“I doubt it. I’m sure Ms. Glidden can convince a judge that he was only trying to protect his mother. That, and she was telling him what to do, making him do it. The court will want him to have treatment, certainly, but I don’t believe he’ll go to juvenile jail, not if his sister and brother will be willing to be his guardians.”
“I’m sure they will. And Moses can move home now to help Mary Rose.” She sighed. “Lemuel’s been through enough. Without his mother, he’ll need his faith and patience.”
“That’s one thing your people have plenty of,” Evan assured her. He looked up at her. “You know, it’s funny what comes to your mind when you wake up in recovery. I was thinking about our hotel reservations and that ocean beach. Do you think you could call to tell them that we’re not coming? Maybe reschedule for next month?”
“I already have,” she said. “And I called someone else as well. Our minister.”
“But . . . he was here when I got out of surgery,” Evan said. “He’s aware of—”
There was the sound of footsteps and a knock at the door.
“I think this is him now,” Rachel said.
“Excellent. Two of you finally in one place.” The young minister laughed as he came into the room, followed by Rachel’s parents, two of her little brothers, Evan’s mother, Hulda, Mary Aaron, and Chuck Baker.
“What’s going on?” Evan asked.
Rachel studied the crowded room. Her mother and father, Mary Aaron, and the boys were in their best black go-to-church clothes. Evan’s mom wore a peach jacket, cream-colored white dress slacks, and beige heels. Hulda and Chuck, in contrast, looked as though they’d been cutting wood: goose down vests, jeans, and hiking boots. Perfect, Rachel thought as she glanced down at the oversized blue scrubs she’d borrowed from one of the techs because her clothes were too bloody to wear and she refused to be seen in a drafty hospital gown.
Evan’s eyes widened as Mary Aaron, the minister, and the prepper approached his bed. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Evan asked.
Rachel squeezed his hand. “I love you,” she whispered.
“And you know I love you,” Evan replied, “but I don’t . . .”
“Rachel tells me that you two would like to be married here and now,” the minister said. “Since it would be a shame to let that marriage license go to waste, this gentleman and this young woman”—he indicated a smiling Mary Aaron in her black bonnet, and a stern, bareheaded Chuck Baker—“have agreed to be your witnesses. Do you think you’re up to it, Evan?”
Evan looked at Rachel. “Do you have any intention of changing your ways?” he asked. “Or can I expect you to keep getting into trouble that I have to get you out of?”
She hesitated, unsure for a moment how to respond. Then she realized there was only one response. “Probably the latter.”
“Good.” He grinned. “That’s my girl.” He looked back at the minister. “Here and now,” he agreed, holding Rachel’s hand tightly. “Marry us now, before she can get away again.”
“Rachel?” the minister asked. “Are you certain you’re ready to be married?”
She met her cousin’s mischievous gaze, and Mary Aaron whispered in Deitsch, “Do it.”
“We sure are,” Rachel said. “In the sight of God and those we love best.”
Evan’s mother plucked one of his get-well floral bouquets from a vase and shoved it into Rachel’s hands. And in the crowded hospital room, amid approving Amish and Englishers, the traditional bonnets and beeping technology, Evan and Rachel finally took their vows for better or worse.
