One of the first I write when I returned to the field of writing after being a nurse. Took a few years to be published. Then I discovered electronic publishing.
On Opposite Sides
Janet Lane Walters
New Concepts Publishing
ISBN 1-58608-463-1
On Opposite Sides
Chapter 1
With a flourish, Jenessa signed her name to the nurses’ notes on a fourth chart. She picked up a stack of papers and the brown bag containing the lunch she hadn’t had time to eat. All day, the pace in the Intensive Care unit had been hectic. Two Codes. Three admissions in five minutes, all of them critical. Instead of twenty-seven, she felt more like seventy.
She waved at the night nurse. “See you tomorrow.”
“That’s two extras in a row,” one of the women called. “Are you some kind of glutton?”
Am I? One more thing and I’m out of here. She straight-armed the door and headed for the stairs. After stopping on two other units to collect protest forms, she entered the stairwell.
Voices, eerie and distorted, drifted from below. The echo-effect made her wonder if the speakers were male or female. “Don’t worry, if we just push them a little harder, they’ll walk.”
“You’re right. Who could resist --”
Who were they talking about? She leaned over the railing, but shadows hid the speakers. The voices faded. A door slammed. She frowned and headed to the fifth floor where she entered the Nursing Office.
Lorraine Rodgers, one of the evening supervisors, looked up. “Again? Don’t you get tired of making waves?”
“Is that what I do? I thought I was fulfilling my role as a good union member and a conscientious nurse. The contract gives us the right to protest unsafe working conditions. I just make sure they’re collected.”
The middle-aged woman shook her head. “We all know this is your personal crusade. Can’t you put the past to rest?”
Jenessa’s hands clenched and she felt the muscles in her shoulders tighten. “Could you?” She fought a barrage of memories. “See that Ms. Wallace gets these. Not that she cares.”
“You could give them to her. She’s in the house. The Board’s meeting to select the new Director and we all know who that will be.”
“Maybe they’ll choose someone else.”
Mrs. Rodgers laughed. “Do you really believe that? She’s been angling for the job since she arrived. We’ll have to learn to live with her.”
“Maybe.”
“Another petition asking for Sandra’s removal?”
Jenessa shrugged. “See you tomorrow.”
“You’re on again? Do you work all these extra shifts just to log complaints?”
“If I don’t, who’d be here for the patients?” Jenessa strode away.
Fifteen minutes later, in her apartment across the street, she stood in the shower. Hot water uncoiled her tight muscles, but not her thoughts. Would the hospital Board really name Sandra Wallace, a woman disliked by most of the nurses, as the new director? With Jim Bishop as Board president, the choice seemed likely.
After pulling on an over-sized blue tee shirt, she headed to the kitchen and zapped the spicy chicken dish she should have eaten for lunch. Though she considered working on her Master’s thesis, she felt too tired to read the stack of articles on the desk.
The apartment door slammed. She looked up and saw her roommate. Megan kicked off her shoes. “Are you ready for a bomb? Guess what the Board has done.”
“Sandra.”
“Is out.” Megan grinned. “Josh and I were at the Cove for dinner. Sam introduced Eric Bradshaw. Would you believe he’s the new Director of Nursing? And what a hunk he is.”
Jenessa pushed back long strands of dark brown hair that had come loose from her braid. “You’re kidding.”
“Not one bit.”
“It’s a ploy. Can’t you hear Mr. Bishop’s laughter? We’ll give the girls a man to drool over. That’ll shut them up.”
“Come on, Jen. At least they didn’t name Her.” Megan headed across the living room, discarding pieces of clothes as she walked. “He’s every woman’s dream. Tall, blond, broad shoulders. I positively drooled. He’s got the greatest dimples. That’s because he’s a Libra.”
Trust Megan to ask his sun sign, Jenessa thought. Her roommate’s description confirmed her suspicions of the Board’s motives. “Sounds like you’re adding him to your string.”
“Wrong. A Libra and a Pisces. Odd couple material.” Megan’s blonde curls bounced with the force of her denial. “He’s for you, my Aries friend. Remember what I always say. An opposition can be exciting.”
Not again, Jenessa thought. For the past year, Megan’s attempts at matchmaking seemed designed to drive her crazy. “Megan, no.”
“You can’t be alone forever.”
“You’re surviving.”
“Alone I’m not. My problem is too many and being unable to hurt anyone.” She shrugged. “Give it a shot.”
Jenessa frowned. Megan and she had been friends since they were five, but there were things she couldn’t tell her…Things about Chuck and the marriage.
“I’m union. He’s management. Can you see me falling for someone from the opposition?”
“And what will you be when you finish your Master’s?”
“Not here. I’ll work for a doctor. Head to the city. Become a consultant.” She followed the trail of clothes and gathered them as she walked. “With my reputation here, they won’t promote me.”
“Your reputation is undeserved. Just because you organized the union, sent a
petition to recall Sandra, started the protest forms, negotiated the contract --”
The click of the bathroom door cut off Megan’s words.
Jenessa dropped the clothes beside the door. She entered the bedroom and stared at the red brick building across the street where she worked in ICU. She liked Eastlake Community. For nearly three years, the hospital had been her refuge. She didn’t want to leave.
She returned to the hall just as Megan emerged. wrapped in a blue bath sheet that nearly reached her toes.
“...use someone who plunges to the center of a problem and won’t give up until the next one appears. You are kind of blunt though. He’ll weigh his decisions. Libras do. What’s on the agenda now?” She stumbled over the heap of clothes. “I know. In the hamper.”
“The contract. Monday, I’ll demand a meeting.”
“Why not give Eric Bradshaw a chance to settle in?”
“Why? They said they’d talk once they hired a new director and they have.” Jenessa headed to the kitchen.
“It’s the same everywhere. Don’t you pay attention to the letters from the gang?”
“There are hospitals where the problems are addressed.” Jenessa picked up a fork.
“Around here no one admits there are any.”
“I’m not sure there are answers. The health care system is in flux.”
“If the Board would sit down with us, we could try.”
Megan grinned. “Do I see you, sword in hand, leading the charge?”
“Don’t make fun. This is serious.”
“I’m sorry. I know how important adequate staffing is to you.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get a decent contract.” Jenessa bit her lower lip and fought a storm of memories and guilt.
Megan opened the refrigerator and poured a glass of juice. “Letters from the gang are in. Did you do yours?”
“What do you think?” The idea for a monthly exchange of letters between the members of their clinical group from the nursing program at Grantley was Megan’s project.
“When are you going to write it?”
“How about after the softball game Saturday?”
“I’m mailing copies tomorrow.” Megan raised her hand in a gesture of surrender.
“I’ll write yours...About the game. Will we win?”
“We’d better. Softball is the one place where Nursing stands a chance against the other departments who, with one whimper, get everything they want.”
“He’ll be there.”
“Who?”
“Eric Bradshaw.” Megan left the kitchen. “Night.”
As Jenessa loaded the dishwasher, a slow grin built from deep inside. He’d be there. So would Jim Bishop and Sandra Wallace. The annual hospital picnic might be an interesting event.
*****
On Saturday morning at a few minutes after ten, Eric left his apartment. Moments later, his sneakers slapped against the asphalt surface of the path leading to Community Park. The shade beneath the oak and maple trees brought relief from the relentless August sun.
Today promised to be as hot as Eastlake Community would be if the problems that beaded like the sweat on his forehead weren’t solved. For an instant, he allowed himself to regret the injury that had ended his career as a cop and his decision to become a nurse, the way his father and a number of ex-cops he knew had done. During the week since his arrival, he’d asked himself a dozen times why he’d listened to Sam and applied for the position as Director of Nursing.
“Something fishy’s going on. I’m not sure who, what or why. You’ve got the training to dig out the info.”
In the past week, he’d learned a number of facts, but none were illegal. The nurse managers and supervisors couldn’t see or didn’t care about the signs of unrest among
the nurses. Sometimes, he thought administration was the problem. But since their contracts protected them, he couldn’t fire the lot.
He emerged from the tree-sheltered path and stopped to let a herd of children charge past. Where was Sam and where was the ballfield? His buddy had volunteered him as first base umpire for the game between the nurses and a team from the other departments.
“Eric, over here.”
He jogged toward the picnic table where Sam sat. The children returned. With the adroitness he’d once displayed on the football field, he twisted and evaded until he cleared the crowd.
“Just like old times, my man.” Sam’s brown hand slapped Eric’s.
“Hardly. Where’s your gaudy uniform?” When Eric had played football, Sam had been a member of the marching band. He’d also been pianist for the jazz ensemble. Eric rested his hands on his thighs until he caught his breath. “I’m too old for this.”
Sam laughed. “At thirty-two? In five minutes, I guarantee you’ll be rejuvenated.”
“About the game. Fun or serious?”
“A bit of both.” Sam slid from the table. “The captain and pitcher for the nurses is intense. She likes to win.”
“Is this a warning?”
Sam’s laughter rolled the way his fingers moved along the piano keys. “You’ll see. Wait ‘til you see her legs. Long and lean and stretching forever. Simone threatened to blacken my eyes if I leer. Grab a beer and let’s go.”
When Eric reached the field, he forgot the beer. The hospital’s problems vanished. He put the beer on the ground several yards from first base and stared at the pitcher. Sam had been on target.
He studied her exceptional legs until they vanished beneath brief red shorts. His stare lingered on the white tee shirt that clung to her small, yet perfect, breasts. Sunlight caught the red glints in her brown hair and turned them into flames. As she moved from the mound, his body reacted. How was he going to remember he was her boss?
*****
The heat of the August sun caused a trickle of sweat to run down Jenessa’s back. As she threw her practice pitches, she watched Sam Gray and a tall, blond man approach. He put a can on the grass. She felt his appraising stare and tamped an urge to ask what his problem was.
“Play ball.” The home plate umpire’s call interrupted her thoughts. She stepped on the mound and prepared her first pitch.
The first two innings were scoreless. She stepped to the plate in the bottom of the third. The first three pitches were high and wide. “Put one across.”
The pitcher hurled. Jenessa tapped a liner off the end of the bat. The opposing pitcher bobbled the ball. Jenessa streaked past first and dove for second.
“Out.”
She bounced to her feet. “You’re blind. I was safe.”
“Out,” he repeated.
Megan, he’s not for me, she thought. As she walked away, she dusted her shirt. Her braid slapped against her back. A few feet from first base, she turned.
“Safe.”
For a moment, she thought he intended to continue the discussion. She felt his gaze on her back and grinned. Sparring with him at the bargaining table could be fun.
In the seventh and final inning, the other team scored two runs. Jenessa rallied her team. “We can’t let them win. Nan, Simone, just get on and I’ll bring you in.”
They walked. She strode to the plate and connected with the first pitch. The ball soared over the heads of the outfielders. She trotted past first. “I was safe.”
Eric hid a smile. She ran the bases with a cocky gait. At home, her teammates engulfed her. When he saw Sam wiggle into the mass of cheering women, Eric laughed. Moments later, the petite, ebony-skinned catcher for the nurses dragged Sam from the huddle.
“Simone, remember Eric.” Sam winked. “See you at the buffet. Me and this woman’s got to talk about her attitude.” He gestured toward the pitcher for the nurses.
“Looks like you made an impression.”
He knew he had, but not the one he wanted. He strode to first base, retrieved the beer and straightened.
She stood on the base. “I was safe, you know.”
“Really?” He raised the can to his lips without lowering his gaze. The sweat-stained tee shirt hugged her ribs and clung to her breasts. He swallowed a mouthful of warm, stale beer he hadn’t meant to drink and caught the edge of a memory.
He knew her. Though their first meeting had lasted less than an hour, he remembered her fire and determination. He’d watched her ply every skill and trick she knew and he had stepped in to help. For a short time, they’d been a team.
Before he had a chance to identify himself, a booming voice ended the staring match. A hearty slap made him drop the beer. White foam gathered on the grass.
“Getting into things already. Good idea.” The Board president stepped around Eric. “Jenessa, you look good enough to start a dead man’s heart. Two of you been introduced?”
“Not officially,” Eric said. The audible wheeze in Bishop’s breathing made him wonder why the man was puffing on a cigar.
“Allow me. Jenessa Robertson, Eric Bradshaw.” Bishop beamed. “Now, let me tell you, this little girl’s not as sweet as she looks. She’s a rabble-rouser. Fights hard for the union.”
Sweet didn’t match Eric’s impression of her from the past or today. Stubborn, courageous, a leader and much too attractive did.
Her hands moved to her hips. “It’s contract time, Mr. Bishop.”
“Don’t be rushing into the fire, little girl. Eric just arrived.”
“We’ve been on hold for months.”
The obese man’s teeth clamped on the cigar. “Stick to nursing, little girl. When you have a seat on the Board, you can push.”
“We’re asking for one.”
“Already have a nurse. Your director has a seat.”
She made a face. “I mean a real nurse.” She turned and jogged away.
“What?” If Bishop hadn’t grabbed Eric’s arm, he would have followed her and demanded an explanation. The desire for a confrontation rocked him.
Bishop laughed. “That’s one fine looking little girl. Needs a man to blunt her claws.” He winked. “You interested?”
“What did she mean by a real nurse?”
“Seems she thinks only bedside nurses should have a say in how the hospital’s run.” Bishop ground his cigar on the sun-browned grass. “Girl’s a born leader.”
“Why isn’t she a nurse manager?”
Bishop lit another cigar and released a cloud of smoke. “Would be like setting a mongoose in a cobra’s nest. Better idea would be for you to feed the sparks jumping between you. Set her to thinking about a man not a contract.”
Eric’s jaw tightened. He felt the same anger he’d felt years before when he’d been a rookie cop and a smooth- talking drug dealer had offered a bribe. “That’s not my style.”
“Why not? A good administrator is like ice applied to a burn. The rule is -- find the troublemakers and use any means to neutralize them.”
Eric looked away. No matter how expedient, he wouldn’t use attraction to gather information. “I’ll be busy then. There are a lot of unhappy campers.”
Bishop laughed. “Long as they’re carping, we don’t have to worry.”
“Oh, there you are.” Sandra Wallace, the assistant Director of Nursing, strolled toward them. She shifted her ever-present briefcase to her right hand and grabbed Bishop’s arm. “Weren’t we meeting at the buffet?”
Bishop’s meaty hand covered hers. “You missed the game. The nurses won.”
She eyed Eric’s faded cut-offs. He felt like he’d been examined by a fashion consultant and dismissed. “My aren’t you casual.”
“Not for a picnic.”
Her lips curled at the edges. “Appearance is always vital. Have I interrupted something important?”
“We were talking about Jenessa Robertson.”
As though brushing crumbs away, her hand fluttered. “Watch her. She’s always stirring up trouble.”
“She seems to know a lot about the hospital’s problems,” Eric said.
Sandra sneered. “She should. She enjoys causing them.”
Bishop laughed. “Girl’s always rooting like a goat in the garbage dump.”
“Lobbied for us to hire floats.”
“So how much real trouble has she caused?” Eric asked.
“Organized the union. Fought for every point in the contract,” Bishop said.
Sandra’s laughter rang hollow. “She has no respect for authority. Threatened a sick-out. Even stormed a Board meeting to make demands. Jim thinks she’s cute.”
“And dangerous.” Bishop waved the cigar. “Might offer her a job.”
Eric moved away from the pair. “See you later. Promised to meet Sam.” As he jogged away, a glimpse of red shorts and long legs tempted him to change direction.
Moments later, still watching Jenessa Robertson, he dropped to the ground beside Sam. Rushing into a situation he wasn’t sure he could control made no sense. He swallowed a mouthful of the icy beer Sam handed him. There would be other encounters with her. He smiled in anticipation.
*****
Jenessa leaned against one of the picnic tables and finished her food. She felt confused and uneasy. Megan had been right, but broad shoulders and a dimpled smile didn’t make the rest of the prediction true.
“Thank heavens for Bishop.” Her whispered comment ended in a chuckle. Being grateful to him for anything felt weird. Usually, his attitude made her want to scream.
She scanned the clusters of people for members of the negotiating team. Time for a meeting. She spotted one of the women at the buffet and joined her. “Hi, Dru.”
“Good game. What’s happening?”
“It’s time to push for negotiations. They have their D.O.N. That was their excuse.” She slathered catsup on a hamburger and took a bite.
Dru put down her fork. “Claire said to wait.”
“Do I head the team?”
Dru finished a chicken leg. “You do.”
“There’s a strategy meeting. My apartment at five.”
“Who else have you told?”
“You’re the first. Nan’s by the swings. Let’s go tell her.”
“I’m on the way.” Dru dropped her plate in the trash. “They may scrimp on pay and benefits but they always have a great spread.”
“Right. Keep the girls happy.” She and Dru strolled across the playground.
“What’s up?” Nan asked.
“Strategy meeting today,” Jenessa said. “My place at five.”
Nan raked her red hair. “About time. Does Claire know? Sometimes she’s as bad as the Board.”
“What do you mean?” Dru asked.
“I told her we should report the hospital to the Labor Board and petition for arbitration. She said she has another plan to force their hand.”
Dru sat on one of the swings. “Maybe she wants to give Mr. Bradshaw a chance. Wonder if he’s taken.”
“You are,” Jenessa said.
“Just window shopping.”
Nan pushed an empty swing. “Want to hear the latest rumor?”
“Would you still tell us if we said no?” Jenessa asked.
“Of course. One of the night nurses from Peds told me the hospital’s being sold.”
Dru laughed. “That’s old news. Heard it years ago. I bet half the rumors are invented by bored night nurses.”
Until she investigated, Jenessa wasn’t about to dismiss the rumor. “There’s Simone. My place at five. Pass the word.” She darted across the ballfield where a group of teenage boys were practicing.
“Watch out!”
Jenessa turned to see who had yelled. A hard object smacked her head.
The next thing to enter her awareness was a pair of hazel eyes…Incredible eyes. An aroma of pine swirled around her. A vague recollection lapped at the edge of her thoughts.
“Are you all right?” a deep voice demanded.
She tuned out the voice and focused on the rugged planes of his face.
“Jenessa, Jenessa Robertson, are you all right?”
She stared. Lips, tempting in their nearness, moved away. “I’m fine, I think.”
He flashed a smile that revealed a dimple in each cheek. “I’m glad. I was about to call for help.”
His fingers touched her wrist. She wondered if her dizziness was caused by the way her heart rate had accelerated. He slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and eased her into a sitting position. The trees danced and came to rest. A name popped into her thoughts. Eric Bradshaw. She lightly brushed the lump on her head. “Guess I got beaned.”
“My fault. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“You sure know how to get attention.” Sandra Wallace’s nasal twang grabbed Jenessa’s wandering attention.
Jenessa looked at the crowd and leaned against Eric. For a moment, she savored the aura of protection he projected. “Isn’t that what you always say.” She stared at the dark-haired woman and shook her head in disbelief. “A pink suit and heels. This is a picnic, not tea with the First Lady.”
“I can tell you’re not hurt.” Sandra wheeled. As she strode away, her briefcase swung like a pendulum.
“Bag lady,” Jenessa whispered.
“Why?”
“That briefcase is an extension of her arm. I wonder if she goes to bed with it.”
“Maybe she has dark secrets.” Eric grinned. “Ready?”
He helped her to her feet. Her knees buckled. His hand slid from her shoulders to her waist, leaving a trail of warmth behind. He helped her to one of the tables.
“I think you’d better sit down. Anything else I can do for you?”
She thought of a dozen things best left unsaid. The pressure and heat of his hand at her waist made her want to purr. What was she thinking? “I’ll be fine.”
“Let me get some ice for your head.”
After he left, she rested her elbows on the table and closed her eyes. She searched for a memory that burned off like early morning mist under the rising sun. The idea that she knew him belonged to a fantasy. How could she have forgotten a man who looked like him?
She groaned. The softball must have addled her wits. Someone slid onto the bench. She tensed.
“You’ve done it,” Megan said.
“What are you talking about?”
“His attention. I felt the vibes clear to the buffet. Why did you send him away?”
“You know why.”
“Jen, he’s perfect.”
Jenessa wanted to shake her head, but every movement changed the dull ache into sharp pain. “My head hurts.”
“That bad?”
“I got beaned. He helped me up. He’s the enemy.”
“Guess you heard he’s anti-union and was lured from a hospital where the nurses voted theirs out.” Megan half- rose. “He’s on his way back. Darn, he’s stopped to talk to Sam.”
Jenessa stood. While she waited for her vision to clear, she leaned against the table. “We’re meeting at five. Will you be there?”
“Got tapped for a double.” Megan looked at her watch. “Dinner break’s over. See you.”
With steps that began shaky and steadied, Jenessa walked along the path to Grove Street. A contract was essential but if her colleagues voted to strike, no matter how wrong she thought they were she would join them. With a deep sigh of regret, she wished she and Eric Bradshaw weren’t in opposition. Forget it, she thought and began to jog away.
Showing posts with label 1st Chapter Saturday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1st Chapter Saturday. Show all posts
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
1st Chapter Saturday - The rest of Whispers Out of Yesteryear
In Whispers, I may have broken every law of writing that I know, except I don't think I did. Whispers is a reincarnation vovel based mych on the past lives of the characters and I do mean events from the distant past and of the near past. This story is also based on a past incident in my own life. Hope you enjoy.
Whispers Out of Yesteryear
Janet Lane Walters
DiskUs Publishing
*****
July 2000
"Not the children!"
Willow Carey jerked into a sitting position. Her heart thudded in her chest. Waves of terror flooded her thoughts. She gulped deep breaths of air.
She stared at the familiar surroundings and wondered why the bedroom seemed alien. Like a shroud, the sheet had twisted around her legs. She tugged it free. Her sleep shirt, soaked with perspiration, clung to her skin. She shook her head to dislodge the fragments of the nightmare that had awakened her. Terror, grief and rage had followed her into consciousness. What? Why?
Once her heart rate slowed, she reached for the alarm clock. Too late to go back to sleep and too early to get ready for work. As the effects of the adrenaline rush faded, her sense of uneasiness grew.
She hugged her knees. Once again, she had failed but she couldn’t remember who or how.
Moments later, she stood in the shower. Warm water washed away the sour smell of fear. The nightmare wasn’t new. Six years had passed since the last time the cry had jolted her awake. Always the same urgency and the same surge of emotions. No matter how hard she tried, she never remembered more than the cry.
She stepped from the shower. After pulling on a blue terry cloth robe, she stripped the bed and stuffed the damp sheets in the hamper.
What had triggered the dream? With the thoroughness of a pathologist seeking the cause of death, she examined the past few days and found no incident that could be called a trigger.
As she made the bed, she recalled the first time she’d dreamed. She’d been sixteen. She and her twin had been at Indian’s Sorrow visiting their aunt. Willow had always loved staying there. This time had been different. One memory lodged in her thoughts.
"Willow, come here. This is so neat." Brooke had opened the gate at the side of the garden.
Willow halted at the opening. She looked beyond her sister. "Get away from the edge."
"I’m fine." Brooke leaned forward. "The rocks look like a giant’s teeth. Come see."
"I can’t."
Brooke laughed. "Chicken."
"Something dreadful happened here."
"And I thought I was the one with the imagination and you were the logical one." Brooke spun around. "I love this place. Do you think Aunt Willow will leave it to us? She doesn’t have kids."
"I don’t..." Willow had turned away. She hadn’t been able to say she didn’t want Indian’s Sorrow. The land had been in the family forever and something bound her to this place.
That night she’d dreamed. Terror had slid insidious fingers of fear into her sleep. When the summer had ended, she’d been happy to go home.
Until her aunt’s death, she hadn’t gone back. Then she learned the house and the land were hers, not a legacy to be shared with her twin.
Brooke had been furious. She’d accused Willow of taking advantage of their aunt. Since that day, their relationship had been strained. Brooke’s coldness had hurt.
Willow sighed. The land was hers but she’d lost her sister.
She sat on the edge of the bed. Where was Brooke? Five months ago, they had talked for a few minutes at an art gallery exhibition of Brooke’s paintings. Silly surface chatter with no meaning and no sense of their old bond.
Was her twin all right? She used to know when Brooke was in trouble, but the connection they’d shared had vanished. Willow tore her thoughts from the void left by the rift.
By six fifteen, she was ready for work. She put a bright yellow smock embroidered with Native American symbols over her white uniform. The children loved to trace the lines and learn the meanings. So did she. Her apartment reflected her interest in that part of her heritage.
She paused to study the portrait Brooke had painted of the Three Sisters -- Corn, Squash and Beans. Though Willow had posed for the picture, her twin could have painted herself. Long black hair, warm brown eyes, cheekbones that added a hint of the exotic. Mirrors on the outside but opposites inside.
A sliver of the nightmare slid into focus. Brooke screamed. As though touched by a blast of frigid air, Willow rubbed her arms. What did it mean? Was Brooke in danger? She searched but the bond remained closed.
She had no appetite, but she brewed a cup of herbal tea and toasted a bran muffin. As she picked at the food, her thoughts returned to the nightmare. Why today and why when she wasn’t at Indian’s Sorrow? She scraped the remains of the muffin in the garbage and washed the dishes.
A persistent question nagged. What did the dream mean?
She tucked a pouch containing a Kelly clamp, bandage scissors and pens in her pocket.
With a stethoscope draped around her neck, she headed across the street to West End Hospital where she worked as a pediatric nurse.
*****
July 1755
Too late. Too late.
Jonathan Reed stopped for a brief rest. For two days since he’d seen signs of the Ottawas in the forest, the refrain had echoed in his thoughts. After he’d discovered the dismembered bodies of their captives, he’d known Rene DuBarri led the band of warriors. Such brutality was the man’s signature.
Dread filled his thoughts. The Long House. Corn Dreamer. The men and women who had befriended him were in danger. He feared he wouldn’t arrive in time with the warning.
He rubbed dirt into his hair to disguise the color. Hair of Fire was his name among the clan.
After gulping water from the skin he carried, he looked for signs of the enemy’s passage. Another mile or two and he would reach his goal. Though most of the warriors had traveled north, if he arrived in time, those who had remained could hold off the enemy until the women and children escaped.
The silence of the forest troubled him. No bird songs, no noises that signaled the presence of small animals. His fears rushed to the surface.
Too late. Too late.
No, he prayed. For with the clan and in the Long House, he’d found healing for his spirit and had learned to forgive himself. The guilt he’d felt after his wife’s death by her own hand had turned him into a wanderer. Corn Dreamer had helped him find peace and had taught him the skills of a healer.
Too late. Too late.
He pushed his fears to a corner of his mind and slowed to a walk. With caution, he slipped from tree to tree, senses alert and prayers forgotten. He was close enough to hear the songs of the women and the children's laughter. He felt a chill as icy as the winds of winter.
He staggered into the clearing and stared at the ruined Long House. Bitter acid burned in his throat. He had arrived too late.
As he stared at the scene of the massacre, he saw the broken bodies of his friends. Two warriors lay atop several of the enemy. He crept from the shadow of the trees and examined the strangers. Ottawas from DuBarri’s pack.
He edged toward the Long house. Sprawled bodies of women, infants and the older boys caused him to weave a serpentine path to the entrance of the bark-covered building. Just inside the entrance, he halted. A cry rose in his throat.
"Corn Dreamer." The man who’d taught him about medicine lay sprawled among the furs. The gaping hole in his chest told Jonathan what had been done.
‘Twas an honor. He sank to his knees. How could such a death be deemed an honor?
Swift on the heels of grief, anger rose. He backed from the Long House. This time he examined the bodies for the one he feared to find.
A soft cry startled him. He studied the clearing and saw no one but the dead. The sound came again. He strode toward the trees. Gray Squirrel Chatters huddled in the brush. Dried blood on her head showed where she’d been struck.
"It’s Hair of Fire. Where are the children? Where are the Willows?"
"Gone. Those who stink of fish have taken them."
"Where?"
She shrugged. "They do not have Willow Who Bends. She went to gather medicines."
"In the forest?"
"To the place where those who gave her a name grow. North by the stream."
He lifted the elderly woman and carried her to the cave where last fall he and the warriors had killed a bear. Though he wanted to search for the one whose image filled his thoughts, he owed Gray Squirrel Chatters care for the meals she’d shared with him. He cleaned her wounds and returned to the long house for furs, food and water. Only then did he set out to look for Willow Who Bends.
Too late. Too late. The refrain beat in his thoughts. Not this time, he vowed.
*****
July 2000
The persistent ring of the telephone pulled Reid Talbot from a disturbing dream. He felt as though he’d run for miles and never reached his goal. He rubbed his eyes and groped on the bedside stand for the phone. "Dr. Talbot here."
The gravely voice of Ben Rodgers, Greenesville’s Chief of Police requested Reid’s presence at the scene of an accident. "Two victims. Car slammed into an embankment on County Road 7."
For a moment, Reid wondered if he’d heard a hint of emotion in the usually stoic man’s voice. "Be right there."
"Don’t rush. One accident’s enough."
Reid pulled on a pair of jeans and a blue polo shirt. Who this time, he wondered. He hadn’t asked and Ben hadn’t said.
After jotting a note for his live-in housekeeper, he lifted his medical bag from the dresser. Before heading to his car, he stopped to look in on his sons. Gary lay curled on his side. The covers had barely been disturbed. Rob’s bed looked like a major battle had been fought. The boys’ red hair, several shades lighter than his, shone bright against the white sheets.
Twenty minutes later, he rounded a bend in the road and spotted the patrol car. A sick feeling settled in his gut. He knew the van and he knew the victims. In the four years since he’d settled in Greenesville, Warren and Nancy Carey had become his friends.
He parked behind the patrol car. Ben strode over. "You need to check them."
"I know." His stomach knotted. He looked at the shattered front end. There was no way either could have survived. Thoughts of his wife’s broken body arose. Her accident had taken place not far from here.
He grabbed the medical bag. Ben’s round face mirrored the same sick feeling that roiled in Reid’s gut. "You all right?" he asked.
"Good as I can be."
Reid reached the van. He sucked in a breath and felt for pulses.
"How long?" Ben asked.
"Can’t say without an autopsy. Six hours or so. Is there a need?"
Ben shrugged. "Won’t know ‘til the van’s been checked over. Was on my way to town for breakfast when I come on them. Not many folks travel this road at night."
"What do you think happened?" Reid turned away. There wasn’t a thing he could do and that made him feel helpless.
"Dear, I reckon." Ben rubbed his balding head. "Found a dead one ‘crost the road." He frowned. "Wonder what brought them home in the middle of the night. Thought they was staying in New York City a couple of weeks. Haven’t been gone more than one."
"I thought so, too."
"Asked me to check on Miss Mary and the kids. Talked to her yesterday morning. She didn’t mention they were coming back."
Reid averted his eyes from the van. He couldn’t look; he couldn’t even grieve. Not in public "Maybe she called them. Children could be a handful, especially for a seventy year old."
Ben chuckled. "She sure snookered you. She’s past eighty and she’s not one for admitting she can’t handle anything." He shook his head. "Them coming back don’t make sense."
Reid nodded. Warren and Nancy had been excited about the contract for a series of informative and witty histories of Colonial days. They’d talked about plays, museums and people they wanted to see. Would knowing why they cut their trip short explain the accident?
The ambulance arrived. One of the men approached. "You gonna sign the certificates now or later, Doc?"
Reid’s hands clenched. "At the hospital." He strode down the road and kept his back to the van. Sadness view with anger. Why these two? The accident was senseless and unfair.
Ben joined him. "They’re gone. You able to handle this? Know you was close."
"Yeah. Have you called Miss Mary?"
Ben shook his head. "Couldn’t face her. Don’t know how she’ll take this. Been living with them since her cabin burned down."
Reid nodded. Life in a small town had annoying moments but the closeness and caring when trouble occurred were among the reasons he’d remained after his wife’s death.
"I’ll tell her and call Warren’s daughters."
The older man snorted. "Wouldn’t surprise me none if they didn’t come."
"Willow will," Reid said.
Ben raised an eyebrow. "They why ain’t she come to visit?"
"She’s a nurse and works crazy hours. Warren, Nancy and the children visit her once a month."
Ben walked to the patrol car. "Seems one way to me. Makes me see red when families fall apart, Best you call them. I might shove my foot in wrong. See you."
After the patrol car pulled onto the road, Reid slumped in the driver’s seat. Warren and Nancy. Why?
He stared at the crumpled van. How was he going to tell Miss Mary and the children?
Five minutes later, he turned into the tree-lined lane leading to Indian’s Sorrow. For the hundredth time, he wondered how the place had been named. This morning the name seemed apt.
Sunrise tinged the white clapboard of the house pink. Doric columns supported the portico roof. He dashed up the steps and rang the bell.
Miss Mary opened the door. "What brings you here? Be needing one of my tonics?"
He shook his head. "Warren and Nancy."
"T’ain’t back from the big city. Why a body would want to go there is beyond me."
"I know they’re not back. They’ve been in an accident."
Her shoulders slumped. Her face aged to match the years she’d lived. "They was coming in the night. Hoped they’d changed their minds. Might as well come in." She headed past the stairs leading to the second floor and into the kitchen wing.
"Where are the children?"
"Tykes be sleeping." She filled a cup with coffee and put it in front of him. "Don’t have a notion why Warren and Nancy changed their plans, ‘cept he was mad ‘bout something. Heard it in his voice."
Reid inhaled the aromatic steam and gulped a mouthful. The bitter taste matched his thoughts. The hot liquid burned a trail to his stomach but failed to warm the frost that had settled deep. How would the children handle the loss of their parents? He remembered how his boys had grieved when their mother had died. Though she’d done little to earn the title, they had loved her.
He put the cup in the saucer. "They were almost home when they had the accident."
Miss Mary sank on the chair across the table from him. "Feared as much when they didn’t come. Need to tell the tykes when they wake. Pains me. Tired of telling folks ‘bout death." Her hands opened and closed. "Was me what brought Willow Grant the news ‘bout her man and baby. Place sure lives up to its name. Don’t know a body what lived here that don’t lose a loved one in some tragic way."
He put his hand over hers. "I’ll call Warren’s daughters."
She snorted. "Guess they’ll come. That Brooke was here ‘bout two months ago. Brought some slick city fella. Didn’t like him one bit. Had greedy eyes. She and Warren had a real fuss."
Reid frowned. Warren had seldom talked about Brooke.
"And that Willow. Had hopes for her. When she come summers, she helped me with my herbs. Day after her aunt’s funeral, she run and ain’t been back. House and land be hers."
"Thought it was Warren’s."
"Land goes to the oldest girl in each generation. Willow and Brooke be the last in the direct line, so it’s hers. Them things don’t mean much to young folks these days."
"She’ll come for the children."
Speculation flashed in her eyes. Reid looked away. Even Warren hadn’t known about his connection to Willow and how he’d destroyed her trust by withholding the truth.
"Believe that when I see her. Run out of here that morning like ghosts was on her tail."
"She’ll come," he repeated. "I know her. She was a nurse at the hospital where I did my residency. Do you have her number?"
"I’ll fetch the book."
While Reid waited for the elderly woman to return, vivid images of Willow filled his thoughts and stirred memories of how much he’d needed her love, of how she’d been the one to fill the emptiness he’d felt all his life. He groaned.
Miss Mary dropped an indexed book on the table. "I’ll check the tykes. Tell them girls they’d better come flying. They be needed."
He opened the directory to C. Willow’s name and number were scrawled in Warren’s bold script. Brooke’s had been added by Nancy. He tried that number.
"We’re sorry but the number you’ve reached has been disconnected."
He frowned. He’d hoped to speak to Brooke and let her pass the news to Willow. Even thinking about her stirred regrets and guilt. He dialed her number. After six rings, her throaty voice informed him she was unavailable but to leave a message.
He slumped in the chair. What now? His news couldn’t wait and he didn’t want to leave a message. Was she at the hospital? Had she changed her shift from evenings? He called West End Hospital and asked for the Pediatric Unit.
Five years ago, he and Willow had met at a patient’s bedside. After her shift, they’d gone to the cafeteria to discuss the case. That had been the first of many late night meetings. Memories of their first kiss flooded his thoughts.
He’d cupped her face and kissed her lightly. "I feel as though I’ve known you forever."
"Forever," she had repeated. "To the spirit world and beyond."
Those words had sounded right and as though she’d said them to him once before. Except, he’d believed she hadn’t been talking about the past. She’d wanted a future he couldn’t promise.
"Pediatrics, Miss Carey speaking."
Her voice curled around him like a velvet glove. "Willow, it’s Reid Talbot."
"Dr. Talbot." Her voice flattened. "What can I do for you?"
Love me, he thought. Her formality doused his hopes. Did she still hate him? He recalled the night she’d walked away. Her obsidian eyes had flashed with anger and her long black braid had slapped against her back. "I have some bad news."
"Not the children." Her words echoed the ones that had awakened her.
"Your father. Nancy. An accident. They were killed."
For a moment, his words failed to register. Tears trickled down her cheeks. "Were they mugged?"
"Their van. Just outside Greenesville."
"But they were in New York." She didn’t understand. Like a gush of molten lava, anger flashed in her thoughts. I’ll follow him to the spirit world and beyond. I will have revenge. Her hands shook. What am I thinking? "Why were they coming home?"
"I don’t know."
"Mara and Pete?"
"With Miss Mary. Will you come?"
Was there a choice? She sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes. "Yes." A whisper from the past brushed her skin. She shivered. "As soon as I can arrange relief here. Sometime later...this afternoon or early evening."
"If you need anything, Miss Mary has my number."
"Thank you."
He heard grief in her voice and marveled at her control. Except, she’d always shown a stoic’s face to the world. "We need to talk..." He swallowed the rest of his words. Today wasn’t the time to tell her he was a widower. "Will you be all right? Is there..."
"I have to be. Mara and Pete need me...Does Brooke know?"
"Her number’s been disconnected."
"I’ll find her."
He hated the sorrow he heard in her voice. He reached for the now cold coffee and drained the cup.
Miss Mary shuffled into the room. "Tykes still be asleep. Them girls coming?"
"Willow will be here this afternoon."
The elderly woman sniffed. "Why so long?"
"Nurses can’t just abandon their patients. The nursing office will have to find a relief." He waved away a refill. "Couldn’t reach Brooke. What’s she like?"
"On the outside, a body’d think she was Willow, but she’s soft inside and easy led. Kind of selfish. Carried on something fierce when she learned the place was her twin’s and not for them both."
"Why?"
"Willow’s oldest by fifteen minutes. Just ‘cause they’re twins don’t change the giving."
Reid rose. "I must get to the hospital. Call if you need anything."
She followed him to the door. "Always been a Willow here to now."
Would Willow stay or would she take the children to the city? Could he persuade her to give the town and him another chance? He paused on the porch. "Want me to stay until the children are up?"
"I’ll be doing what’s needed." She remained at the door. "Willow be the one to need you."
Will she? From the ice he’d heard in her voice, he believed she’d be the last person to ask for his help.
Whispers Out of Yesteryear
Janet Lane Walters
DiskUs Publishing
*****
July 2000
"Not the children!"
Willow Carey jerked into a sitting position. Her heart thudded in her chest. Waves of terror flooded her thoughts. She gulped deep breaths of air.
She stared at the familiar surroundings and wondered why the bedroom seemed alien. Like a shroud, the sheet had twisted around her legs. She tugged it free. Her sleep shirt, soaked with perspiration, clung to her skin. She shook her head to dislodge the fragments of the nightmare that had awakened her. Terror, grief and rage had followed her into consciousness. What? Why?
Once her heart rate slowed, she reached for the alarm clock. Too late to go back to sleep and too early to get ready for work. As the effects of the adrenaline rush faded, her sense of uneasiness grew.
She hugged her knees. Once again, she had failed but she couldn’t remember who or how.
Moments later, she stood in the shower. Warm water washed away the sour smell of fear. The nightmare wasn’t new. Six years had passed since the last time the cry had jolted her awake. Always the same urgency and the same surge of emotions. No matter how hard she tried, she never remembered more than the cry.
She stepped from the shower. After pulling on a blue terry cloth robe, she stripped the bed and stuffed the damp sheets in the hamper.
What had triggered the dream? With the thoroughness of a pathologist seeking the cause of death, she examined the past few days and found no incident that could be called a trigger.
As she made the bed, she recalled the first time she’d dreamed. She’d been sixteen. She and her twin had been at Indian’s Sorrow visiting their aunt. Willow had always loved staying there. This time had been different. One memory lodged in her thoughts.
"Willow, come here. This is so neat." Brooke had opened the gate at the side of the garden.
Willow halted at the opening. She looked beyond her sister. "Get away from the edge."
"I’m fine." Brooke leaned forward. "The rocks look like a giant’s teeth. Come see."
"I can’t."
Brooke laughed. "Chicken."
"Something dreadful happened here."
"And I thought I was the one with the imagination and you were the logical one." Brooke spun around. "I love this place. Do you think Aunt Willow will leave it to us? She doesn’t have kids."
"I don’t..." Willow had turned away. She hadn’t been able to say she didn’t want Indian’s Sorrow. The land had been in the family forever and something bound her to this place.
That night she’d dreamed. Terror had slid insidious fingers of fear into her sleep. When the summer had ended, she’d been happy to go home.
Until her aunt’s death, she hadn’t gone back. Then she learned the house and the land were hers, not a legacy to be shared with her twin.
Brooke had been furious. She’d accused Willow of taking advantage of their aunt. Since that day, their relationship had been strained. Brooke’s coldness had hurt.
Willow sighed. The land was hers but she’d lost her sister.
She sat on the edge of the bed. Where was Brooke? Five months ago, they had talked for a few minutes at an art gallery exhibition of Brooke’s paintings. Silly surface chatter with no meaning and no sense of their old bond.
Was her twin all right? She used to know when Brooke was in trouble, but the connection they’d shared had vanished. Willow tore her thoughts from the void left by the rift.
By six fifteen, she was ready for work. She put a bright yellow smock embroidered with Native American symbols over her white uniform. The children loved to trace the lines and learn the meanings. So did she. Her apartment reflected her interest in that part of her heritage.
She paused to study the portrait Brooke had painted of the Three Sisters -- Corn, Squash and Beans. Though Willow had posed for the picture, her twin could have painted herself. Long black hair, warm brown eyes, cheekbones that added a hint of the exotic. Mirrors on the outside but opposites inside.
A sliver of the nightmare slid into focus. Brooke screamed. As though touched by a blast of frigid air, Willow rubbed her arms. What did it mean? Was Brooke in danger? She searched but the bond remained closed.
She had no appetite, but she brewed a cup of herbal tea and toasted a bran muffin. As she picked at the food, her thoughts returned to the nightmare. Why today and why when she wasn’t at Indian’s Sorrow? She scraped the remains of the muffin in the garbage and washed the dishes.
A persistent question nagged. What did the dream mean?
She tucked a pouch containing a Kelly clamp, bandage scissors and pens in her pocket.
With a stethoscope draped around her neck, she headed across the street to West End Hospital where she worked as a pediatric nurse.
*****
July 1755
Too late. Too late.
Jonathan Reed stopped for a brief rest. For two days since he’d seen signs of the Ottawas in the forest, the refrain had echoed in his thoughts. After he’d discovered the dismembered bodies of their captives, he’d known Rene DuBarri led the band of warriors. Such brutality was the man’s signature.
Dread filled his thoughts. The Long House. Corn Dreamer. The men and women who had befriended him were in danger. He feared he wouldn’t arrive in time with the warning.
He rubbed dirt into his hair to disguise the color. Hair of Fire was his name among the clan.
After gulping water from the skin he carried, he looked for signs of the enemy’s passage. Another mile or two and he would reach his goal. Though most of the warriors had traveled north, if he arrived in time, those who had remained could hold off the enemy until the women and children escaped.
The silence of the forest troubled him. No bird songs, no noises that signaled the presence of small animals. His fears rushed to the surface.
Too late. Too late.
No, he prayed. For with the clan and in the Long House, he’d found healing for his spirit and had learned to forgive himself. The guilt he’d felt after his wife’s death by her own hand had turned him into a wanderer. Corn Dreamer had helped him find peace and had taught him the skills of a healer.
Too late. Too late.
He pushed his fears to a corner of his mind and slowed to a walk. With caution, he slipped from tree to tree, senses alert and prayers forgotten. He was close enough to hear the songs of the women and the children's laughter. He felt a chill as icy as the winds of winter.
He staggered into the clearing and stared at the ruined Long House. Bitter acid burned in his throat. He had arrived too late.
As he stared at the scene of the massacre, he saw the broken bodies of his friends. Two warriors lay atop several of the enemy. He crept from the shadow of the trees and examined the strangers. Ottawas from DuBarri’s pack.
He edged toward the Long house. Sprawled bodies of women, infants and the older boys caused him to weave a serpentine path to the entrance of the bark-covered building. Just inside the entrance, he halted. A cry rose in his throat.
"Corn Dreamer." The man who’d taught him about medicine lay sprawled among the furs. The gaping hole in his chest told Jonathan what had been done.
‘Twas an honor. He sank to his knees. How could such a death be deemed an honor?
Swift on the heels of grief, anger rose. He backed from the Long House. This time he examined the bodies for the one he feared to find.
A soft cry startled him. He studied the clearing and saw no one but the dead. The sound came again. He strode toward the trees. Gray Squirrel Chatters huddled in the brush. Dried blood on her head showed where she’d been struck.
"It’s Hair of Fire. Where are the children? Where are the Willows?"
"Gone. Those who stink of fish have taken them."
"Where?"
She shrugged. "They do not have Willow Who Bends. She went to gather medicines."
"In the forest?"
"To the place where those who gave her a name grow. North by the stream."
He lifted the elderly woman and carried her to the cave where last fall he and the warriors had killed a bear. Though he wanted to search for the one whose image filled his thoughts, he owed Gray Squirrel Chatters care for the meals she’d shared with him. He cleaned her wounds and returned to the long house for furs, food and water. Only then did he set out to look for Willow Who Bends.
Too late. Too late. The refrain beat in his thoughts. Not this time, he vowed.
*****
July 2000
The persistent ring of the telephone pulled Reid Talbot from a disturbing dream. He felt as though he’d run for miles and never reached his goal. He rubbed his eyes and groped on the bedside stand for the phone. "Dr. Talbot here."
The gravely voice of Ben Rodgers, Greenesville’s Chief of Police requested Reid’s presence at the scene of an accident. "Two victims. Car slammed into an embankment on County Road 7."
For a moment, Reid wondered if he’d heard a hint of emotion in the usually stoic man’s voice. "Be right there."
"Don’t rush. One accident’s enough."
Reid pulled on a pair of jeans and a blue polo shirt. Who this time, he wondered. He hadn’t asked and Ben hadn’t said.
After jotting a note for his live-in housekeeper, he lifted his medical bag from the dresser. Before heading to his car, he stopped to look in on his sons. Gary lay curled on his side. The covers had barely been disturbed. Rob’s bed looked like a major battle had been fought. The boys’ red hair, several shades lighter than his, shone bright against the white sheets.
Twenty minutes later, he rounded a bend in the road and spotted the patrol car. A sick feeling settled in his gut. He knew the van and he knew the victims. In the four years since he’d settled in Greenesville, Warren and Nancy Carey had become his friends.
He parked behind the patrol car. Ben strode over. "You need to check them."
"I know." His stomach knotted. He looked at the shattered front end. There was no way either could have survived. Thoughts of his wife’s broken body arose. Her accident had taken place not far from here.
He grabbed the medical bag. Ben’s round face mirrored the same sick feeling that roiled in Reid’s gut. "You all right?" he asked.
"Good as I can be."
Reid reached the van. He sucked in a breath and felt for pulses.
"How long?" Ben asked.
"Can’t say without an autopsy. Six hours or so. Is there a need?"
Ben shrugged. "Won’t know ‘til the van’s been checked over. Was on my way to town for breakfast when I come on them. Not many folks travel this road at night."
"What do you think happened?" Reid turned away. There wasn’t a thing he could do and that made him feel helpless.
"Dear, I reckon." Ben rubbed his balding head. "Found a dead one ‘crost the road." He frowned. "Wonder what brought them home in the middle of the night. Thought they was staying in New York City a couple of weeks. Haven’t been gone more than one."
"I thought so, too."
"Asked me to check on Miss Mary and the kids. Talked to her yesterday morning. She didn’t mention they were coming back."
Reid averted his eyes from the van. He couldn’t look; he couldn’t even grieve. Not in public "Maybe she called them. Children could be a handful, especially for a seventy year old."
Ben chuckled. "She sure snookered you. She’s past eighty and she’s not one for admitting she can’t handle anything." He shook his head. "Them coming back don’t make sense."
Reid nodded. Warren and Nancy had been excited about the contract for a series of informative and witty histories of Colonial days. They’d talked about plays, museums and people they wanted to see. Would knowing why they cut their trip short explain the accident?
The ambulance arrived. One of the men approached. "You gonna sign the certificates now or later, Doc?"
Reid’s hands clenched. "At the hospital." He strode down the road and kept his back to the van. Sadness view with anger. Why these two? The accident was senseless and unfair.
Ben joined him. "They’re gone. You able to handle this? Know you was close."
"Yeah. Have you called Miss Mary?"
Ben shook his head. "Couldn’t face her. Don’t know how she’ll take this. Been living with them since her cabin burned down."
Reid nodded. Life in a small town had annoying moments but the closeness and caring when trouble occurred were among the reasons he’d remained after his wife’s death.
"I’ll tell her and call Warren’s daughters."
The older man snorted. "Wouldn’t surprise me none if they didn’t come."
"Willow will," Reid said.
Ben raised an eyebrow. "They why ain’t she come to visit?"
"She’s a nurse and works crazy hours. Warren, Nancy and the children visit her once a month."
Ben walked to the patrol car. "Seems one way to me. Makes me see red when families fall apart, Best you call them. I might shove my foot in wrong. See you."
After the patrol car pulled onto the road, Reid slumped in the driver’s seat. Warren and Nancy. Why?
He stared at the crumpled van. How was he going to tell Miss Mary and the children?
Five minutes later, he turned into the tree-lined lane leading to Indian’s Sorrow. For the hundredth time, he wondered how the place had been named. This morning the name seemed apt.
Sunrise tinged the white clapboard of the house pink. Doric columns supported the portico roof. He dashed up the steps and rang the bell.
Miss Mary opened the door. "What brings you here? Be needing one of my tonics?"
He shook his head. "Warren and Nancy."
"T’ain’t back from the big city. Why a body would want to go there is beyond me."
"I know they’re not back. They’ve been in an accident."
Her shoulders slumped. Her face aged to match the years she’d lived. "They was coming in the night. Hoped they’d changed their minds. Might as well come in." She headed past the stairs leading to the second floor and into the kitchen wing.
"Where are the children?"
"Tykes be sleeping." She filled a cup with coffee and put it in front of him. "Don’t have a notion why Warren and Nancy changed their plans, ‘cept he was mad ‘bout something. Heard it in his voice."
Reid inhaled the aromatic steam and gulped a mouthful. The bitter taste matched his thoughts. The hot liquid burned a trail to his stomach but failed to warm the frost that had settled deep. How would the children handle the loss of their parents? He remembered how his boys had grieved when their mother had died. Though she’d done little to earn the title, they had loved her.
He put the cup in the saucer. "They were almost home when they had the accident."
Miss Mary sank on the chair across the table from him. "Feared as much when they didn’t come. Need to tell the tykes when they wake. Pains me. Tired of telling folks ‘bout death." Her hands opened and closed. "Was me what brought Willow Grant the news ‘bout her man and baby. Place sure lives up to its name. Don’t know a body what lived here that don’t lose a loved one in some tragic way."
He put his hand over hers. "I’ll call Warren’s daughters."
She snorted. "Guess they’ll come. That Brooke was here ‘bout two months ago. Brought some slick city fella. Didn’t like him one bit. Had greedy eyes. She and Warren had a real fuss."
Reid frowned. Warren had seldom talked about Brooke.
"And that Willow. Had hopes for her. When she come summers, she helped me with my herbs. Day after her aunt’s funeral, she run and ain’t been back. House and land be hers."
"Thought it was Warren’s."
"Land goes to the oldest girl in each generation. Willow and Brooke be the last in the direct line, so it’s hers. Them things don’t mean much to young folks these days."
"She’ll come for the children."
Speculation flashed in her eyes. Reid looked away. Even Warren hadn’t known about his connection to Willow and how he’d destroyed her trust by withholding the truth.
"Believe that when I see her. Run out of here that morning like ghosts was on her tail."
"She’ll come," he repeated. "I know her. She was a nurse at the hospital where I did my residency. Do you have her number?"
"I’ll fetch the book."
While Reid waited for the elderly woman to return, vivid images of Willow filled his thoughts and stirred memories of how much he’d needed her love, of how she’d been the one to fill the emptiness he’d felt all his life. He groaned.
Miss Mary dropped an indexed book on the table. "I’ll check the tykes. Tell them girls they’d better come flying. They be needed."
He opened the directory to C. Willow’s name and number were scrawled in Warren’s bold script. Brooke’s had been added by Nancy. He tried that number.
"We’re sorry but the number you’ve reached has been disconnected."
He frowned. He’d hoped to speak to Brooke and let her pass the news to Willow. Even thinking about her stirred regrets and guilt. He dialed her number. After six rings, her throaty voice informed him she was unavailable but to leave a message.
He slumped in the chair. What now? His news couldn’t wait and he didn’t want to leave a message. Was she at the hospital? Had she changed her shift from evenings? He called West End Hospital and asked for the Pediatric Unit.
Five years ago, he and Willow had met at a patient’s bedside. After her shift, they’d gone to the cafeteria to discuss the case. That had been the first of many late night meetings. Memories of their first kiss flooded his thoughts.
He’d cupped her face and kissed her lightly. "I feel as though I’ve known you forever."
"Forever," she had repeated. "To the spirit world and beyond."
Those words had sounded right and as though she’d said them to him once before. Except, he’d believed she hadn’t been talking about the past. She’d wanted a future he couldn’t promise.
"Pediatrics, Miss Carey speaking."
Her voice curled around him like a velvet glove. "Willow, it’s Reid Talbot."
"Dr. Talbot." Her voice flattened. "What can I do for you?"
Love me, he thought. Her formality doused his hopes. Did she still hate him? He recalled the night she’d walked away. Her obsidian eyes had flashed with anger and her long black braid had slapped against her back. "I have some bad news."
"Not the children." Her words echoed the ones that had awakened her.
"Your father. Nancy. An accident. They were killed."
For a moment, his words failed to register. Tears trickled down her cheeks. "Were they mugged?"
"Their van. Just outside Greenesville."
"But they were in New York." She didn’t understand. Like a gush of molten lava, anger flashed in her thoughts. I’ll follow him to the spirit world and beyond. I will have revenge. Her hands shook. What am I thinking? "Why were they coming home?"
"I don’t know."
"Mara and Pete?"
"With Miss Mary. Will you come?"
Was there a choice? She sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes. "Yes." A whisper from the past brushed her skin. She shivered. "As soon as I can arrange relief here. Sometime later...this afternoon or early evening."
"If you need anything, Miss Mary has my number."
"Thank you."
He heard grief in her voice and marveled at her control. Except, she’d always shown a stoic’s face to the world. "We need to talk..." He swallowed the rest of his words. Today wasn’t the time to tell her he was a widower. "Will you be all right? Is there..."
"I have to be. Mara and Pete need me...Does Brooke know?"
"Her number’s been disconnected."
"I’ll find her."
He hated the sorrow he heard in her voice. He reached for the now cold coffee and drained the cup.
Miss Mary shuffled into the room. "Tykes still be asleep. Them girls coming?"
"Willow will be here this afternoon."
The elderly woman sniffed. "Why so long?"
"Nurses can’t just abandon their patients. The nursing office will have to find a relief." He waved away a refill. "Couldn’t reach Brooke. What’s she like?"
"On the outside, a body’d think she was Willow, but she’s soft inside and easy led. Kind of selfish. Carried on something fierce when she learned the place was her twin’s and not for them both."
"Why?"
"Willow’s oldest by fifteen minutes. Just ‘cause they’re twins don’t change the giving."
Reid rose. "I must get to the hospital. Call if you need anything."
She followed him to the door. "Always been a Willow here to now."
Would Willow stay or would she take the children to the city? Could he persuade her to give the town and him another chance? He paused on the porch. "Want me to stay until the children are up?"
"I’ll be doing what’s needed." She remained at the door. "Willow be the one to need you."
Will she? From the ice he’d heard in her voice, he believed she’d be the last person to ask for his help.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
1st Chapter Saturday -- Prescription For Love
As Promised here's the first chapter of Prescription for Love.
Chapter One
Two years later
Ginny stepped from the shower and briskly dried herself. The hot water had washed away the remnants of sleep, but a knot of anticipation remained coiled in her stomach. As she dressed in a white uniform, the feeling that her life was about to take another turn persisted.
Not now, she thought. Not when her life rolled smoothly along the road she'd mapped at eighteen.
At nineteen, she had encountered the first roadblock. Then two years later, she had sped around a corner and met a barrier she had deftly steered around. Pride straightened her spine. This time, she'd avoid a detour, but first, she had to discover why she felt edgy.
She smoothed the hand-made blue and green quilt that covered the large brass bed and shoved a small purse in her pocket. Pride was the driving force of her life. Pride in who she was and what she'd accomplished made her strong. She couldn't allow vague feelings to weaken her resolve.
Before heading downstairs, she paused in the doorway of the girls' room. Light cast by the early morning sun shone through the orange, yellow and brown print curtains. The September day promised to be beautiful.
Two year old Manda slept face down with her rear in the air. She clutched the well-worn teddy bear Ginny had found in the paper bag Joey had left.
Ginny chuckled. Eight year old Honor, clad in a short nightie and blue socks, as always, had pushed her covers on the floor. Ginny blew a pair of kisses and pushed away a desire to grab the girls and run.
Foolishness, she thought. She slid her hand along the smooth wood of the banister and walked downstairs. She had no reason to worry, not with her position as Patient Care Coordinator of the orthopedic unit at Hudson View General Hospital.
Though there were ruts to be smoothed, she enjoyed the challenge. The job had allowed her to fulfill so many of her dreams. Escape from the city and the means to raise the girls in a safer environment. The chance to be a home owner instead of a tenant in a fourth floor walk-up. The opportunity to implement the educational program for nurses and patients she had developed.
"Girl, if you don't get the lead out, we're going to be late." Annette stood beside the stairs.
Ginny swallowed a gasp. "Like the hair but next time, tip the ends with bells. I could use a warning." The aroma of coffee filtered into the hall. "Why are you so early?"
"Your alarm broke, right? Mama and I've been here a good twenty minutes. It's twenty-five to seven."
"I got caught up in my thoughts." Ginny followed her friend to the kitchen.
"You do too much of that. Doesn't pay to plan every breath you take."
Ginny wasn't sure Annette was right. Without plans, life would be chaotic. Sure surprises happened, but if the possibilities weren't considered, a person could be thrown off balance by events.
She entered the kitchen and smiled at Miss Nellie. "Good morning."
Black hair, liberally sprinkled with white, framed the older woman's round face. "Morning." She handed Ginny a glass of juice and a slice of toast. "No sense making a proper breakfast when you don't get down here on time. Child, you could stand a bit of fattening up."
"How come you never say that to me." Annette headed to the door.
"Honey, I can't remember you ever missing a meal." Miss Nellie pointed to Ginny. "Eat."
"Yes, ma'am." Ginny chewed the toast and washed it down with juice. "Honor's lunch money's on the table."
Miss Nellie's hands rested on her plump hips. "How are you going to be sure that child's getting the proper nourishing? She's nothing but skin and bones."
Annette grinned. "Just like her mama." She opened the door. "Let's go, boss lady. Maybe you can stroll in late, but I've got a date with a time clock."
Ginny closed the door and followed her friend across the yard. How fortunate she'd been to find a duplex and that there'd been an opening at Hudson View for Annette. Ginny slid behind the wheel and started the ancient station wagon.
"What's got you acting like you're crawling across a bed of nails?" Annette asked.
Ginny backed into the street. "Just a feeling things are about to fall apart, You know what happened the other times I've felt this way?"
"Nate and Joey."
Ginny thought of the night she'd told Honor's father about the pregnancy. Her joy had shattered when he'd informed her he was married and his wife expected his first child in seven months. Ginny hadn't known he was married. She'd believed his declaration. His desertion had nearly wrecked her plans to escape the slums.
"You survived the rat and have a daughter who's beautiful inside and out," Annette said. "You've given your niece a wonderful home and lots of love."
"You're right, but --"
"Don't go looking for trouble. Who knows, the change might be a good one." Annette leaned back in the seat. "Dr. Marshall's son arrives today."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Just changing the subject before you worry yourself gray. What's the scoop on the good doctor's plans? The rumor mills are grinding a new story a minute."
"When I stopped by yesterday, he said he'd be released soon, but he played dumb when I asked him when he'd be back to work."
"Let's hope he doesn't retire. He's the glue that holds that bunch of prima donna orthopods together."
Ginny had a hard time imagining the blue-eyed Chief of Orthopedics as a blob of glue. He was more like a teddy bear -- or a father. Something she'd never known.
"The surgeons aren't that bad...most of them."
"Some are okay, but what about Simon?" Annette asked.
Ginny nodded. "You're right. Greg Simon has an attitude problem."
"Maybe young Dr. Marshall will be as nice as his dad."
"We can only hope." Ginny stopped at the parking lot gate and inserted her card. "Except he's fresh out of a residency at 'Old Joints and Bones' and you know how those guys are. I think they have a course titled 'Disdain and Arrogance -- How to Project the Proper Hauteur."
Annette laughed. The beads on her multitude of braids clicked together. "Girl, you got to stop prying under every rock looking for trouble. There are enough problems floating around."
Ginny pulled the station wagon into a parking space. "I believe in looking ahead." She and Annette joined the scattered groups of nurses headed to the red brick, T-shaped building.
Inside, Annette ducked into the hall where the time clocks were kept. Ginny continued to the elevator. Before she reached her office on the third floor, she stopped in the nurses' lounge for a cup of coffee. In her office, she sat at the gray metal desk and stared through the window that provided a view of the hall. Today was one of the times she wished her office looked into the world so she could see the sky and sunshine.
Stop fussing and get to work, she told herself. Quickly, she sorted through the notes in the wire basket on the corner of the desk and stuffed the requests for days off in a folder. She read the report of an incident that had occurred on Saturday and made a note to thank Kathy Grant. Her vigilance had probably saved the hospital from a lawsuit.
Rounds, she thought. She rose and paused in the office doorway to wait until the couple ahead of her turned the corner. This morning, she couldn't face Dr. Greg Simon's sneering condensation or Lisa Kingsley's rudeness. The dark-haired surgeon and the blonde nurse were a perfect match, at least in their attitudes.
Once the pair vanished, Ginny headed to day surgery. Of the seven patients scheduled for orthopedic procedures, two had arrived and were being prepared for surgery.
"Hey, Ginny," a red-haired nurse called. "Any news about Dr. Marshall?"
"Which one?" another woman asked.
"The father. The son's an unknown."
How true, Ginny thought. She reported her latest visit and received reactions similar to Annette's.
A short time later, Ginny strode to the acute care area where fresh post-ops and those patients who needed special care were admitted. She stopped at the desk and studied the patient board.
Two of the nurses stopped talking. Lisa Kingsley smiled, but the blonde's smile wasn't friendly. Ginny looked for Betty Tawser, the third member of the trio who opposed every change on the unit.
With a nod to Lisa, Ginny left the desk and made patient rounds. When she finished, she starred several names of those who could be moved to make room for patients from the ER, ICU or the OR.
This done, she made rounds on the rehabilitation section of the unit and called Admitting. For the first time in weeks, there was no overflow of orthopedic patients on any of the medical or surgical units.
Wait until winter, she thought. But by that time, the nurses would have completed the educational program and the efficiency of the unit would improve.
She headed to her office. Her life was on schedule, so why was the knot of anticipation expanding?
A rap on the window broke into her reverie. A grinning Annette peered through the glass. "Girl, quit your dawdling. Young Dr. Marshall has arrived." She pressed a hand to her chest. "He's a man for every woman's fantasy."
Ginny shook her head. She pictured the older Dr. Marshall, subtracted years and added hair. Pleasant. Maybe cute, but hardly fantasy material. She rose. "I'm on my way. Wouldn't want him to accuse me of ignoring him."
"Won't happen. He seems as nice as his dad. Run, don't walk. Rescue him before Val drowns him in sweetness."
Ginny frowned. Val -- Sweet -- impossible. The unit's secretary was a mistress of the rude put-down.
When Ginny turned the corner, she stopped short. A barely contained urge to run in the opposite direction caused her to approach the desk with slow, measured steps. Young Dr. Marshall was tall, handsome -- and black. He was also the resident who two years ago had questioned her nursing judgment. Though she had been vindicated, a patient had suffered needless pain.
Her hands curled into fists. Dr. Marshall laughed at something Val said and then turned to Lisa. The knot in Ginny's abdomen swelled into her chest. No way, she thought. She wouldn't allow this man or anyone to detour her from her chosen road. She plastered a smile on her face that she knew didn't match the hostility she felt.
"Dr. Marshall, I'm Ms. Barr, Patient Care Coordinator for the unit. Welcome to Hudson View."
Lisa strolled away. "See you around, Dr. Marshall. You'll soon discover Hudson View is nothing like the University for interesting and exciting cases."
Ginny stiffened. Why did Lisa constantly bad mouth the hospital? If she felt bored, she should have stayed at the University.
A slow smile curved Dr. Marshall's lips. His dark brown eyes appraised Ginny with the intensity of a scientist peering through a microscope. He held out a hand. She resisted the desire to thrust her hands behind her back. Instead, she held her arms stiffly at her sides.
"Ms. Barr, Blake Marshall. My father speaks highly of you." He rested the hand she had refused to touch on the counter that separated the nurses' station from the hall.
"Then I must thank him. He has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."
She held back a groan. Stilted conversation had never been her forte, but this morning and with this man, she'd become an expert. The knot edged into her throat. She gulped a breath. Why did the air between them smell of ozone as though a bolt of lightning had struck nearby?
She saw a question in his eyes and wondered if he remembered the night they'd met. She had called him twice and the third time had demanded he come to assess a patient. She would never forget because that had been the night Joey had left Manda. Angry thoughts swept her into the past.
"I insist you come immediately." She gripped the phone and listened to the sleep-fogged voice question her about the patient. "I won't hesitate to go over your head. It's been a half hour since my last call and an hour since the first. The patient's pain is constant and excruciating. I've elevated his leg and applied ice. A possible compartment syndrome is no joke."
Five minutes later, he strode into the patient's room. His rumpled, green scrubs didn't disguise his muscular physique. His dark eyes had flashed with anger. He eyed her nametag. "An agency nurse. What do you know about orthopedics?"
She bit back an angry response. She could have told him she had worked in orthopedics for five years and that in three semesters, she would have a Masters as a nurse practitioner with a focus on orthopedics. But she wouldn't. His question didn't deserve an answer."
"Just check the patient," she said.
Once he examined the young man's leg and discovered she'd been right, she had expected an apology. He'd given none, just split the cast, made a note on the chart and strode away.
Her memory of the past faded. She couldn't allow that incident to influence her. "Would you like a tour of the unit? The renovations were completed in May just before I took over."
"Would be my pleasure."
His voice reminded her of velvet, smooth, lush and sensual. She swallowed and headed for day surgery. "Your father has an arthroscopy on the schedule. I thought you might be involved."
Was that her voice? The tight, clipped tones sounded foreign to her ears.
"Greg took the case. As of tomorrow, I'll be taking Dad's cases until he returns."
"Don't you intend to join the practice?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure of my plans."
The hint of arrogance in his voice was no surprise, but the anger it stirred shocked her. The senior Dr. Marshall had spoken of his son's return with eagerness and pride. "Your father will be disappointed if you leave."
"Not for long. Dad's always encouraged me to pursue my own goals."
"How fortunate for you, but don't you think --" She stopped herself. Arguing would do no good. Didn't he think he owed his father anything?
As they passed through the rehab section, she spotted Annette and Mike, the orthopedic orderly. Annette grinned.
It's not what you think, Ginny wanted to shout. This man pushed her buttons and produced discordant emotions. She glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow. Her cheeks burned.
Blake turned his head to hide a grin. So Ms. Prim and Professional was human after all. The stain of color that darkened her brown skin pleased him. She seemed every bit as aware of him as he was of her.
Maybe he should tell her he had no intention of leaving Hudson View, but he wanted to see if he could break through her stiff exterior. Ms. Ginny Barr was one fine woman. He inhaled her subtle perfume. In the past, he'd met and dated beautiful women and had appreciated them the way any man would. His intense and potent reaction to Ginny Barr surprised him.
He frowned. Some vague memory of having seen her before arose. No way, he thought. If he'd met her, he would have pursued the acquaintance. He planned to do just that, but not today. Her wariness intrigued him; her coldness presented a challenge.
After they returned to the nurses' station, he smiled. "Thanks for the tour. I'm looking forward to our next meeting."
Frost gathered in her eyes. She walked away. Instead of leaving, he leaned against the counter and watched the sway of her hips. Once she vanished, he headed to the elevators. Before going to the office and a meeting with his father's partners, he wanted to stop in Coronary Care.
Four days ago, the call from Mrs. Connor, the family's housekeeper, had accelerated his plans to leave the university. Though he would have welcomed another year as part of a prestigious team, his father's heart attack had made Blake realize he and his father needed each other.
Blake had been an infant when the Marshalls had adopted him. He'd grown up in a white home. As for his birth parents, he'd never asked questions or entertained curiosity about them. His adoptive parents had given him love, security and education. Unlike so many adopted children, he had never rebelled.
Not like Susan, and she hadn't had adoption as an excuse. From infancy, his blonde, green-eyed sister had fought every rule and restriction. When their mother died, Blake had been in his last year of medical school and too involved in building his career to have time for Susan. She'd chosen the wrong friends and the wrong activities. Three years ago, she'd become a runaway and a year later had died. For months, Blake's guilt had been a hot flame. Even now, the remains lay like embers waiting to flare again.
He paused outside the door of the cardiac unit and calmed his emotions. His father had never blamed anyone but himself for not being there for Susan, and Charles Marshall had understood Blake's need to immerse himself in surgery.
After pushing the door open, he strode past the desk and stopped in the doorway of his father's room. How old and drawn he looked, Blake thought. Funny how he'd always imagined his father as ageless.
Charles Marshall opened his eyes. "I thought you'd be in surgery. I had a knee on this morning's schedule."
"Greg suggested I take today to look things over and settle in." Blake recalled the hint of anger in Greg's voice when he heard Blake's plans to remain in Hudson View. "Tomorrow, there's a knee replacement and a hip pinning. I'll scrub on them."
"What do you think of the ortho unit?"
"She's nice."
Charles Marshall laughed and the patina of age vanished from his face. "The unit, not the coordinator."
"It works." Blake stared at the wall. What had that woman done to him?
The older man leaned back against the pillows. "Speaking of Ginny Barr. Didn't I tell you she was the best thing to happen at Hudson View for ages?"
"She seems to be in control of the unit." The blatant admiration in his father's voice alarmed Blake. Just what was going on?
"Is that all you're going to say. Ginny's bright and she's gutsy. She's risen through the ranks and has a number of projects in the works for improving patient care. Since I'm knocked out of action, I hope you'll lend her your support." He winked. "She's a lovely woman."
A protest rose in Blake's thoughts. Then he saw the grin on his father's face. Blake shook his head. There was no way he would let his father play matchmaker. He could handle the situation on his own. For some reason, the prim Ms. Barr didn't like him, but she offered a challenge he couldn't resist.
Chapter One
Two years later
Ginny stepped from the shower and briskly dried herself. The hot water had washed away the remnants of sleep, but a knot of anticipation remained coiled in her stomach. As she dressed in a white uniform, the feeling that her life was about to take another turn persisted.
Not now, she thought. Not when her life rolled smoothly along the road she'd mapped at eighteen.
At nineteen, she had encountered the first roadblock. Then two years later, she had sped around a corner and met a barrier she had deftly steered around. Pride straightened her spine. This time, she'd avoid a detour, but first, she had to discover why she felt edgy.
She smoothed the hand-made blue and green quilt that covered the large brass bed and shoved a small purse in her pocket. Pride was the driving force of her life. Pride in who she was and what she'd accomplished made her strong. She couldn't allow vague feelings to weaken her resolve.
Before heading downstairs, she paused in the doorway of the girls' room. Light cast by the early morning sun shone through the orange, yellow and brown print curtains. The September day promised to be beautiful.
Two year old Manda slept face down with her rear in the air. She clutched the well-worn teddy bear Ginny had found in the paper bag Joey had left.
Ginny chuckled. Eight year old Honor, clad in a short nightie and blue socks, as always, had pushed her covers on the floor. Ginny blew a pair of kisses and pushed away a desire to grab the girls and run.
Foolishness, she thought. She slid her hand along the smooth wood of the banister and walked downstairs. She had no reason to worry, not with her position as Patient Care Coordinator of the orthopedic unit at Hudson View General Hospital.
Though there were ruts to be smoothed, she enjoyed the challenge. The job had allowed her to fulfill so many of her dreams. Escape from the city and the means to raise the girls in a safer environment. The chance to be a home owner instead of a tenant in a fourth floor walk-up. The opportunity to implement the educational program for nurses and patients she had developed.
"Girl, if you don't get the lead out, we're going to be late." Annette stood beside the stairs.
Ginny swallowed a gasp. "Like the hair but next time, tip the ends with bells. I could use a warning." The aroma of coffee filtered into the hall. "Why are you so early?"
"Your alarm broke, right? Mama and I've been here a good twenty minutes. It's twenty-five to seven."
"I got caught up in my thoughts." Ginny followed her friend to the kitchen.
"You do too much of that. Doesn't pay to plan every breath you take."
Ginny wasn't sure Annette was right. Without plans, life would be chaotic. Sure surprises happened, but if the possibilities weren't considered, a person could be thrown off balance by events.
She entered the kitchen and smiled at Miss Nellie. "Good morning."
Black hair, liberally sprinkled with white, framed the older woman's round face. "Morning." She handed Ginny a glass of juice and a slice of toast. "No sense making a proper breakfast when you don't get down here on time. Child, you could stand a bit of fattening up."
"How come you never say that to me." Annette headed to the door.
"Honey, I can't remember you ever missing a meal." Miss Nellie pointed to Ginny. "Eat."
"Yes, ma'am." Ginny chewed the toast and washed it down with juice. "Honor's lunch money's on the table."
Miss Nellie's hands rested on her plump hips. "How are you going to be sure that child's getting the proper nourishing? She's nothing but skin and bones."
Annette grinned. "Just like her mama." She opened the door. "Let's go, boss lady. Maybe you can stroll in late, but I've got a date with a time clock."
Ginny closed the door and followed her friend across the yard. How fortunate she'd been to find a duplex and that there'd been an opening at Hudson View for Annette. Ginny slid behind the wheel and started the ancient station wagon.
"What's got you acting like you're crawling across a bed of nails?" Annette asked.
Ginny backed into the street. "Just a feeling things are about to fall apart, You know what happened the other times I've felt this way?"
"Nate and Joey."
Ginny thought of the night she'd told Honor's father about the pregnancy. Her joy had shattered when he'd informed her he was married and his wife expected his first child in seven months. Ginny hadn't known he was married. She'd believed his declaration. His desertion had nearly wrecked her plans to escape the slums.
"You survived the rat and have a daughter who's beautiful inside and out," Annette said. "You've given your niece a wonderful home and lots of love."
"You're right, but --"
"Don't go looking for trouble. Who knows, the change might be a good one." Annette leaned back in the seat. "Dr. Marshall's son arrives today."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Just changing the subject before you worry yourself gray. What's the scoop on the good doctor's plans? The rumor mills are grinding a new story a minute."
"When I stopped by yesterday, he said he'd be released soon, but he played dumb when I asked him when he'd be back to work."
"Let's hope he doesn't retire. He's the glue that holds that bunch of prima donna orthopods together."
Ginny had a hard time imagining the blue-eyed Chief of Orthopedics as a blob of glue. He was more like a teddy bear -- or a father. Something she'd never known.
"The surgeons aren't that bad...most of them."
"Some are okay, but what about Simon?" Annette asked.
Ginny nodded. "You're right. Greg Simon has an attitude problem."
"Maybe young Dr. Marshall will be as nice as his dad."
"We can only hope." Ginny stopped at the parking lot gate and inserted her card. "Except he's fresh out of a residency at 'Old Joints and Bones' and you know how those guys are. I think they have a course titled 'Disdain and Arrogance -- How to Project the Proper Hauteur."
Annette laughed. The beads on her multitude of braids clicked together. "Girl, you got to stop prying under every rock looking for trouble. There are enough problems floating around."
Ginny pulled the station wagon into a parking space. "I believe in looking ahead." She and Annette joined the scattered groups of nurses headed to the red brick, T-shaped building.
Inside, Annette ducked into the hall where the time clocks were kept. Ginny continued to the elevator. Before she reached her office on the third floor, she stopped in the nurses' lounge for a cup of coffee. In her office, she sat at the gray metal desk and stared through the window that provided a view of the hall. Today was one of the times she wished her office looked into the world so she could see the sky and sunshine.
Stop fussing and get to work, she told herself. Quickly, she sorted through the notes in the wire basket on the corner of the desk and stuffed the requests for days off in a folder. She read the report of an incident that had occurred on Saturday and made a note to thank Kathy Grant. Her vigilance had probably saved the hospital from a lawsuit.
Rounds, she thought. She rose and paused in the office doorway to wait until the couple ahead of her turned the corner. This morning, she couldn't face Dr. Greg Simon's sneering condensation or Lisa Kingsley's rudeness. The dark-haired surgeon and the blonde nurse were a perfect match, at least in their attitudes.
Once the pair vanished, Ginny headed to day surgery. Of the seven patients scheduled for orthopedic procedures, two had arrived and were being prepared for surgery.
"Hey, Ginny," a red-haired nurse called. "Any news about Dr. Marshall?"
"Which one?" another woman asked.
"The father. The son's an unknown."
How true, Ginny thought. She reported her latest visit and received reactions similar to Annette's.
A short time later, Ginny strode to the acute care area where fresh post-ops and those patients who needed special care were admitted. She stopped at the desk and studied the patient board.
Two of the nurses stopped talking. Lisa Kingsley smiled, but the blonde's smile wasn't friendly. Ginny looked for Betty Tawser, the third member of the trio who opposed every change on the unit.
With a nod to Lisa, Ginny left the desk and made patient rounds. When she finished, she starred several names of those who could be moved to make room for patients from the ER, ICU or the OR.
This done, she made rounds on the rehabilitation section of the unit and called Admitting. For the first time in weeks, there was no overflow of orthopedic patients on any of the medical or surgical units.
Wait until winter, she thought. But by that time, the nurses would have completed the educational program and the efficiency of the unit would improve.
She headed to her office. Her life was on schedule, so why was the knot of anticipation expanding?
A rap on the window broke into her reverie. A grinning Annette peered through the glass. "Girl, quit your dawdling. Young Dr. Marshall has arrived." She pressed a hand to her chest. "He's a man for every woman's fantasy."
Ginny shook her head. She pictured the older Dr. Marshall, subtracted years and added hair. Pleasant. Maybe cute, but hardly fantasy material. She rose. "I'm on my way. Wouldn't want him to accuse me of ignoring him."
"Won't happen. He seems as nice as his dad. Run, don't walk. Rescue him before Val drowns him in sweetness."
Ginny frowned. Val -- Sweet -- impossible. The unit's secretary was a mistress of the rude put-down.
When Ginny turned the corner, she stopped short. A barely contained urge to run in the opposite direction caused her to approach the desk with slow, measured steps. Young Dr. Marshall was tall, handsome -- and black. He was also the resident who two years ago had questioned her nursing judgment. Though she had been vindicated, a patient had suffered needless pain.
Her hands curled into fists. Dr. Marshall laughed at something Val said and then turned to Lisa. The knot in Ginny's abdomen swelled into her chest. No way, she thought. She wouldn't allow this man or anyone to detour her from her chosen road. She plastered a smile on her face that she knew didn't match the hostility she felt.
"Dr. Marshall, I'm Ms. Barr, Patient Care Coordinator for the unit. Welcome to Hudson View."
Lisa strolled away. "See you around, Dr. Marshall. You'll soon discover Hudson View is nothing like the University for interesting and exciting cases."
Ginny stiffened. Why did Lisa constantly bad mouth the hospital? If she felt bored, she should have stayed at the University.
A slow smile curved Dr. Marshall's lips. His dark brown eyes appraised Ginny with the intensity of a scientist peering through a microscope. He held out a hand. She resisted the desire to thrust her hands behind her back. Instead, she held her arms stiffly at her sides.
"Ms. Barr, Blake Marshall. My father speaks highly of you." He rested the hand she had refused to touch on the counter that separated the nurses' station from the hall.
"Then I must thank him. He has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."
She held back a groan. Stilted conversation had never been her forte, but this morning and with this man, she'd become an expert. The knot edged into her throat. She gulped a breath. Why did the air between them smell of ozone as though a bolt of lightning had struck nearby?
She saw a question in his eyes and wondered if he remembered the night they'd met. She had called him twice and the third time had demanded he come to assess a patient. She would never forget because that had been the night Joey had left Manda. Angry thoughts swept her into the past.
"I insist you come immediately." She gripped the phone and listened to the sleep-fogged voice question her about the patient. "I won't hesitate to go over your head. It's been a half hour since my last call and an hour since the first. The patient's pain is constant and excruciating. I've elevated his leg and applied ice. A possible compartment syndrome is no joke."
Five minutes later, he strode into the patient's room. His rumpled, green scrubs didn't disguise his muscular physique. His dark eyes had flashed with anger. He eyed her nametag. "An agency nurse. What do you know about orthopedics?"
She bit back an angry response. She could have told him she had worked in orthopedics for five years and that in three semesters, she would have a Masters as a nurse practitioner with a focus on orthopedics. But she wouldn't. His question didn't deserve an answer."
"Just check the patient," she said.
Once he examined the young man's leg and discovered she'd been right, she had expected an apology. He'd given none, just split the cast, made a note on the chart and strode away.
Her memory of the past faded. She couldn't allow that incident to influence her. "Would you like a tour of the unit? The renovations were completed in May just before I took over."
"Would be my pleasure."
His voice reminded her of velvet, smooth, lush and sensual. She swallowed and headed for day surgery. "Your father has an arthroscopy on the schedule. I thought you might be involved."
Was that her voice? The tight, clipped tones sounded foreign to her ears.
"Greg took the case. As of tomorrow, I'll be taking Dad's cases until he returns."
"Don't you intend to join the practice?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure of my plans."
The hint of arrogance in his voice was no surprise, but the anger it stirred shocked her. The senior Dr. Marshall had spoken of his son's return with eagerness and pride. "Your father will be disappointed if you leave."
"Not for long. Dad's always encouraged me to pursue my own goals."
"How fortunate for you, but don't you think --" She stopped herself. Arguing would do no good. Didn't he think he owed his father anything?
As they passed through the rehab section, she spotted Annette and Mike, the orthopedic orderly. Annette grinned.
It's not what you think, Ginny wanted to shout. This man pushed her buttons and produced discordant emotions. She glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow. Her cheeks burned.
Blake turned his head to hide a grin. So Ms. Prim and Professional was human after all. The stain of color that darkened her brown skin pleased him. She seemed every bit as aware of him as he was of her.
Maybe he should tell her he had no intention of leaving Hudson View, but he wanted to see if he could break through her stiff exterior. Ms. Ginny Barr was one fine woman. He inhaled her subtle perfume. In the past, he'd met and dated beautiful women and had appreciated them the way any man would. His intense and potent reaction to Ginny Barr surprised him.
He frowned. Some vague memory of having seen her before arose. No way, he thought. If he'd met her, he would have pursued the acquaintance. He planned to do just that, but not today. Her wariness intrigued him; her coldness presented a challenge.
After they returned to the nurses' station, he smiled. "Thanks for the tour. I'm looking forward to our next meeting."
Frost gathered in her eyes. She walked away. Instead of leaving, he leaned against the counter and watched the sway of her hips. Once she vanished, he headed to the elevators. Before going to the office and a meeting with his father's partners, he wanted to stop in Coronary Care.
Four days ago, the call from Mrs. Connor, the family's housekeeper, had accelerated his plans to leave the university. Though he would have welcomed another year as part of a prestigious team, his father's heart attack had made Blake realize he and his father needed each other.
Blake had been an infant when the Marshalls had adopted him. He'd grown up in a white home. As for his birth parents, he'd never asked questions or entertained curiosity about them. His adoptive parents had given him love, security and education. Unlike so many adopted children, he had never rebelled.
Not like Susan, and she hadn't had adoption as an excuse. From infancy, his blonde, green-eyed sister had fought every rule and restriction. When their mother died, Blake had been in his last year of medical school and too involved in building his career to have time for Susan. She'd chosen the wrong friends and the wrong activities. Three years ago, she'd become a runaway and a year later had died. For months, Blake's guilt had been a hot flame. Even now, the remains lay like embers waiting to flare again.
He paused outside the door of the cardiac unit and calmed his emotions. His father had never blamed anyone but himself for not being there for Susan, and Charles Marshall had understood Blake's need to immerse himself in surgery.
After pushing the door open, he strode past the desk and stopped in the doorway of his father's room. How old and drawn he looked, Blake thought. Funny how he'd always imagined his father as ageless.
Charles Marshall opened his eyes. "I thought you'd be in surgery. I had a knee on this morning's schedule."
"Greg suggested I take today to look things over and settle in." Blake recalled the hint of anger in Greg's voice when he heard Blake's plans to remain in Hudson View. "Tomorrow, there's a knee replacement and a hip pinning. I'll scrub on them."
"What do you think of the ortho unit?"
"She's nice."
Charles Marshall laughed and the patina of age vanished from his face. "The unit, not the coordinator."
"It works." Blake stared at the wall. What had that woman done to him?
The older man leaned back against the pillows. "Speaking of Ginny Barr. Didn't I tell you she was the best thing to happen at Hudson View for ages?"
"She seems to be in control of the unit." The blatant admiration in his father's voice alarmed Blake. Just what was going on?
"Is that all you're going to say. Ginny's bright and she's gutsy. She's risen through the ranks and has a number of projects in the works for improving patient care. Since I'm knocked out of action, I hope you'll lend her your support." He winked. "She's a lovely woman."
A protest rose in Blake's thoughts. Then he saw the grin on his father's face. Blake shook his head. There was no way he would let his father play matchmaker. He could handle the situation on his own. For some reason, the prim Ms. Barr didn't like him, but she offered a challenge he couldn't resist.
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