watched the activity impatiently. “Once we have it braced so it can’t fall back, we’ll try pulling it off her.”
A boy of about fifteen came racing down the road with a pair of enormous gray horses trotting at his heels. Sunlight gleamed off their shiny flanks as their powerful muscles rippled beneath their hides. They made a breathtaking sight.
The boy quickly backed them into position. They stood perfectly still as they waited for their harnesses to be hooked to the wagon. Feeling dwarfed by the massive animals, Phillip decided a tractor wouldn’t be necessary.
He turned back to Mrs. Nissley just as Amber was once again working herself under the broken vehicle, this time with her bag. He caught her foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Her voice was muffled. “Once the weight comes off her leg, someone has to put pressure on that gash. It’s oozing bright red blood.”
“You think it’s a severed artery?”
“I do.”
He didn’t like the danger she was putting herself in. He let go of her ankle because he knew she was right. The weight of the wagon on Martha might be stemming the flow of blood. Once it came off, she could bleed out rapidly.
Mr. Nissley alternated between speaking comforting words to his wife, directing the men making braces and instructing his son on the best way to attach the horses to the rig.
In less than five minutes, they were ready. Mr. Nissley spoke briefly to his wife, then took the reins from his son.
The boy said, “I can do it, Papa?”
“Nee, das ist für mich zu tun.”
Phillip looked at Mrs. Nissley for an explanation. “He said, ‘This is for me to do.’ If it falls back, he doesn’t want my son blaming himself.”
Another man called the boy over to help with the braces. Mr. Nissley coaxed the big horses forward. The wagon creaked ominously but lifted a few inches. The men standing by instantly moved in with the fence boards to prop it up. Squatting beside Amber’s feet, Phillip prepared to drag her out of harm’s way if need be.
The wagon inched upward with painful slowness, but finally Martha was free. Amber was already staunching the flow of blood with a heavy pad as the team dragged the broken wagon across the road. Phillip rushed to help secure the pad with a heavy elastic bandage. Amber was right. It was arterial blood. Martha would have bled to death if they’d delayed any longer.
The Amish woman was conscious but pale. Phillip said to Amber, “What supplies have you got in your bag?”
“IV supplies, pain medication, sterile drapes, suture, anything you’d need for a regular delivery. I’m going to start an eighteen gauge IV with Ringer’s Lactate.”
“Once that’s done give her a bolus of morphine if you’ve got it. Martha, are you allergic to any medications?” “Nee.”
All color was gone from her cheeks and her breathing was shallow. Phillip’s concern spiked. She was going into shock.
“Amber, hurry with that IV.”
“Should we try and turn her over?” Amber asked as she rapidly assembled her equipment, donned gloves and started prepping Martha’s arm for the needle.
“I’d rather wait for EMS and their backboard.” Phillip grabbed his stethoscope from his bag and listened to Martha’s lungs through her back. They were clear of fluid. One thing in her favor.
Amber slipped the IV line in and started the fluids. Gesturing to one of the men nearby, she gave him the bag to hold.
After handing over the reins of his horses to his son, Mr. Nissley returned to his wife’s side. Once there, he sat beside her and simply held her hand without saying a word.
Relief ripped through Phillip when he heard the sound of a siren in the distance.
Within minutes, the ambulance arrived on the scene, followed by a sheriff’s department cruiser. Standing beside Amber, Phillip felt her grasp his hand as they loaded Mrs. Nissley aboard.
Louis jumped out of Phillip’s SUV and raced to his mother’s side. She patted his head and told him not to worry. One of his sisters took his hand and coaxed him away. Mr. Nissley climbed in beside Martha. Soon they were on their way to the hospital in Millersburg, red lights flashing.
Together, Phillip and Amber watched the vehicle disappear in the distance. As the adrenaline drained away, Phillip grew shaky. Looking down, he noticed Amber still gripped his hand.
Following Phillip’s gaze, Amber realized her fingers were entwined with his. Suddenly, she became aware of the warmth traveling up her arm from where they touched. It spread through her body in waves and made her skin tingle like a charge of static electricity.
Their eyes met. An intense awareness rippled around them. Her breath froze in her chest. Her eyes roved over his face, soaking in every detail and committing it to memory.
Sweat trickled down his cheek. His hair was mussed, his clothes dirty. None of that diminished the attraction drawing her to him.
Behind her, someone spoke and a discussion about where to take the wagon broke out. She let go of Phillip’s hand and wrapped her arms across her chest. It had to be the adrenaline ebb. Holding his hand surely wasn’t making her weak in the knees, right?
He said, “I should follow them to the hospital. She’s my patient, after all.”
Amber struggled to get herself together. “We’ll need to make arrangements for the family to travel there, too.”
Phillip reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Who shall I call?”
“Samson Carter has a van service.” She gave him the number and after someone answered, he handed the phone to the oldest Nissley boy. When the boy was finished with the call, he handed the phone back and then gave instructions to his younger brothers and sisters. Already, the neighbors who had come to help were busy repairing the fence. The sheriff was interviewing them.
“Will these kids be all right?” Phillip asked quietly as they made their way toward his SUV.
Walking beside him, Amber nodded. “Yes. Word will spread quickly, and they will be smothered with help. Men will come to do the chores and women will come to take charge of the house. An Amish family never has to worry about what will happen to them in an emergency. It’s a given that everyone in the Church will rally around them.”
“That’s good to know. Martha shouldn’t have been driving that big wagon with her arm in a splint.”
“She wasn’t driving. Her son was.”
“That little one who ran to our clinic?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t his fault. Some teenage boys driving by in a pickup threw firecrackers under the wagon and spooked the horses.”
He stopped. “Does the officer know that?”
Amber glanced over her shoulder. “I doubt it. They won’t talk to the authorities about it.
