CHAPTER 16
C HAPTER 16
M ARGARET STAYED TO THE LEFT, THE SIGN ENGRAVED IN HER mind, although she longed to tug on the right rein for a view of the river.
She heard the ring of hooves on rock behind her, turned to tell Rebecca to take it slowly, when the undergrowth parted and the round eyes of a startled black bear emerged. Like lightning, Margaret’s horse snorted and shied sideways, leaving her with the sickening despair of having no control over a panicked mount. She was vaguely aware of the sensation of loose rock and crumbling soil.
She clung to the saddle horn for only a second before her feet were ripped from the stirrups, her body thrown into space. A terrified scream from the horse, the knowledge she was falling, falling, then a gut-wrenching impact and a blinding explosion of pain. She opened her eys in time to see her horse’s descent, an awful scene of rocks, dirt, broken branches as the force of gravity pulled him to the rock below.
She heard Rebecca scream, but since there was no air in her lungs, she couldn’t respond. Movement was an impossibility as pain ripped through her body.
She wondered briefly if she was going to die, lying here like a broken doll, barely able to suck in life-giving air. She tried lifting an arm, a signal to tell Rebecca she was alright, but the tiniest amount of effort ignited a roar of hot agony.
She had to stay still. Rebecca was there, had seen her fall. She’d figure something out.
Taking small sips of air, she stayed conscious, determined to stay aware of her surroundings. The brown water lapped at rocks, her feet likely inches from the edge. She rolled her eyes to the right, wondering how long the water would continue to rise after yesterday’s rain.
She began to shiver and became aware of a stickiness on her forehead before the sight in her left eye was obliterated by an approaching wetness, and she knew her head was bleeding.
She tried to move her foot, her hand, but there was absolutely nothing. An anguish unlike anything she’d ever experienced sliced through her. A hoarse cry emerged from her mouth, a primal call for survival, a beggarly cry of desperation.
Not paralysis , her mind wailed. Please.
The please was directed to God, the only One who could do anything about this situation. But she felt as if she was begging from a stranger who didn’t know her, had never seen her.
Oh God, help me .
The air was so damp and chilly, the wind so harsh. She was cold, shivering, the rocks below her unforgiving. Her head rested on a tuft of river grass. She heard heavy breathing, loud grunts, then bellows of pain as the horse struggled to regain his footing.
So, he was alive?
Her tongue was swelling, her mouth dry. A drink of cool water would be soothing, she thought, as wave after wave of burning pain surged through her side. It hurt to breathe. The sun was warm enough on her face, but why couldn’t she feel it on her body?
God, if you hear me, have mercy. Don’t condemn me to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. You wouldn’t be that mean, would you? But you never know what God was going to do—that was the thing.
Where was Rebecca? How would she find her way down? The cellphone was back at the cabin. There was no service anyway, so they hadn’t seen any reason to bring it.
She wasn’t sure she could stay conscious much longer. The spinning void seemed to be sucking her in. Rebecca, please.
Suddenly, she was aware of discomfort, cold and wet, on her right foot, then the calf of her leg. She was not paralyzed. She could feel the cold, wet river lapping at her. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears, but they came through anyway.
For real, God in Heaven, thank you.
Where was Rebecca? Come on.
The river continued to rise, inch by inch, climbing to her knees.
She became aware of a whole other danger, that of being drowned, slowly, excruciatingly, by creeping brown water.
I have to move. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut with the effort, but an electrifying pain shot from her neck to her feet, disabling her completely. She tried moving her fingers, her hand, resulting in the least bit of movement coupled with searing pain.
She cried, she begged hoarsely, her throat clogged with sound. She felt as if she was roaring, but there was no sound. The cold water reached her thighs, and she shivered uncontrollably. Hysterics built up like shrieking demons taunting her.
I can’t lie here. I have to get out.
Again, she tried turning her body, twisting it, creeping away from encroaching water. Rebecca, where are you? She must have gone for help, but how long would that take?
She heard hooves on stone for a moment, but her hope faded as the sound disappeared. Had the horse wandered away, or merely gotten to his feet? Would he stay, or was she going to be entirely alone? She had no way of knowing.
I have to get out. The water reached her hips now, excruciating, wet and cold. She could smell the mud, the silt, that fishy scent of a river in spring. It was a creeping enemy now, perfectly capable of snuffing her life out like a blown candle.
I don’t want to die. I don’t think I’m ready. What will happen to me? I barely know who God is.
Despair took her breath away, and she knew in that moment that drowning was imminent. If only she could take a deep breath, perhaps she could muster more strength.
She’d always been determined, strong-willed, fighting her way through life. Surely she could draw on that strength now. With every ounce of willpower, she tried to suck in more oxygen, but knew defeat immediately. She allowed tears to flow down icy cheeks.
She was aware of thirst now. A deep longing for water, any water, even the muddy river water lapping at her waist now, moving past with no beginning or end in sight.
She thought of her parents, and imagining their shock and sorrow brought a whole new element of pain. She felt remorse at her own selfishness, the sadness she had caused them.
Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.
It was when the water crept up to her chest that she began to let go. She’d heard somewhere drowning was not unpleasant, perhaps like falling asleep. When the time came, she’d simply give in to it. She noticed shadows on gray-brown, pockmarked rock, and knew the afternoon was wearing down. Would they find her body? Likely they would.
She heard voices, but thought she was only hallucinating, imagining things. She heard a question. An answer.
Could it be Rebecca?
She called out frantically, desperately, but the only sound was a hoarse croak. She tried to move one hand across the rock.
She heard a change in the water. A slopping, like hands in dishwater, then a distinct call. More splashing.
“Hey! Hey, you! There.”
“It is someone.”
There was a dark figure above her, then another.
“Hey, you awake? My God. It’s a girl. The river’s closing in. Honey, can you talk?”
A face above her, jowly, gray-bearded, frightened eyes behind steel-rimmed glasses, a camouflage shirt.
“Yes . . .” But her voice was a croaking whisper.
Clearly shook up, the man discussed the predicament with his companion. He’d been taught never to move an injured person, but if they didn’t, the river would claim her. Margaret lay in a state of gratefulness for being found, a calm she would never be able to describe.
Again, the faces above her.
“Listen, honey, we’re going to have to get you out. I have no idea where you’re hurt, so we’ll do our best. If we don’t, you won’t survive. Does anyone know where you are?”
She nodded slightly.
“You think there’s help on the way?”
She croaked again. They bent to hear. The water rose slightly on her back.
“Okay, Gary. We’re gonna have to do it. Gently now. You go under one arm, and I’ll take the other. Easy. Look, this is gonna hurt, but do the best you can. Here we go, honey.”
The kindness in his voice created weak tears. She gritted her teeth, then heard a horrible sound as the pain tore through her body, and a merciful blackness held her in its powerful grip.
S HE AWOKE TO humming voices, radios crackling, medics, stretcher. Blankets. Needles in her arms. She gathered that she’d been carried out somehow. The pain was more distant now, and she saw Rebecca, white-faced, crying.
Doors closing, lights above her. An engine starting, followed by the wail of an ambulance.
When she awoke the second time, there was morning light through a window with slatted blinds, a series of beeps and clicks above her head. She tried turning her head to see if anyone was in the room and found her mother and father, both asleep in chairs, a sight she would always carry in her memory.
“Mom?” Only a whisper, but she tried again. Instantly, Mary’s eyes flew open. She leapt to her feet, hurried to her bedside.
“Margaret. Oh, Margaret.”
Mary broke down, racked with heartfelt sobs. Steve was beside Mary then, an arm about Mary’s shoulders, his own eyes filled and spilling over with tears, overwhelmed by the powerful emotions wracking him.
“You almost died,” her mother managed after a length of time when her mouth wobbled too much for one coherent word to escape.
“Am I okay now?” Margaret choked out.
“You broke all the ribs on one side of your body,” her dad answered. “Punctured your lungs and crushed a vertebra in the middle of your back. You were in surgery for most of the evening.”
Her mother took a deep breath to steady herself. She smiled and bent over the rail of the bed to kiss her cheek. She put a hand to Margaret’s forehead, smoothing her hair, as if she were a small child again.
“How did I get out?” Margaret whispered.
“Well, two fishermen found you. They would have glided right past if it hadn’t been for the white scarf on your head. One of them spied it, thought it was snow, then looked again. A few hours longer and I’m not sure you would have survived. Rebecca was very level-headed. Knowing time was important, she took off to get help. But on the way there, she was ripping downhill as fast as she could go, when her horse fell, throwing her. The horse took off, so she ran the remainder of the way.
“She directed the medics, amazed to find the fishermen. All this took time, of course, so I can’t even think of what might have happened had God not sent the men in the boat. And now listen to this. They’d gone fishing, weren’t counting on the river being that high, decided to go back home without even unloading the boat, but Gary, the older one said, ah, they’re here now, let’s check out where the river forms an eddy there below the cliff on state game lands. And there you were, half-drowned and helpless.”
Fresh tears spilled onto Mary’s cheeks. A hand went to Margaret’s shoulders, rubbing, assuring herself she was warm, alive.
For a long moment, Margaret stared unseeing, then slowly began to talk in a hoarse whisper, gaining strength as her voice was put into use.
“I was cold. That river water was horrible. I tried so hard to get myself away from it. Out of it.”
She swallowed, pursed her lips to keep from crying. “Was Rebecca hurt?”
“Just bruised. She’s at home with the boys. They’ll be in tomorrow after school.”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in Johnstown. A hospital.”
“How long?”
“We have no idea.”
“The horse?”
“He had to be put down. Broken leg, which is doom for a horse. But the touching part is, he stood there, waiting a few yards from you, as loyal as you’ve ever seen a creature.”
“And Rebecca’s?”
“He’s fine.”
“Good.” Margaret sighed. A great weariness overtook her, and she slept.
W HEN THE DAY finally came for her release, she was wheeled into the late spring sunshine, birdsong, and peonies.
Margaret breathed the scent of freshly mown grass as deeply as possible, her lung that had been punctured still restricting her intake significantly. She understood gratitude at a whole new level.
Rebecca was beside her, helping her into the car. The discomfort of the ride was far more than she’d anticipated, but the sight of home was pure relief.
Logan and Chris, for once in their life, were quiet, standing in awe of the sister who lived through an ordeal like that.
Margaret’s friends came to visit, brought flowers, gifts, cards, and listened wide-eyed as Margaret told her story.
Then, on an evening in June, when she was back on her feet, but still not back to work or spending weekends with her friends, there was a knock on the door, just as the light was fading from the sky. Margaret shuffled slowly to open it, her parents having gone to a school meeting, the boys on a camping trip with their cousins.
“Oh, it’s you.”
It was none other than Ivan Stoltzfus himself, looking more handsome than ever, his dark hair outlined in the sinking light as the sun disappeared.
‘Yes, it is. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
She stepped aside, but clung to the opened door, her eyes on his face, questioning. He didn’t look at her, just walked inside, looked around, commented on the many vases of flowers.
“Your parents home?”
“Actually, they’re at a school meeting.”
“Good. Then we can relax. So how are you? Heard about it.” He sat on the couch, smoothed his jeans over his thighs, adjusted the collar of his shirt, flicked an imaginary hair off his forehead, and looked out the window. He cleared his throat, clenched and unclenched his hands. “Must have been pretty bad.”
“It was.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“With you? Ivan, you know I talk about every single thing in my life. I have to, and I actually think that’s healthy. But not with you, not anymore. You broke up with me because you thought I was crazy, remember?”
“I never said that.”
“Pretty much. You never said much of anything, if we’re being honest, but we both know the truth.”
“Margaret, I came here to say, I thought maybe we could patch things up and start over again. I regret some things and would like to work on them.”
“What do you regret?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Some stuff I did.”
“What stuff?”
“Just . . .”
“Go ahead.”
“You know it’s always hard for me to find the right words.”
“Well, I can only guess then, but I’ll tell you what I regret. I regret mistaking all the makeout sessions in your car for actual love. I really let myself believe you loved me, but it’s so clear to me now that love takes a deeper connection, an emotional and spiritual one, a meeting of hearts. And I’m not settling for anything less than that.”
She barely heard the words then.
“Well, hopefully, you’ll find that with me.”
“I doubt very much if that’s possible.”
“Will you give me another chance?”
“You, know, I never felt very close to God, but He turned that boat in my direction, so I figure He cares an awful lot about me and wants me to live my best life. And not just for myself, but for Him.”
“Oh, so now you’re all goody-two-shoes, all born again and ready to rumble.”
She saw his sneer, heard his mocking tone, and decided it was better not to reply.
“See? You don’t know what to say to that, either.”
Margaret sighed, her shoulders slumped. “Yes. I know what to say, but there’s no use saying it. We truly do not love or respect each other. Never did, never will. I have come a long way in a short span of time, but that, too, is only by the grace of God.”
“Give me a break,” he said, as if to himself.
“I think it’s best if you go now,” she said evenly.
“You know what? There are plenty of girls out there who are normal, who don’t overthink and overanalyze every single thing, and who aren’t so full of themselves.”
“Then you’ll have to go find one, I suppose.”
“I will,” he ground out, leaving the house without looking back.
Why was she weeping, then, wiping silent tears as he drove slowly down the curving driveway? It was sad, in a way, but sadder still would be their pathetic union, she knew. No, it was better this way, much better.
B Y LATE SUMMER , she had experienced a dramatic healing. Her back fused miraculously, ribs and lung healed, and the scar on her head was already disappearing. She had gone back to work, but Elmer Lapp allowed her more than her share of breaks, reminding her often not to push herself too hard.
She often wondered why God allowed that fateful weekend, but her mother told her you could never understand God’s ways, that it wasn’t Biblical to think human beings could or should. “We live by faith,” she said.
And Mary often watched Margaret go about her life, a still, peaceful version of the former hothead. It was a wonder, but sometimes that was the way when one was born again, born of the spirit, that great mystery Jesus explained to Nicodemus.
She knew, then, when she saw her daughter swinging on the porch swing with Logan, laughing, smiling, asking questions, reaching over to pat his hair, bending down to stroke the cat as she purred against her leg, that it was the work of the Holy Spirit in Margaret’s heart.
Mary sang praises with her hands in the dishwater, she sang praises as she hung towels on the line, and knew she was unworthy of the goodness God had bestowed on her time after time. She spread this newfound happiness by planning a quilting for the church women, then donating the quilt to the school.