Trading Secrets (7 page)

“Yeah, it really was fun,” I say eagerly. “Thanks for showing it to me!”

She looks uneasy now, as if she's not sure what to do with me. “I should go help Mamm with supper now.” She opens the barn door to reveal that it's started to rain again. Even harder this time. Instead of going, she looks at me. “You coming?”

Suddenly I feel at loose ends and slightly lost. I honestly do not know what to do. That's when it hits me—
what am I
doing
here?
Why did I let Katy talk me into returning when I could've just stayed in town? I so do not want to go back into the Miller house and come face-to-face with Zach's mother again. For that matter, I don't even care to see Zach. Yet I don't really care to walk back to town either. Not in this deluge, anyway.

“Do you mind if I hang in the barn awhile?” I ask. “I'll stay up in the loft and be quiet. No one will see me.”

She seems relieved. “
Ja
, sure. Do what you like.”

“Thanks.” I get my backpack, which is very light since most of my clothes are hanging outside to dry—in the pouring rain! I consider mentioning this to Katy, but she's already closing the door, and I know she's needed in the kitchen. I guess my clothes will just get a thorough rinsing. I scale the ladder, then poke around until I find a cozy corner where I make myself a comfortable bed in the straw. I roll my backpack into a pillow and lie down, trying not to think about the silly situation I've gotten myself into. Life would've been so much easier if I'd been honest with Zach right from the start.

I decide to check my phone, which is still half charged, and discover that Dad has texted me back saying that due to bad weather, he and Uncle Brad are still in Chicago and won't fly back to Cleveland until the storm clears up. Maybe not until tomorrow morning. So much for my hopes of being airlifted out of Amishville today. I sigh and turn off my phone, slipping it into my pocket. At least I have a place to lie low. Or high, depending on how you view it.

I wake to darkness and the sounds of footsteps followed by the glow of a light down below, but it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings and remember I'm in the hay loft.

“Micah?” Katy calls out.

“I'm still up here,” I tell her as I scramble off my makeshift bed, fumbling to the edge of the loft floor, where I lean down to see Katy halfway up the ladder with a paper bag in one hand and a camping lantern in the other.

“I brought supper to you,” she says quietly. “Hurry and get it!”

“Thank you!” I say as I reach for the bag.

“And you can keep this.” She hands me the battery-powered lantern.

“Thanks, Katy.”

“Just turn it off if you hear someone coming into the barn.”

“Oh. Sure.” I feel like Katy is sending me a message, like perhaps she's the only one who knows my whereabouts. Maybe they all assume I've gone home. Probably a good thing.

“I suppose you can sleep in our room again,” she says with some hesitance as she goes down the ladder. “Or you can stay up here if you like.”

“Okay . . .” I'm not so sure I really want to spend the night in the barn. Didn't Katy say there were mice? I haven't seen any sign of Lucky since our first meeting. But perhaps this is Katy's way of warning me that I'm not entirely welcome in her house. Maybe her mother has banned me completely. Big surprise there.

“If you decide to sleep in the house, just wait until all the downstairs lights are out before you come inside.” She opens the door, revealing that it's dark outside, but at least it sounds like the rain has stopped. Before I can respond to her halfhearted invitation, Katy is gone. I suspect she'd prefer if I stayed out here.

Feeling like an unwanted exile, I open the paper sack to see
what's for dinner. One thing I have to say about the Amish—they do know how to eat. There's a generous slice of ham, a hearty serving of potato salad, a hunk of homemade bread, and a slice of applesauce cake, which I eat first. I'm guessing the apples grew right here on this farm, and it tastes like something your grandmother might make. If you have a grandmother who does that sort of thing. But I don't.

I continue working my way through the foods on the plate. Normally I wouldn't be inclined to eat this much, but I think my recent walking has increased my appetite. I've managed to polish most of it off when I hear a squeaky sound which I recognize as the latch to the door. So I click off the light and hold my breath, listening as the sound of heavy footsteps enters the barn. It sounds like two people.

“I checked on her about an hour ago,” Zach says. “Still the same.”

I cringe at the sound of his voice. Is he talking about me? Did he come up here and find me sleeping?

“I don't know what's wrong with her,” his dad says glumly. I can tell by the shadows on the wall that they're nearing Molly's stall. Of course, they are talking about the horse. “The foal is overdue. Molly is a good brood mare. She has foaled six times for us. Never a problem before.”

“
Ja
, but that does not mean she won't have a problem this time.” Zach's voice is laced with worry. “Maybe we should send for Dr. Schneider.”

“No, no. I do not want to do that. Not yet. I have asked God to help with this problem. I will trust him for it.”

Now the barn is silent except for the scuffling sounds of feet and a few muffled comments that I can't quite make out, but I can tell they're examining poor Molly. I wonder if it's
a serious problem. I assume Dr. Schneider is a veterinarian, which means he's not Amish. And from what I know of the Amish, they don't like outside help. I'm surprised Zach even mentioned it to his dad.

“The foal is in good position,” Mr. Miller announces. “Maybe it's just a matter of time.”

“
Ja
,” Zach agrees. “I hope you're right.”

“God will answer our prayer,” his father says with confidence. “You will see.”

“Do you want me to stay here tonight?” Zach asks. “Just in case.”

“
Ja
. That will be good.” They talk a while longer, then Zach's dad tells him goodnight. I hear footsteps, and the door opens and closes again.

I remain frozen in place, trying to decide what to do. Zach is obviously unaware that I'm still here. What will he think if I come creeping down the ladder? For all I know, he might assume I'm an intruder and meet me with a pitchfork. I know the Amish are by nature nonviolent, but still, you never know.

Feeling silly and awkward, I listen as he moves about down there. I hear a rhythmic scraping sound of metal against wood, and I imagine he's cleaning the stall, perhaps putting in some fresh straw. Then I hear some clunking and scraping sounds, and finally it gets quiet. I assume he's settled down for the night, and I feel more trapped than ever. But it's not long until the sound of contented whistling begins to waft up through the shadowy wooden cavern. It's not a familiar tune, but it's pleasant just the same. I'm not sure why, but I'm not surprised that Zach's a pretty good whistler.

The music is strangely comforting, but I still feel trapped and uneasy. I toy with the idea of announcing my presence,
but as more time passes, I feel less inclined to reveal my whereabouts. I can only imagine how annoyed he'll be to discover I've invaded his barn and have been eavesdropping on him and his father and listening to him whistling. However, there is one thing I haven't taken into account. What do I do when nature calls—as I know it will? I'm aware that there's an outhouse behind the barn, but how can I possibly reach it without having a confrontation with Zach? And what then?

I
decide my best plan is to wait for Zach to turn off his light and fall asleep. Surely he doesn't intend to stay awake all night. After all, he's a farmer. Early to bed, early to rise and all that stuff. After I'm sure he's soundly snoozing, I'll sneak down the ladder, exit the barn, and make my way back to the house, where I hope everyone will be sleeping. Then I'll slip upstairs and accept Katy's kind offer of a nice warm bed.

In the meantime, I'm trying to be quiet as a mouse, but thinking about mice makes me uneasy. Where are all those barn cats anyway? I'm just obsessing over the possibility of a creepy critter crawling over me—which would probably elicit a scream—when I hear the sound of the latch and see the light from another lantern as the door squeaks open.

“Katy,” Zach says with surprise. “What are you doing out here?”

“I—uh—just thought I'd check on you and Molly,” she says a bit nervously.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Oh, it's late. Almost 11:00, I think.”

“You should be in bed,” he scolds her. “You have school tomorrow.”

“
Ja
, I know. But I brought you a snack.”

“And a blanket,” he says. “Thanks, Katy. It was starting to get a little cold out here.”

I want to add, “You can say that again,” but control myself. I vaguely wonder if she really brought that blanket for me. Not that it will do me much good now.

“What are you reading?” she asks.

“Nothing much.”

“Biology?”
she questions. “What's that?”

“The study of living things,” he says quietly.

“Oh.”

“You won't tell, will you?”

“No, Zach. You know I won't.”

“Want me to relieve you for a while?” Katy offers. I suspect she's doing this for my benefit, trying to give me a chance to escape into the house so I'm not stuck here all night. “I can sit with Molly and—”

“No thanks, Katy. I'm fine.”

“I don't mind,” she tries again, but Zach is not buying.

“Thanks for the cookies,” he says abruptly. “Now you need to get to bed.”

“I hope you can get some sleep.” Katy speaks loudly, almost as if she's saying it for my sake. “I'm sure Molly will wake you up if she needs your help.”

“
Ja
, you are probably right about that.”

After Katy leaves, I wonder if Zach will ever turn off his lantern and catch some shut-eye. And why is he reading a
biology book? Good grief, you'd think that would put him to sleep.

I wake to the sounds of banging and clunking and Zach's voice. “Easy does it, Molly,” he's saying in a calm but firm tone. “Take it easy, girl. You're going to be fine.” This is followed by more loud banging as well as some startled exclamations from Zach. Is the horse kicking the walls of the stall? Is Zach in danger?

“Come on, Molly,” he urges. “Settle down, girl.”

I'm just starting to feel worried when I hear more thrashing and a loud bang followed by a sharp cry from Zach—as if he's been kicked. I can stand it no longer. What if he's been seriously hurt? At the very least, I know he could use some help. I turn on my lantern and scurry down the ladder, finding Zach pinned between the big brown horse and the back of the stall.

“Hey, Zach,” I say casually. “Looks like you could use a hand.”

His eyes, which first look startled, quickly transform to angry. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to sleep,” I tell him as I quietly step into the stall. “But with all this ruckus down here, it's not easy.”

“I thought you went home.” He's attempting to push Molly's back end away from him.

“Come here, Molly.” I calmly grasp either side of her halter and gently tug her toward me. “Come on, girl. Give Zach some space.”

As Molly gingerly steps forward, Zach extricates himself from the tight corner, still scowling, and joins me on the end
by the door. He's barely out of harm's way when the agitated horse starts stomping and kicking again.

“You better get out of here,” Zach warns me after Molly settles down. He reaches down and rubs his thigh. “Before you get hurt.”

“I'm not worried,” I tell him. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing serious,” he grumbles.

“Well, it looks like you need some help.”

“You think you can help with this?” His tone is challenging. I can tell he has no faith in my ability to assist. Really, who could blame him?

“Why not?” I try to appear more confident than I feel. “Remember, I worked in the vet clinic last summer. I wrote to you about it.”

Zach frowns. “You mean
Micah
wrote to me.”

“I am Micah,” I insist.

“Not the Micah I knew,” he snaps. “But never mind—Molly is getting ready to foal. No time to quarrel over the past.”

“What should I do?” I ask nervously. I almost suggest boiling water like they sometimes do in old movies.

“Keep her head still,” he commands. “And keep her calm and toward this end of the stall—if you can.”

Zach goes to the back of the stall again, not directly behind her but off to one side, where he perches on a sturdy shelf above her. “She'll probably lie down soon,” he tells me. “Get out of the way and give her room when she does.”

Having no idea of what I'm doing, I talk calmly to the horse, trying to soothe her as she moves from side to side. After what feels like an hour but is probably not, she finally does lie down on her side, just like Zach predicted.

“It's coming now.” I can hear excitement in his voice as he quietly gets down from his perch, positioning himself near Molly's back end.

“Do you need any help?” I ask.

“No. Just keep talking to her like you were doing—keep her calm. It seemed to be working.”

I kneel down next to her head and continue talking to her as she thrashes around. Before long, I hear Zach announcing that the foal has come. “It's completely out,” he says with relief. “And it looks all right. Toss me those towels hanging on the door, will you?”

I stretch over Molly to hand an old towel to Zach, looking on in wonder as he helps to clean and dry the small, dark horse's face. Then I hand him another one, watching as he rubs the animal's body vigorously. Before long the fuzzy foal makes several wobbly attempts to stand, and eventually it is standing by itself on thin, shaky legs.

“Something's not right here.” Zach throws the soiled towels aside.

“With the foal?”

“No. The colt seems okay. But can you get him out of here?”

“Sure,” I cautiously step past Molly, who is lying very still.

“Just hold him like this.” Zach wraps both arms around the foal and hands him over to me. “Take him over to the stall next to this one.”

“Okay.” I carefully step past Molly again, carrying her still damp baby over to the next stall, where I gently set him down. I just stand there and stare at him in wonder. To think this living creature just emerged from the mare—it's amazing.

“Did you learn anything about horses when you worked at the vet clinic?” Zach calls out in a worried voice.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I go back to the stall where Molly is still lying down and not moving much.

“Something is wrong,” he says solemnly.

I look back to where Zach is staring at Molly's back end with a perplexed expression. To be honest, it looks like a giant mess to me. The afterbirth or whatever it is looks so grotesque that I'm almost afraid I'm going to be sick. But I try to act brave. “What is it,” I ask quietly, “that you're concerned about?”

“It's not right.” He looks up at me with frightened dark eyes. “I'm worried for Molly. Maybe you should go get my dad.”

I bite my lip, trying to imagine myself busting into the darkened house and waking up Mr. and Mrs. Miller. It's more than a bit intimidating. “What about a vet?” I suggest.

“My daed wouldn't like that. An emergency visit at night is costly.”

“What if I call my uncle?”

“Your uncle?”

“He's the vet I worked for last summer.”

He looks at me in disbelief. “Your uncle's a veterinarian?”

“Yeah. I guess I didn't mention that part.”

“Can you do that?” He gives me a hopeful look. “I mean, call him at this time of night?”

“Sure. I think he's still with my dad in Chicago.” I pull my phone from my sweatshirt pocket. Feeling the desperation of this situation, I quickly dial Dad's number, and he promptly answers with an anxious voice.

“What is it, Micah? Is something wrong?” he demands. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” I assure him. “But I really need to talk to Uncle Brad. Do you know where he—”

“Uncle Brad? It's past midnight, Micah. What's going on?”

I quickly explain about Molly.

“Well, you're in luck. Brad and I are sharing a hotel room. Hey, Brad,” he calls out. “Micah has a medical question for you.”

My uncle answers, and I explain about Molly and birthing the foal.

“Is the foal okay?” he asks. “Breathing and walking and—”

I quickly fill him in. “It's the mare that's not doing so good.”

Uncle Brad asks who else is there to help, and I explain about Zach. “But it's just the two of us.”

“Zach's experienced with horses?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Give the phone to Zach.”

“Here.” I hand Zach my phone. “Talk to Dr. Brad.”

I stand by listening as Zach describes what's going on with Molly and how things look. They talk back and forth for a couple minutes, and then Zach hands me the phone. “Hold this up so I can hear it,” he says as he rolls up his sleeves. “So your uncle can talk me through this.”

Leaning over Molly's back, I put the phone on speaker and turn up the volume, then stretch my phone toward Zach's ear, but when he follows Uncle Brad's direction by starting to handle the mass of tissue that's hanging out of Molly's rump, I'm forced to close my eyes. This is when I begin to silently pray—both for Molly's welfare and that I don't lose my supper and make a bad situation worse.

I continue to pray with closed eyes, trying to block out the disturbing conversation going on between my uncle and Zach. To further distract myself, I run my hand down Molly's
side. I can feel her breathing hard, and I suspect she's in pain. Fortunately, other than the occasional kicking of her hooves, she's remaining fairly calm. I wish I were better at this sort of thing, but my summer of working for Uncle Brad convinced me that I don't have the stomach for veterinary medicine. I'm impressed that Zach seems undaunted by it.

Despite my weak stomach, I'm determined to be strong. For Molly's sake—and for Zach's. After what seems like hours but is probably less than ten minutes, Zach finally stands up straight. “There.” He reaches for a nearby towel, wiping his hands in a satisfied way. He reaches for my phone and I take it off speaker.

“I think it's all back in place just like you said,” he says into the phone. Then he listens for a while as my uncle gives him some more advice and Zach asks some more questions. Finally, Zach thanks my uncle and hands the phone back to me.

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask into the phone.

“Hard to say. Prolapse is relatively rare in mares. Especially ones that have successfully birthed before. Like I told Zach, she should definitely be seen by a vet tomorrow. At the least she will probably need antibiotics.”

“Thank you for helping,” I say gratefully. “Sorry to call so late.”

“No problem. Is she standing yet?”

I look at the big brown mass, still breathing heavily as she lies on the straw. Poor thing. “Not yet.”

“Well, you kids get the foal back in there with her. That might help get her to her feet. Besides, the foal needs its colostrum.”

“What's that?”

“Never mind right now, Micah. Just get the foal in with its mother.”

“Yeah,” I assure him. “Zach is getting the foal.”

“Let me know how they're both doing . . .
tomorrow
,” he tells me. I thank him again and promise to call back after the other vet checks her. I tell Uncle Brad goodbye as Zach carries the colt back into the stall.

“Here you go, Molly,” Zach gently sets the colt near his mother. “Here's your baby. A fine, healthy colt. You should be proud.”

The colt nudges his nose against his mother's side, and after about a minute, she gets to her feet. Just like that, the colt is nuzzling beneath her and the two are reunited as if nothing traumatic ever happened. Leaning over the stall door, Zach and I both watch this scene in wide-eyed wonder.

“It's so peaceful,” I whisper.

“
Ja
, and miraculous.”