Amish Friendship Bread--Sarah by Ruth Price

Author:Ruth Price
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Global Grafx Press

12

Over the protests of the other adults, Fannie went with Waneta to the hospital. She couldn’t stand to leave her sister alone, some part of her fearing that if Waneta went alone to the hospital, Fannie might never see her older sister again. Mr. Lapp had offered, rather strenuously, to join them, but Waneta insisted that she would be fine. Fannie stayed at her sister’s side for the long taxi ride to the hospital Emergency Room.

While Fannie had had all her yearly checkups with the local doctor who served their community--a straight-backed elderly Amish man turned Mennonite, who spoke in soft, friendly Pennsylvania Dutch and reinforced his diagnosis with common adages that reminded Fannie vaguely of her grandmother who had died when Fannie was just four--she’d never been to a true Englischer hospital before. An ambulance had arrived just as their taxi had dropped them at the main entrance, all flashing red urgency and noise. Passing through an automatic roundabout, similar to the automatic doors of the Target where her mamm sometimes took them to shop for bulk items, Fannie felt like a horse being pushed through a chute. Inside was quieter at least, a sprawling room of shining white, broken only by the sharp angles of the wooden reception desk. The light seemed too sharp and steady to be healthful, the floors shiny white swirled with gray and smelling of antiseptic.

Waneta walked to the reception desk, Fannie a step behind her. The receptionist was a brown-skinned woman with glasses balanced precariously on her wide, flat nose. “Gut-en-owen,” she said in poorly accented Pennsylvania Dutch.

Fannie’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “You speak our language?” she said in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“Glee,” the receptionist said, holding two fingers to indicate a small amount. She switched to English. “One of my neighbors is Amish,” she explained. “So I picked up a few words.” Her gaze skimmed over the pair of them, resting on Waneta, still holding her hand to her chest where she’d wrapped it in the sleeve of Jeb’s coat. “Did you hurt your hand?”

Waneta nodded. Fannie said, “She did, on the buggy. It’s cut and will need stitches, that’s what Mrs. Troyer said. And to update her tetanus.”

“Your Mrs. Troyer seems like a bright woman. How old are you, Miss?”

“Bechler.” Waneta said. “Waneta Bechler.”

“That’s lovely, Miss. Bechler. Why don’t you give me your name and address? No phone I suppose…and someone will call you back to be admitted.” The receptionist smiled, her teeth glinting white against the deep purple of her lipstick.

“Danki,” Fannie said.

They sat. On the wall in front of them, an Englischer television showing what looked like some kind of complex metal contraption for lifting weights. An overly excited Englischer man who was embarrassingly stripped down to a form fitting pair of black shorts and a t-shirt that hugged his chest and bared shockingly muscular arms, pointed at the machine and while the screen flashed, “Seventeen minutes a day!”

Fannie averted her gaze, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle her laughter.

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