When he was a boy about Jonah’s age, Caleb used to loiter around the village phone box, hoping against hope to hear the phone ring and his mother’s voice on the other end. Hoping she would explain why she had walked away from him and his older brother, John, never to return.

Of course, it never rang. Caleb had tried to find her name in the phone book, a slender paperbound directory with scenic pictures of the Poconos on the cover. He remembered sitting on the floor of the small shelter and methodically reading every name in the book, searching for Jenny Stoltz or Jenny Fisher, her maiden name. Finally, John had come along and explained that the book only listed folks who had their own telephones.

“Mem could be a million miles away,” John had explained. He was seven years older than Caleb, and he knew things. “You won’t find her name in any book around here.”

Some time afterward, Caleb recalled, John had made the big leap, determined to end his life by jumping off the hanging bridge at Stony Gorge. Until that day, no one had understood the terrible demons that haunted John, tormenting him to the point where he wanted to end his life. Caleb hadn’t grasped the connection between their mother’s absence and John’s desperation.

But that day, a miracle had occurred. Despite falling a hundred feet, John had not died. He’d walked away with nothing but bruises and scratches and a broken arm. Folks who witnessed the incident talked about it in hushed and reverent tones.

John himself had been transformed by the fall. A man reborn, no longer an angry rebel, John declared that it was the hand of God above that had saved him. In the time it took for him to fling himself off the swinging bridge, his life had been remade and given back to him. In gratitude, he declared that he was going to spend the rest of his days serving God. And he set himself to the task with a devotion that was almost fanatical. He had returned to the community, accepted baptism with a humble heart, married Naomi, and set himself on a new path.

After the kids came along, everyone seemed to feel the bad times were finally behind them. Caleb still thought about his mother, but time dulled the gnawing ache of missing her. He admired the way his brother had put his life back together after that desperate day at Stony Gorge.

Yet Caleb often found himself wondering about the world. He used to daydream about the jet planes soaring overhead or the cars roaring down the highway. In defiance of his father’s edicts, he borrowed books from the county library and read novels about imaginary worlds and far-off places, and people grappling with matters he could only imagine. When he turned sixteen, he knew he needed to go out into the world. His father had forbidden it, of course, but Caleb had been determined.

The thing about being Amish was that kids were not only allowed but encouraged to experience life beyond the confines of the community. There was even a name for it—rumspringa. Running around. Most youngsters came running back to embrace baptism and Plain life. Folks thought Caleb would spend his rumspringa the way most kids did—riding around in cars, smoking tobacco and weed, listening to loud music, going to shopping malls and movies.

Caleb had known he would be one of the small percentage of Amish kids who left for good. He knew he’d never join the church, never marry an Amish girl, never raise a family the way his brother was doing. He was forever yearning, one foot out the door, poised for flight. He wanted to see the ocean one day. Wanted to fly in a plane. To learn the calculus and study science and literature and things of that nature. He wanted to experience the world in all its messy, confusing glory.

Most of all, he wanted distance from his father.

Instead of partying, Caleb spent his time at the library. He learned to use books and computers as sophisticated information systems to find out all he could about anything imaginable.

That was how he’d eventually found his mother. A grueling bus ride had taken him to central Florida, where the air was so hot and muggy he could scarcely breathe. The town was nowhere near the ocean or the Gulf of Mexico, but hunched at the side of a highway that bisected the long, narrow state. His search ended at a street lined with modest houses surrounded by scrubby grass and trees decked with little orange bittersweet fruit called calamondin. He still remembered the expression on her face when she had opened the front door. Complete and utter shock had drained her cheeks of color, then blossomed into wonder.

“John?”

“Caleb,” he said. For the love of God, she couldn’t tell her sons apart.

“Who is it, Mom?” called a voice. A young girl came to the door. She stopped and stared at Caleb. Although he wore English clothes, she stared as if he were an alien from outer space.

Mem leaned her back against the doorframe and tipped back her head, looking up at the sky and then closing her eyes.

He’d scarcely remembered her face. There were no photographs of her. He used to try drawing the image he had of her in his mind, but the picture never turned out. Now he saw Hannah in the curve of her cheek and in the wavy blond hair. He saw Jonah in the bright blue eyes and the busy hands.

She mouthed some words, but no sound came out. Her legs seemed to give out and she slid down to the mat, hugging her knees up to her chest. A dry sob heaved from a place deep inside her, and then the floodgates opened.

He remembered this from his childhood. Mem used to cry a lot. The girl—Caleb later learned her name was Nancy—backed away, her eyes round with fright. “Mom,” she said. “Mommy, what’s the matter?”

“You’d best pull yourself together, Mem,” Caleb said in Deitsch.

Maybe the sound of the old dialect caught her attention. She took in a deep breath and picked herself back up. Caleb pushed open the door. “Let’s go inside.”

He entered the strange house. It had a vinyl floor and shabby furniture, and it smelled of something damp, like mildew. The girl called Nancy sat on a barstool in the corner, and Mem took a seat at the end of the sofa. Caleb stood in the doorway, waiting. He crossed his arms over his chest. “We woke up one morning and you were gone,” he said.

A long silence stretched out. Cool air blew from a vent in the ceiling, a magic wind that turned the hot day cold.

“Nancy, honey, you run along and play outside,” Mem said. “I need to speak with Caleb for a bit.”

The girl’s chin tilted up slightly. “I want to stay.”

Mem regarded her steadily. “Run along,” she repeated. “I’ll speak with you later.”

Nancy hesitated for a beat. Then she climbed off the stool and left. The snap of a screen door punctuated her exit.

Finally, Mem began to talk, and she seemed to talk for hours. “I couldn’t stay. I was drowning—or choking. That’s how it felt, day and night. I couldn’t breathe, living in fear of what Asa would do to me next. I was so young and naive, I didn’t even know what to call the things he did to me.”

Caleb hadn’t known what to say to that. He hadn’t been quite certain of what she meant, although knowing his father’s temper, he had an idea.

“I ran away in the night with nothing,” Mem continued. “Asa had hurt me bad. I thought I might die, but I didn’t. I survived and went off on my own for the first time in my life, and it was awful. But not as awful as staying. At first, I lost the will to live. Wandered out onto a busy highway without a thought for what might happen to me. I was lost. So very lost.” She turned her face to the window and stared outside. “I made a lot of stupid mistakes, but I made my way, bit by bit. Found work here in Florida and started over.”

“It never occurred to you to take care of your own kids?” Caleb asked. “Did you think it was all right to leave us with the same man you ran away from because you were so scared of him?”

She studied him with pale, tear-filled eyes. “There was no way Asa would have let me take you, and staying was impossible. I didn’t have a penny to my name. I knew nothing but Plain ways, and I’d never set foot outside the community. I could only hope you and John would be all right.” She stared at him, her eyes swimming with pain. “Did he … did your father …?”

“You mean, did he beat me? Yah, sure, until John got big enough to stand up to him.”

Their father didn’t seem to have the first idea about how to raise two boys. He’d always been strict and stern, with a fearsome temper, but Caleb had no memory of the terrible things Mem had suffered. However, he had witnessed his father’s fierce outbursts. John bore the brunt of the beatings. Yes, they were beatings, not spankings—with a belt, a shovel, a hacksaw, or any other weapon their father might grab. Caleb used to cower, shivering, under the cellar stairs when his father laid into John. At night, he’d hear his brother sniffing, trying not to make a sound as he wept, because if their father caught wind of crying, the beatings would start again.

One Sunday, Caleb overheard John asking the bishop for help. The bishop said a man was obligated to discipline his family to achieve the peaceable fruit of righteousness.

Later that same day, Caleb raided the apple bin and ate as many apples as his belly could hold. When his father discovered him, Caleb explained that he was tasting the fruit of righteousness. Asa flew into a rage and dragged Caleb out to the yard for a beating. That was when John stepped in, at fifteen already a full hand taller than their father. He planted himself like a wall between Caleb and Asa.

“You’re not to lay a hand on my brother,” John said. “Not today. Not ever. If you’re going to hit anyone today, it’s going to be me.”

Now Caleb’s mother deflated, curled into herself. “John, he was always the protective one. Knew how to stand up to his father. And look at you. How handsome you are. I knew John would look after you, and you would be all right.”

“If that’s what you want to think.”

“You look wonderful,” she said, her gaze devouring him. “It’s a miracle, seeing you again, Caleb. I never thought it would happen, but I dreamed of this day. Why, see how tall and handsome you are, just like John. So confident and smart. How is John doing now?”

“John tried to take his own life,” he told his mother.

She went completely still. “Oh, dear heaven,” she said. “No. No.”

“He jumped off the bridge over Stony Gorge—”

“No,” she said again, a horrified whisper.

“He was seventeen years old. And he didn’t die. He wasn’t even hurt too bad. According to folks who saw it happen, he got up and brushed himself off and walked all the way back to Middle Grove. Dr. Shrock set his broken arm. The only thing he lost was his hat.” And himself, Caleb added silently. After the incident, John was so different. He looked the same—though after the baptism his face had been fringed by a beard. Yet there always seemed to be less of Caleb’s brother. Yes, John had latched onto his faith with a powerful fervor, but he was altered, somehow. Not himself. Almost like a clockwork John, mechanically reciting proverbs from Rules for a Godly Life.

“My poor darling John.” A tear squeezed from Mem’s eye and slipped down her cheek. “He wasn’t hurt. It’s a miracle.”

“He’s married now. He and Naomi have two kids, Hannah and Jonah.”

“I wish I could see him,” said Mem. “And those children …”

“You’re under the Bann,” Caleb said. “Now that he’s in the church, he won’t speak to you. We needed you years ago, and you weren’t there. Eventually, we learned to get along without you.”

She flinched and started to cry again. Caleb looked around the room, dim and chilly with the musty-smelling air blowing in. There were photographs on a shelf of Nancy at different ages, and another shelf with a collection of books of the self-help variety—Survival After Abuse. Change Your Brain, Change Your Life.

Even now, Caleb still flinched at the memory of his father’s face, twisted by fury, and John’s steadfast refusal to budge. If John hadn’t stuck up for his younger brother, maybe Caleb would have been the one teetering on the cable bridge over the gorge, not John. He owed his brother devotion and loyalty. It was a debt he could never repay.

In the mechanical hospital bed, Jonah stirred and opened his eyes wide as he seemed to shake himself awake. His gaze darted immediately to the bandage, then to Caleb. “I wish I still had my arm,” he said.

“So do I,” Caleb told him. “I was just thinking about your dat, my brother, John. He was the bravest, strongest, kindest man in the world, and you’re his flesh and blood. It’s going to be real hard, but you’ll be just like that one day.”

“What if I can’t be brave and strong?”

“You can be. I’ll help you, the way your dat helped me.” Caleb reached out and gently touched Jonah’s head. “And that’s why I will never leave you.”

There was no door on the SICU suite where Jonah lay, just a wide doorway open to the nurses’ station. A nurse was always present at the computer in the suite monitoring everything on the screen. At each shift change, the nurse asked Caleb if he needed anything, if there was anyone he wanted to call, but he always politely declined. He did help himself to a book about snorkeling in the Caribbean, and he read it cover to cover by the dim, artificial light in the room.

He was just about to share some of the pictures with Jonah when Reese Powell showed up. She wore loose blue trousers, a shirt to match, and a hip-length white jacket over that. She carried a number of steel and rubber objects in her many pockets, and when she came into the room, she brought with her something Caleb had not expected: the smell of flowers. Must be the soap she used, he thought, then felt guilty for noticing the way she smelled at all.

“Good morning,” she said. “I came to see how Jonah is doing.”

“He woke up a few minutes ago. He’s waiting for his breakfast.” Caleb’s nephew had awakened in a state of fear and anger. Everything about the hospital was strange and new to him, and he was still struggling to accept the loss of his arm.

She fixed her gaze on Jonah, her eyes soft and friendly. “Hi there, Jonah.”

The boy regarded her with narrow-eyed suspicion as he mumbled, “Morning.”

“I was hoping I would get to meet you,” she said. “My name is Reese Powell. I was working in the emergency ward when you came in. Everyone worked hard for the best outcome.”

“This is not a good outcome,” said Jonah.

“It’s not,” she agreed. “I’m sorry.” She gave Caleb a paper-wrapped parcel. “Your clothes. I had them cleaned for you.”

He studied the label on the parcel—City Wash & Fold—and wondered what she would make of the ancient washtub and hand-crank wringer back at the farm.

Jonah glared at her with uncharacteristic anger. “Reese,” he said in a caustic voice. “That’s not a name. It’s a candy.”

“At least I never got swallowed by a whale,” she shot back.

Caleb stood there, amazed. He was amazed because Jonah had never in his life spoken rudely to a person until now. And he was amazed because Reese didn’t seem to care one bit. And in spite of everything terrible that was happening, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling a glimmer of amusement.

Jonah settled back against the pillow, and Caleb could see his fear go down a notch. “I always liked that story,” he muttered. “Are you a doctor?”

“Almost. I wanted to stop by, because I thought you might have some questions. You’ve got a super-talented care team. I’m not on that team, because I work in a different department, but I can talk with you about your arm if you want.”

“Why is it gone?” asked the boy.

“It was so badly injured. They wanted to save it, but there was too much damage.”

“Where is it?” Jonah asked.

She caught her breath. “Your arm, you mean.”

The boy nodded.

“It—the part that had to come off was taken away.” She shifted her stance and stuck her hands in her coat pockets.

“Taken away where?” Jonah persisted.

“I don’t know the exact location, but the hospital has a special way to take care of it.”

“What’s the special way?”

“Well, there are rules. It had to be incinerated and then disposed of. That probably sounds horrible.”

“We incinerate the trash back home.”

“Your arm wasn’t trash, Jonah.”

“I wish I had my hand back.”

“We all wish that. Now you have to work with what you’ve got. You’ll get what’s called a prosthetic arm and hand. Maybe more than one, depending on what you need. It’s going to take a while, because there are lots of steps involved. You have to heal and have physical therapy. I promise, you’ll get lots of help from your care team.”

“What’s my care team?”

“The doctors, nurses, therapists, and all the people who are going to help you. It’s a different world today than the one yesterday, that’s for sure. Eventually, you’ll be stronger than ever. I know it doesn’t seem possible right now, but it’s true. I’ve seen it.”

“How do you know?” Jonah persisted.

She folded her arms and looked him in the eye. “I know stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Jonah asked her, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“When they move you to the ward, I’ll introduce you to some kids who are going to amaze you with their superpowers. Do you know what a superpower is?”

“Course I do. And I know they’re just made-up stuff in books.”

“Ah. That’s where you’re wrong. There’s one patient who had a heart transplant, and he still comes in every week to make balloon animals for the other kids, just to see them smile. If that’s not a superpower, I don’t know what is.”

“The surgeon said I was lucky,” Jonah said. “Do you think it’s lucky to get your arm cut off?”

She looked from side to side, then bent toward him. “Let me tell you something about surgeons. When they say you were lucky, you weren’t. What it really means is they thought you were going to die and you didn’t. So maybe your superpower and the surgeon’s superpower were working together.”

Jonah’s eyes widened. Caleb could see his fear go down another notch. Could be Reese Powell’s blunt honesty was what the boy needed. He liked her compassion, and the way she spoke plainly to Jonah, not trying to sugarcoat the troubles he faced.

She turned to him and seemed a little flustered at the way he was staring at her. “How did you do last night?” she asked. “Did a social worker come, find you a place to stay?”

When Caleb didn’t answer right away, Jonah angled his gaze at the molded plastic chair in the corner. Caleb’s hat still lay beneath it. “I bet he was right there all night,” the boy said.

“You were, weren’t you?” she asked Caleb.

He didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, so he merely shrugged and said, “I wanted to be here in case Jonah woke up.”

She bit her lip. She had very white, straight teeth and soft-looking lips he had no business noticing. “You’re not going to be good for anything if you don’t eat and sleep properly,” she said, her female bossiness reaching across any and all cultural lines between English and Amish. There was much to admire about this woman—her thoughtful gestures, taking the time to help him through his first evening in the city. And she had a clear, honest way of explaining things to Jonah.

He wondered what her world was like outside the hospital. Did she spend time with her family and friends? Did she live nearby? What did she do when she wasn’t working?

He pictured her in English clothes, driving a car, getting her fingernails polished by someone in a salon—a concept so foreign to the Amish it was almost inconceivable. Did she go out to bars with friends? Surf the Internet? Study her phone as if it held the secrets of the universe?

One of her pockets emitted a buzzing sound. She took out a flat mobile phone with a shiny screen. “I have to go,” she said.

“I wish you could stay,” Jonah said.

“That’s nice to hear. But I work in the ER, not surgery. I just came up here to see how you’re doing.”

“Oh,” said Jonah, clearly not understanding the difference between emergency and surgery.

She backed toward the door, still talking. “Tell you what. At the end of my shift, I’ll come back to see you again. If they move you to the ward, I’ll find you. And you know what else? We’ll figure out a place for your uncle to stay. Maybe get him a more comfortable chair.”

That drew a flicker of a smile from Jonah. “Yeah, that would be good, Reese.”

She gave him a look that even a wounded boy couldn’t resist. “You’re going to be okay, Jonah Stoltz,” she said. “That’s a promise. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Keeping promises is my superpower.”

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