Free A Simple Faith: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel by Rosalind Lauer Page B

well, I think so.” She twisted around, looking for the dark SUV. “The passenger van is definitely damaged, but I can’t see the SUV. It seems to have vanished.”
    “A possible hit-and-run,” the woman said in a very even tone.
    “I don’t know.” Haley cut the engine and threw open the door. She was okay. She had been spared. But that van had taken a terrible hit. “I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do to help the passengers in the van.”
    “Ma’am, please take caution if you leave your vehicle.”
    “Yes, yes, I will. Just get an ambulance here, please.”
    “They’re on their way.”
    Haley was already running along the shoulder of the road, grateful for her clogs and for dry pavement, when she slid the cell phone into her pocket. A car passed, moving slowly but coming within inches of the van. She had hoped that the emergency flashers on her car would warn drivers to slow down.
    A door on the side of the van opened and a large man jumped to the road bed. He was a young man dressed all in black with a sort of Dutch boy haircut just at the ears. An Amish man. His gait was a bit uneven as he ran toward her.
    “Do you have a cell phone?” he called to her. “We need help. Ambulances and doctors.”
    “I called them already. I’m a nurse,” she said, realizing that wasn’t entirely true, but … whatever.
    He stopped running and gestured toward the van. “A blessing from Gott. Please, come help Jacob.”
    Already, people were spilling out from the van behind him. Two older men. A man bolstering a crying woman. A tall young man inhis late twenties. When a small girl jumped out, Haley thanked God that a child had survived; a moment later she realized the young woman was older than she thought—a teenager—but a little person.
    “He’s in here, on the floor of the van,” the large man said, directing her to the open side door. “He’s having trouble breathing.”
    It occurred to Haley that she had no stethoscope—no tools in hand, not even a first-aid kit—but when she looked down at the man struggling to breathe on the floor of the van, the basic protocol came to her.
    ABC. Clear the Airway. Make sure he’s Breathing. Support Circulation.
    She leaned over the man, noting his white beard and wrinkled skin. He had to be seventy or so. “My name is Haley and I’m going to try and help you. Can you answer some questions?”
    “Yes,” he gasped.
    He was conscious; that was a good sign.
    “Is there something in your throat? Something blocking the airway?” she asked.
    “Nay. It’s down lower.” He patted his chest with one withered hand.
    “Okay.” She turned back to the young man who had summoned her and asked his name.
    “Ruben Zook.”
    “I’m Haley. Ruben, can you go back to my car and get my medical bag? It’s just a black backpack in the backseat.”
    “I’ll bring it,” he said, backing away.
    Haley took the injured man’s pulse, which was rapid, but that was no surprise. His labored breathing was a huge concern, and she worried about a punctured lung or even a lung collapse.
    And internal injuries.
    Her mind raced back through her medical training as she reachedfor ideas on how to help him. But nursing school wasn’t focused on this type of emergency care. She had no real tools beyond her stethoscope. There was no doctor, no sterile equipment … no Dr. Swanson barking orders.
    But this was a random universe, where a shiny dark mass of metal haphazardly smashed up a van full of people.
    She turned back to the elderly man, leaning down low so that she could see his face as she pressed a hand to his cheek. “I know you’re in pain, Jacob. Just keep breathing as best you can, okay? You’re doing great. You’re doing great.”

10
    I t was a miracle.
    To be able to open her eyes, unbuckle her seat belt, and slide out of her seat. To walk and talk and see the beautiful orange and purple flame of sky beyond the smoking wreck of the front of George’s van.