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persuaded. Alone with her, maybe Rebecca might talk a little more freely. Surely she knew something about what had worried Esther in recent weeks.
“This is gut,” Rebecca said. Clasping Libby’s hand, she placed it over Esther’s. “Maybe she will know that it is you, ain’t so?”
She nodded. Esther’s hand was slack under hers, limp and almost lifeless.
When they were children, they’d run everywhere holding hands. Laughing. After all these years, they were still so close. Each time she came home, she and Esther picked up again exactly where they’d left off, as if they hadn’t been apart.
“She will open her eyes and look at us,” Rebecca said. “Maybe not today, but soon.”
Did Rebecca realize how serious Esther’s condition was? Probably. She was a realist who took things as they came, like most Amish.
“Has the doctor been in again since I left?”
Rebecca shook her head. “But the nurse is very kind.”
“That’s fine.” But she couldn’t help wanting to hear an analysis from the doctor. “Before I forget, my mother said to tell you she’ll be here a bit later today.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears. “Geneva is a gut friend. Everyone has been ser kind, offering rides, saying they’ll watch the kinder so Mary Ann can be here, bringing food.”
“Everyone loves Esther. And you. They want to help.”
Rebecca nodded. She looked at her daughter, and her lips pressed together.
Libby knew what she was thinking. She was wondering if Esther would ever know how much people cared about her.
She clasped Rebecca’s hand. “She’ll get well. She will.” Was she assuring Rebecca or herself?
“It will be as God wills,” Rebecca said softly. “But it can’t be wrong to hope God wills her to stay with us awhile longer, ain’t so?”
The door swung open. The doctor who entered was the same one who’d stopped by earlier—not the surgeon, the one who’d shown his surprise that Esther was still alive. Dr. C. Bardo, according to his name badge.
Libby found herself stiffening. If he didn’t manage to be a bit more tactful this time…
“Well, let’s see how we’re doing.” He consulted the chart, checked the machines, looking everywhere, it seemed, but at the patient. Rebecca followed his every movement, her gaze painful in its intensity.
He made a notation on the chart and then turned as if to leave.
Libby stood. “How is Esther doing, Dr. Bardo?”
Her crisp voice halted him. He looked from her to Rebecca, as if measuring what to say to them. Or maybe how much they could handle.
“The patient is fairly stable at the moment.” He frowned, seeming to search for the right words. “Does she…” He nodded toward Rebecca. “Does she understand what I’m saying?”
Libby took a strong hold on her temper. “Of course Mrs. Zook understands. Please tell us how her daughter is.”
“Sorry.” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure. The injuries are serious. Very serious. Frankly, we weren’t sure the patient would survive the night.”
“Esther,” she said clearly. “Her name is Esther.”
“Yes, right.” He spoke quickly. “Head injuries are tricky things. I’m sure her…Esther’s…surgeon will stop by later today, and he’ll be able to explain it more thoroughly. Simply put, we’re doing everything we can. She’s in a medically induced coma to give her brain time to heal. Beyond that—well, no one can say how much she might recover.”
“I see. Thank you for telling us.” Should she have pressed him? But Rebecca wanted the truth.
“I wish we had better news for you.” He was already halfway out the door. This time, Libby let him go.
She sank down in the chair next to Rebecca. “Doctors don’t know everything,” she said. “And he certainly doesn’t know what a strong person Esther is.”
“Ja, that is true.” Rebecca looked at her daughter, love in her eyes. “Denke, Libby. For making him tell us. It is better to know what they are thinking. And