completely alone. The noises about her ceased and outward awareness faded with the deep prevailing pain in her womb.
The wail of a siren jolted her nerves, and gradually she gave in to the attentive urgings of those around her. Relax . . . rest . . . please rest. . . .
She sensed that she was weakening, letting go—surrendering to the tremendous pain. And fear so black and ferocious, such as she had never known.
In the hours following the accident, Rachel was unable to divide reality from haunting impressions. She knew only one thing: Her parents were near, along with several of her brothers and sisters and their spouses. Her semiprivate room at Community Hospital was lovingly cushioned with Plain folk, close relatives with concern stamped on each face.
Suffering the ill effects of her miscarriage, Rachel was finally able to speak the burning question in her mind. “Where are Jacob . . . and Aaron and Annie?”
Her parents stood on either side of the bed, their faces grim. “Annie’s doin’ fine,” her father said. “Her right arm is broken and there are bruises, but she will be all right.”
“What about Jacob and Aaron?” came her frightened reply.
Such a look passed between Mam and Dat that panic seized her, and she thought she might faint. “I must know about my family!”
When neither parent responded immediately, she felt something rise up in her. Something strong and defensive. “Please tell me what happened. I must know everything ,” she pleaded.
Their pallid faces told the dreadful truth. “I’m sorry, my precious daughter,” Dat said at last.
“You don’t mean . . .” She paused, trying to breathe enough to speak. “Jacob isn’t . . .” She simply could not voice the impossible word. “Is Aaron . . . ?”
Mamma nodded slowly, eyes glistening. “Jacob and Aaron died in the accident.”
“It’s a miracle of God that Annie is alive,” added Dat, his voice sounding strangely stiff.
Mam took Rachel’s hand in her own. “We’ll stay right here with you, till you’re released to go home.”
Home . . .
Rachel moaned; her whole body shook. Home could never be the same for her. Not without Jacob and Aaron. Overcome with grief, she closed her eyes, blocking out her mother’s somber face. Mam’s words were compassionate and true, yet Rachel could not comprehend a single one.
Jacob . . . Aaron dead? How can this be?
Her head throbbed with the truth, like a cumbersome weight against the long, flat hospital pillow. How it pained her to lean back. No matter what she did, her head ached, and her heart anguished for her dear ones. She wished she might’ve held her sweet little Aaron as he lay suffering on the road. It plagued her that he had died alone at the accident scene, that he might’ve called out for her—“Mamma, oh, Mamma, I’m hurt awful bad!”—or worse, that he could not utter her name at all.
She placed her hands on her womb, her flat, lifeless womb, longing for her unborn child as well.
More than anything, she wished to join her husband, her son, and their tiniest little one in heaven. Life without Jacob would be ever so lonely. Unbearable. Life on this earth without her darling boy would be intolerable. How could she face the years ahead? How could she bear the pain, missing them so?
Someone wearing white floated into the room, and although Rachel assumed it was the nurse coming with a sedative, a blanket of numbness fell over her before she ever felt the needle penetrate her skin.
Esther and her husband arrived the next afternoon. They had hired a Mennonite van driver to rush them from Holmes County to Lancaster. In the space of half a day, they’d come.
The reunion was a tearful one, and Rachel repeatedly searched Esther’s dewy brown eyes, taking in the familiar rosy cheeks and the oval shape of her cousin’s face. Esther had worn her best blue cape dress for the occasion, though her black apron was a bit wrinkled from the trip. “You’ll need