Patricia Davids - Plain Admirer

She stood for a moment watching the widening ripples where her rod had vanished. Now she had nothing to return and nothing to show for her hard-earned money. Like the chance to own a home, her beautiful rod was gone.

Tears pricked against the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

* * *

Late in the afternoon on Saturday, Roman took off his sling and began the stretching exercises he did every day, four times a day. His arm remained a dead lump, but he could feel an itching sensation near the ball of his shoulder that the doctors assured him was a good sign. As he rubbed the area, the uncomfortable sensation of needles and pins proved that the nerves were beginning to recover. He had been struck by a pickup truck while standing at the side of his buggy on a dark road just before Christmas. The impact sent him flying through the air and tore the nerves in his left shoulder, leaving him with almost complete paralysis in that arm.

Dr. White and Dr. Zook, the local physicians he saw, were hopeful that he would regain more use of his arm, but they cautioned him that the process would be slow. Unlike a broken bone that would mend in six or eight weeks, the torn nerves in his arm would take months to repair themselves. Even then, there was no guarantee that he would regain the full use of his extremity.

Roman tried to be optimistic. He would work for his uncle until his arm was better. When it was, he would return to working with his father in the sawmill as he had always planned. He held tight to that hope. He had to.

The outside door opened and his brother Andrew came in. He held a pair of fishing poles in one hand. “I’m meeting some of the fellows down at the river for some fishing and a campout. Do you want to come along?”

Roman put his sling back on. He didn’t like people seeing the way his arm hung useless at his side. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on. It will do you good. You used to like fishing.”

“I like hunting, I like baseball, I like splitting wood with an ax, but I can’t do any of those things. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve only got one good arm.” The bitterness he tried so hard to disguise leaked out in his voice.

“You don’t need to bite my head off.” Andrew turned away and started to leave.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Andrew’s eyes brightened. “Then you’ll come? There’s no reason you can’t fish with one arm.”

“I’m not sure I can even cast a line. Besides, how would I reel in a fish? That takes two hands.”

“I’ve been thinking about that and I have an idea. It only takes one hand to crank a reel. What you need is a way to hold the rod while you crank. I think this might work.”

Andrew opened his coat to reveal a length of plastic pipe hooked to a wide belt and tied down with a strap around his leg.

Roman frowned. “What’s that?”

“A rod holder. You cast your line and then put the handle of your pole in this. The inside of the pipe is lined with foam to help hold the rod steady. This way it won’t twist while you’re cranking. See? I fixed it at an angle to keep the tip of the rod up. All you have to do is step forward or backward to keep tension on the line.”

Roman looked at the rig in amazement. “You thought of this yourself?”

It was a clever idea. It might look funny, but the length of pipe held the rod at the perfect angle. “It just might work, little brother,” Roman said.

“I know it will. With a little practice, you’ll be as good as ever. Come with us.” Andrew unbuckled his invention and held it out.

Roman took it, but then laid it on the counter. “Maybe next time.”

He didn’t want his first efforts to be in front of Andrew and his friends. A child could cast a fishing pole but Roman wasn’t sure he could.

Andrew nodded, clearly disappointed. “Yeah, next time,” he said.

He left Roman’s pole leaning in the corner and walked out. After his brother was gone, Roman stood staring at the rod holder. He picked up his brother’s invention. Surely, he could master a simple thing like fishing, even with one arm.

There was only one way to find out. After checking to make sure no one was about, he gathered his rod and left the house. Since he knew Andrew and his friends were going to the river, Roman set off across the cornfield. Beyond the edge of his father’s property lay a pasture belonging to Joseph Shetler. Wooly Joe, as he was called, was an elderly and reclusive Amish man who raised sheep.

It took Roman half an hour to reach his destination. As he approached the lake, he saw Carl King, Woolly Joe’s hired man, driving the sheep toward the barns. Roman knew Carl wasn’t a member of the Amish faith. Like his boss, he kept to himself. The two occasionally came to the mill for wood for fencing or shed repairs, but Roman didn’t know them well. When Carl was out of sight, Roman had the lake to himself.

He glanced around once more to make sure he was unobserved. In the fading twilight, he faced the glasslike water that reflected the gold and pink sunset. Lifting his rod, he depressed the button on the reel and cast it out. He hadn’t bothered adding bait. He wasn’t ready to land a fish and get it off the hook with one hand. Not yet.

He slipped the handle of his rod into the holder his brother had made. It was then he discovered that actually reeling it in wasn’t as difficult as he had feared. When he had all the line cranked in, he pulled the rod from the holder and flipped another cast.

This wasn’t so bad. Maybe he should have brought some bait. He’d only reeled in a few feet when he felt his hook snag and hang up. He yanked, and it moved a few feet but it wouldn’t come free. What was he snagged on?

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.