Silent Pledge

by Hannah Alexander

  “Initiation?” Lukas asked.

  She pulled her chair out, turned it around and straddled it as if she were riding a horse. “We’ve got some juvenile delinquents on staff here that try to pass for human beings. They like to play practical jokes on the new guys, and you’re the newest.”

  Lukas thought about the peanut butter sandwich he’d thrown away. “What kinds of practical jokes?”

  “They let the air out of Dr. Moss’s tires and unscrewed the back of his chair so it would fall off when he sat down. They covered his suede jacket with tape, which ruined the material when he pulled it off.”

  Lukas nodded. He wasn’t surprised.

  “Dr. Moss was nice about it,” she said. “If they’d done that to me, I’d’ve hung ’em out to dry.”

  Lukas signed the chart he was working on, added it to the small stack and reached into the desk for his keys. It was Sunday morning, and tired as he was, he wanted to attend a worship service somewhere. He just hoped he could stay awake long enough not to snore through the sermon.

  “Where are the churches around here?”

  There was no answer.

  He turned his head and ran straight into Tex’s hard stare.

  “Tex?” What was wrong with her? “Any churches in Herald?”

  “Why would you want one of those?” Her voice had suddenly cooled several degrees.

  Lukas frowned and glanced at his watch. Yes, this was Sunday morning. “I thought I might pray for Jerod Moore, among other things.”

  She shook her head in a slow, sad rhythm. “You’d be better off doing that at home by your bedside.” She got up from the chair and rolled it back where she’d gotten it. “While you’re at it, you might pray for the kid that disappeared from the park last week, and the ones who disappeared in Sedalia and Columbia. Nobody’s prayers have been answered for them yet. See you next shift.”

  Clarence woke himself with a loud snore, his head lolling back against the headrest in Buck’s truck. He raised his head and caught sight of the Knolls city limit sign. Wow. He must’ve slept the past twenty miles. He glanced over at Buck. “Sorry, pal, I guess I snoozed a little. I was hoping to help you stay awake.” He stretched his heavy arms and reached up to rub his cramping neck. “You doin’ okay?”

  Buck nodded, his eyes bloodshot and drooping from fatigue. “I’m used to it.”

  Clarence knew that was right. Since Buck was a firefighter and first responder who worked twenty-four-hour shifts, he had to do this a lot, but not right after his wife had tried to kill herself. Besides, he’d just finished a long shift a few hours before all this happened.

  “Guess you’re gonna go home and get some rest now,” Clarence said.

  Buck turned at the first stop sign and headed toward Ivy Richmond’s house. “I don’t know.” He took one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed it across his beard-stubbled face. “I keep hoping I’m really already asleep and that this is just a bad nightmare.”

  “I hear you there. Been lots of times I wished the same thing. There’s something Ivy keeps telling me, though, and I’m about decided it’s true.” Clarence looked out the window at the opalescent morning light. “She says this life isn’t what counts. What you do counts, and what you believe counts, but not what happens to you here.”

  Buck leveled him a sideways glance and turned onto the street where Ivy lived. “Sounds kind of rough to me. Is that how I’m supposed to get through this thing with Kendra? Just tell myself it doesn’t matter?”

  Clarence frowned. That didn’t come out right. “I don’t think that’s what Ivy meant. What she’s been telling me all these months, while I’ve been starving on this diet and Darlene’s been trying to take better care of her asthma, is that God—you know, Jesus and all—cares a lot about us. It’s like He’s the big boss, and He knows what’s going to happen, even though we don’t. You know, like He’s got His own plans for us, and sometimes we just need to kind of ride along and see what happens.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about all that yet, but Ivy’s harping was starting to soak in. Somehow a little of what she said made sense to him.

  Buck turned into Ivy’s driveway and pushed the buttons to unlock the doors so Clarence could get out. “I don’t know.”

  “Me neither, but I’m starting to think there’s something to this prayer stuff. When we prayed up there in Springfield, didn’t our prayer make things better for a while? Didn’t Kendra stop crying?”

  Buck thought about the question so long that the front door of Ivy’s house opened and Ivy stepped out onto the porch. Her long salt-and-pepper hair was drawn back in a braid, and she wore a red wool sweater pulled down over a long matching skirt. Ivy Richmond cleaned up good for a sixty-six-year-old woman. Actually, she cleaned up good for any age.

  “But it didn’t last, Clarence,” Buck said finally.

  Clarence looked across the seat at his friend. “Then maybe we’ve just got to keep praying.” He opened the door and heaved his heavy body out onto the concrete drive.

  “Don’t guess it could hurt,” Buck said. “Lauren McCaffrey used to tell me she was praying for me, back when Kendra kicked me out and I was suspended from the department. Afterward I sometimes wondered if everything turned out okay because of those prayers. But look what’s happened now.” He spread his hands, then dropped them back onto the steering wheel. “Kendra wants to die.”

  “But she’s not dead. Think about that, Buck.” Clarence closed the door and waved his friend off, then turned to face Ivy.

  Mercy entered the room where Crystal Hollis and her great-grandmother, Odira Bagby, had been brought the night before. And then she smiled. Since all the rooms here at Knolls Community were private, Mercy had been afraid Odira would have to sleep on one of those chairs that folded out into a sleeper—not a comfortable situation for a woman who had weighed in at two hundred seventy pounds on her last medical visit. Some sweet soul had moved another hospital bed into the room and set it up beside Crystal’s so Odira could be close to the little seven-year-old during the night. Probably the night charge nurse, Vickie. She was one of the best additions they had made in this hospital in the past few months—except for Lukas Bower.

  Two empty food trays waited for pickup on the tray table, and Crystal lay on her bed with her head propped up, her soft brown hair combed and hanging straight to her shoulders. She didn’t have the television on, but her water-blue eyes were open and alert, and they fixed on Mercy as soon as she walked in.

  Mercy saw a children’s book lying facedown on the rumpled blankets of the other bed. Most likely Odira had been reading aloud.

  “Good morning, Crystal. Where’s Gramma?”

  Crystal pointed toward the hallway. “She went to ask the nurse when you were coming.” Her serious gaze did not leave Mercy’s face. “She wants to see if you’ll let us go home today.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the preliminaries over and talk to her when she comes back.” Mercy pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and warmed the instrument in her palm for a few seconds. “How have you been feeling this morning?”

  “I feel better, Dr. Mercy.” Crystal took a deep breath and exhaled to demonstrate. She didn’t cough. Her face was back to its normal pale color.

  “Good.” Mercy glanced at the empty food trays. “Did you eat all your own food?”

  “Yes, and some of Gramma’s.”

  Mercy smiled. That would have been a loving sacrifice for Odira. “Then I see your appetite is back to normal.” She checked the nurse report on the clipboard at the end of the bed. Crystal had been given another breathing treatment this morning, her coughing had slowed considerably, and her temperature was 99.4.

  Mercy was just finishing with Crystal when Odira came in huffing, her face damp with perspiration, clumps of gray-brown hair clinging to her forehead. “Hi, Dr. Mercy! I was just tellin’ Crystal you’d probably be here anytime.” Her voice, as always, was strong, but her breathing was louder and more labored than usual. Her face was flu
shed, and she moved more slowly. “I think she’s feelin’ better today, don’t you?” Odira patted her great-granddaughter on the arm and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I always did say, in spite of it all, she’s a fast healer. How’s those lungs sound to you this morning?”

  “Much better.” Mercy replaced the clipboard and adjusted Crystal’s blanket.

  “Think we’ll get to go home today?” Odira picked up the open storybook and lowered herself slowly onto the hospital bed beside Crystal’s.

  Mercy watched the woman’s movements in silence for a moment. Twice last night, while Mercy had been giving Crystal her treatments in the clinic, Odira had quietly pressed her hand against her chest and winced. Her face was puffy, and her feet bulged out over the tops of her loafers.

  And Crystal—observant child that she was—watched with worried eyes. Something was going on here.

  “I’d like to keep you here at least another night,” Mercy said, patting Crystal’s arm.

  Odira’s expression drooped. “Oh.” She huffed a couple more times. “Can’t tell you how much I appreciate you, Dr. Mercy, but you know how dangerous it is for Crystal to be in here with all the germs floating around. I’ve been told hospitals are the worst place to pick up pneumonia. She picks up any little bug so easy, what with her cystic fibrosis.”

  Mercy nodded. “I’m sorry. I understand your concern. Our staff is always careful to prevent the spread of germs, but where you have illness, you will have contagion. It may help you to know that our hospital is well below the national average for hospital-acquired illnesses.” She stepped over to Odira’s bed, pulling a small bottle out of her lab coat. “Here, I brought this for you.” She handed the plastic container to Odira. “It’s hand purifier. I want you and Crystal both to rub it on your hands several times a day while you’re here, and then when Crystal goes back to school I want her to take it with her and use it. There are also dispensers on the hallway walls.”

  She watched Odira open the bottle and pour a little glob into her hands, then reach over and give some to Crystal.

  That simple act could be a potential lifesaver for someone with CF. People didn’t realize how dangerous a cold could be to this child. Even Mercy had to remember, when Crystal came to see her at the office, not to take the chance of spreading germs that might linger on her clothing from other patients. She always put on a fresh lab coat when Crystal came in because the little girl needed a loving touch.

  “And how’s Gramma holding up through all this?” Mercy asked, trying to keep her voice casual. She found it hard to believe Odira was close to Mom’s age—not old at all. “Are you a little tired?”

  “Who, me? I’m just as fine as can be.” Odira’s words didn’t hold as much energy as they usually did when Mercy asked her that. The woman hastened the drying of the hand purifier by waving her hands in the air; then she reached down and thumbed through the pages of the storybook in her lap. She did not look at Mercy.

  Mercy continued to watch her. “You know, Odira, it’s been a while since your last checkup. We want to make sure to keep you in running order so you can take care of Crystal.”

  Odira grunted. “Nothin’s wrong with me that a nice bed at home won’t cure.”

  Mercy glanced at Crystal and saw growing concern in the little girl’s eyes at the continued questions about Odira’s health. “Odira, why don’t you and I go for a stroll down the hallway? You could use some exercise after being cooped in this room all this time.”

  Odira turned her uncertain gaze toward her great-granddaughter. “Not sure I oughta leave Crystal here all alone. And what if I was to pick up some disease and pass it on to her?”

  The woman was hedging. “We can be careful. I’ll call an aide to sit with her for a few moments.” Mercy nudged Odira’s leg. “Come on, it’ll do us both some good.” Maybe while they were on their walk Mercy could convince her to submit to an exam. Odira’s health now, and not Crystal’s, prompted Mercy to keep them here for another day or two.

  Chapter Eight

  Clarence knew Ivy Richmond’s rules for breakfast. At her house everyone ate a nutritious one and nobody skipped. To his great relief this morning was no different. She had fixed a plate for him and covered the food with plastic wrap and placed it in the refrigerator. He was starved. All this counseling stuff could build an appetite.

  He watched her unwrap the plate and put a paper towel over the top of the food. All right! Looked like some eggs and cheese on there! Then she shoved the plate into the microwave. With a grimace of distaste she adjusted the setting and pressed reheat. He knew Ivy detested resorting to a microwave, and she seldom used one. Clarence, however, used it often, especially for the low-fat microwave popcorn Ivy kept in the cupboard for him. He hadn’t yet figured out a way to keep it quiet, though, so he tried to keep some popped up for a snack late at night. The popcorn helped him resist the chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes.

  “Where’d Darlene go?” Ivy asked.

  Clarence looked toward the apartment entrance, which was across the great room from the kitchen, and saw his sister stepping inside. Her short, prematurely gray hair hugged her head in a sleek new style, and she wore a pretty pink wool jacket and skirt that made her look like a real woman instead of the sickly, emaciated one who had cared for him for so long. At the sound of her name she turned and looked back at Clarence, grinned and waved, then stepped through the doorway out of sight.

  “Gone to hide from the fireworks,” Clarence grumbled. He barely saw Darlene lately, she was so involved with her new indexing job, and helping out at church, and volunteering at the hospital.

  “Well, I just hope she isn’t back on that computer this morning,” Ivy said. “I warned her not to overdo it again.” She turned from her work and fixed Clarence with a motherly look, hands on her hips. “You could have told us where you were going. Don’t you think we worry about you? And then you take off in the middle of the night without even a note or—”

  “Sorry, Mom, it won’t happen again, but Sis didn’t look too worried.”

  “Cut the sarcasm.”

  He stifled a grin. Her bossiness didn’t irritate him as much as it used to. He’d discovered that she had a caring heart. “I didn’t have time to call,” he explained. “Buck and Kendra were in trouble, and Buck asked me to help them. So I went. Sorry you were worried.”

  Sudden reluctant interest kindled in Ivy’s dark eyes. He knew how much she hated to be sidetracked when she was in the middle of a tirade. “What kind of trouble?” She pulled a fork out of a drawer and grabbed a napkin from the counter. She looked pretty in that Christmas-red turtleneck and skirt. And she smelled good. Just not as good as the food.

  He gave her a superior grin. “Can’t tell you. It’s privileged medical information.”

  The microwave beeped, and Ivy took the plate out, uncovered it and set it in front of Clarence. “I’ll hear about it at church anyway.”

  “Not from me.” He looked from her strong-featured face to the breakfast she had fixed him. “This some of those whole-grain eggs?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, whole grain. The brown ones. If whole-grain bread is brown, then the brown eggs are whole grain. Stands to reason.”

  She shook her head. “You need sleep.”

  “I know.” He didn’t need her hovering over him, counting every bite he took. The problem with this diet was that he had to pay so much attention to what went into his mouth—and if he didn’t, Ivy did. “If you go on, I bet you could still make it for the early service.”

  “I know.”

  “You gonna bless the food?”

  More interest quickened in her eyes. She pulled a chair out across from him at the table and sat down. “You want me to?”

  Clarence thought again about the wild night, the trip to Springfield and back, the heart-deep discoveries he’d made. “Yeah.”

  Her eyes widened. She leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Clarence
, you’re not kidding?”

  “I’m not stupid enough to kid about God. Not anymore.”

  And so she prayed. And this time, he paid attention.

  “I need to run some tests, Odira, but you have a problem with your heart. We should do something about it as quickly as possible.” Mercy preceded Odira out of the empty patient room, where she had done an unsatisfactory exam.

  The older woman stopped when she reached the hallway, her large, round face crinkled with worry. She leaned against the wall as if she couldn’t help herself. “I haven’t had a heart attack or anything, have I?”

  “No, but it looks to me like you have congestive heart failure.” Mercy resisted the urge to offer the older woman an arm to lean on. She’d learned long ago that Odira was one of the most independent ladies in Knolls. She was quick to help others, but she had to be desperate to accept help for herself. She would, however, accept help for the sake of Crystal.

  “What’s that mean?” Odira asked, pushing herself away from the wall and continuing down the hallway. “My heart’s failing? I’m gonna die?”

  “No, we’ll do all we can to keep that from happening.” Mercy matched her steps to Odira’s. “First of all, you have too much fluid in your body, and your heart can’t keep up with the pumping process right now. That’s why your feet and legs are swelling. It’s called edema. I want to put you on a medication to get rid of the fluid.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” Odira stopped and huffed a moment, then went on. “Don’t mess with all that testing and such.”

  Mercy stepped out of the way of a breakfast cart coming down the wide hall and turned to look at Odira. “I want to get a better idea about what we’re dealing with.”

  “Can’t we just try the medicine and see if it’ll work?” Odira took a couple more heavy steps, then stopped and gave Mercy a hard stare. “You’re a smart lady, Dr. Mercy. You’ve got lots of common sense. I trust you better than I’d trust any of those crazy machines.”