refused to stay in bed. We've tried morphine, but it hasn't made a dent. We can only give him so much without killing him, and that's not our purview."
Her description sparked a distant bell. Elijah recalled a time he'd seen a woman laboring to give birth. Normally he and grandfather didn't handle such cases, midwives did. But they'd been called in on a few where the woman was in trouble. The woman Elijah was thinking of had paced like a high-strung horse in a stall, unable to keep still for more than a few seconds, forced to move and to move and to move, as if the body thought it could escape the pain, or maybe the movement lessened the pain a fraction, and that fraction was craved like the next breath of air.
He'd seen a dying farmer do the same once, pacing and pacing, and he figured it was the same cause: the body needing movement to ease its labor—in that case, it was the labor of dying just as the woman had labored in birth.
He heard the yelling before they reached the door. Mrs. Price opened the heavy door and held it open for him, standing back. She looked unsure now, like she was having second thoughts.
He didn't give her time to change her mind; he stepped inside the room. In the bed was a man in his 50's. He was rail thin, sallow, with hollow cheeks. He was out of his head, cursing a blue streak at a young nurse who was filling out something on his chart. His arms were strapped to the rails of the bed and his feet spread and strapped to the foot of the bed. His body thrashed, straining against the restraints. "No! No! Lemme go, lemme go, lemme go!" His voice was hoarse from shouting.
Mrs. Price touched Elijah's arm, drawing his attention. She frowned. "I'm sorry. I know this is a lot. I understand if you don't want to—"
"It's okay," Elijah said.
As he walked forward to the bed, he felt peace descend upon him—heavy, like a wool blanket. And he was grateful for all the dark rooms and scary situations he'd walked into with Dawdi over the years. However bad things had looked, Dawdi was in charge and was responsible, a rock to lean on. Dawdi had always been unemotional and always knew what to do. He could handle anything.
Today, it was just Elijah. And that was scary. But at the same time, he knew he was going to be okay. His heart opened to compassion for the man. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. John looked at him, his eyes unfocused. "Help me!" he said, shaking his arm to indicate the restraints. "Help me, help me, help me, help me. Momma please!"
"It's okay. I'll help you," Elijah said.
He put a hand on the man's arm just above the restraint and closed his eyes.
By some grace, he was able to shut out the beeps of the machines, the man's curses, and the fact that he was under scrutiny. He felt into the darkness around the man. It was like a hail of thumbtacks in the air, biting Elijah's soul. He ignored the discomfort and sought the source of the darkness. He didn't sense pain. The body might be racked with pain, but John's mind had already detached from it. That's not what was causing his agitation. It was… fear. John was terrified of dying. Things he'd done in the past were coming up to sting him with scorpion's tails. Regrets. Guilt. Unfinished business. Failed and abandoned goals. But it all came down to one thing: fear. Fear that it hadn't meant anything. Fear that there was nothing more.
Elijah breathed in deeply, letting go of the dark feelings. He focused again on the blanket of peace and light. The peace grew thicker, syrupy, and enveloped him all over. He called down the light through the top of his head and prayed silently for divine help and intercession, repeating the German words from his prayerbook. The light coming through him grew brighter, and he sent it flowing into the man, sending it out in thick pulses. He visualized covering the man with it, surrounding him, like a fly in amber.
He had a niggle of a thought that he should demonstrate pulling pain. That's what had impressed Jolie, and he wanted to impress Mrs. Price. But that was a distant ping. This wasn't about impressing someone. This was about helping John, and that wasn't what John needed. The darkness around him surrendered to the light and began to fade.
"There is only love," he found himself chanting in his mind. "There is only love."
Sometime later, his ears buzzed with white noise, and he felt a sense of depletion. He opened his eyes. John was deeply asleep in the bed. His mouth hung open in the manner of those who are very close to passing. Elijah removed his hand. His arm felt heavy to lift.
Someone touched his shoulder. Elijah looked up at Mrs. Price, getting his bearings again. She motioned with her head. Come on.
Elijah followed her into the hall. She stared at him, and he suddenly felt awkward. Was she afraid of him now? Had he done too much? He crossed his arms over his stomach. "I think it helped," he said awkwardly.
She choked on a laugh, then shook her head. "Yes. Understatement. I… well, that was remarkable. No one else was able to…." She paused and closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at him curiously. "Do you truly want this job, Elijah? There'll be more of that. And more of other things that aren't so pretty. Most people want to run the other way. It's a calling to work in hospice."
"I want it," he said honestly, and the answer throbbed hard in his throat. Yes, Yes! "More than anythin'."
For the first time, he had a glimpse of his future, of the work he was meant to do. If he could help people like that, as a job ? It would be the greatest privilege and blessing in the world. The sun broke blazing in his heart.
"Well then," she nodded with a determined look. "Looks like we'll be the first hospice in the country with an Amish braucher. It's just part-time to start, and we'll see how it goes. But… congratulations and welcome."
She held out her hand and he shook it. He could hardly believe his ears. It was like everything that had ever happened in his life had led up to this moment, and he was so grateful he wanted to cry.
He was a healer! His life had truly begun.