Page 18 of Outsider

I park as close to the house as I can manage and throw open my door. Joe does the same. Wind lashes us as we trudge to the back porch. Snow pelts my face like a sandblaster as I yank open the door.

Adam meets us in the mudroom. “I was starting to get worried.”

“She’s a good driver, no?” Winking at me, Joe extends his hand, and the two men shake.

Adam tips his head, his eyes falling to the bag at Joe’s side. “That she is.”

“How is Gina?” I ask.

“Sleeping.”

The two men exchange looks, their expressions thoughtful and uneasy. Adam motions toward the kitchen. “This way,” he says.

We don’t take the time to remove our coats or boots. Adam leads us through the kitchen, where the two girls are sitting at the table, playing a game of checkers, curious eyes tracking us.

Sammy joins us in the living room. “Annie made Gina another cup of tea but she fell asleep and it got cold,” he proclaims. “Should we wake her so she can drink some tea, Datt?”

Adam sets his hand on the boy’s head as we enter the hall that will take us to the sewing room. “Not now.”

We find Gina lying on the cot, the quilts pulled up over her shoulders, watching us, her expression wary. Her gaze flicks from me to Adam to Joe Weaver and finally to the bag at his side. “Who are you?”

“Joe Weaver.”

She eyes the bag. “You a doctor?”

“No, ma’am,” Joe says.

“Looks like a medical bag.”

Joe stares at her, not sure how to respond. Adam’s gaze moves from Gina to me. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“He’s … got some medical training,” I tell her. “He’s going to treat that gunshot wound before infection sets in.”

Using her uninjured arm, she pushes herself to a sitting position, propping her back against the wall at the head of the cot. “So if he’s not a doctor, what the hell is he?”

“He’s your best bet,” I tell her.

“I’m an animal practitioner,” Joe offers.

Before anyone can add anything, Gina laughs. It’s a slightly manic sound in the silence of the room, with the wind and snow battering the window. The two men exchange another look, not sure how to react, likely wondering if she’s not only on the outs with the law, but insane, too.

Under different circumstances I might’ve joined her. But I don’t. That she would laugh in the face of two men who’ve offered their help, perhaps at the risk of legal repercussions or their standing in their community, ticks me off.

“A simple thank-you would be a good way to get things rolling,” I tell her.

“Sorry, it’s just that…” Choking back laughter that isn’t entirely born of humor and contains a distinct edge of desperation, she sobers. “I’m a little out of my element here.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, all of us are out of our elements.” I look at Joe. “What do you need to get started?”

“I have everything I need right here.” He pats the bag.

I go to Gina. “He’s going to need to take a look at that shoulder.”

“All right.” Grimacing, she nods at Joe. “Thank you.”

The Amish man steps forward, looks around for a place to set his bag. I spot an old-fashioned rack of TV trays against the wall, pull one out, and unfold it for him.

Joe nods. “Danki.”