Silent Pledge

by Hannah Alexander

  Through the silence he heard a sniffle. Oh, man, he was as clumsy as a dog climbing a tree. “It’s okay, Delphina, really,” he said in his gentlest voice as he stumbled toward the end of the sofa and reached for the lamp. He switched on the light without knocking it over and saw her still standing where she had been, though because of the light she was no longer hidden in the shadows.

  Her head was bowed, and her face was scrunched up as if in pain. Her fingers dug into the gold-and-blue pillow so deep Clarence thought she might pull out the stuffing.

  “Hey, lady, you okay? Come on over here and have a seat. Sorry I scared you like that. Come on.” He gestured for her to join him on the sofa—at the other end of the sofa, so the huge dent his weight made in the cushions wouldn’t pitch her over into his lap.

  She hesitated a moment, then slowly stepped forward and perched at the edge, still clutching the pillow.

  “There you go. Now, why don’t you tell me why you can’t sleep, and then I’ll tell you why I can’t sleep.”

  She sniffed. He grabbed some tissues from a pretty floral-and-gold dispenser on the coffee table and handed them to her. She took them and blew her nose, keeping the pillow in her lap. She started crying again.

  “You’re afraid he’s going to find you, aren’t you?” Clarence asked.

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’ve been reading up on domestic violence in one of Mercy’s textbooks, and it looks to me like you’re okay as long as you’re with other people, you know? The typical wife beater wants everybody to think he’s a good guy, so he’s not going to come crashing through the door here when there’s a bunch of other people with you. It’d made him look bad. What he tries to do is let everybody think you’re making all this stuff up.”

  She shook her head and wiped her nose again. “I don’t think he cares what other people think. Not anymore. Not since last fall.”

  “Why? What happened then?”

  “He got drunk and passed out, and I pounded his head into the concrete.”

  Clarence tried not to show shock on his face. He didn’t think he was doing a very good job, but luckily she didn’t look at him. She just stared across the room, hugging the pillow to her chest.

  “They had to fly him to Springfield,” she muttered. “I wish he’d’ve died.”

  Clarence hoped his eyeballs didn’t go flying out of their sockets. He sat perfectly still and waited for her to keep talking. Which was the only thing that was going to save this conversation, because he couldn’t think of a single word to say. He just hoped Ivy didn’t let Delphi use any knives or other pointed objects around the house. He’d better make sure she didn’t ever get mad at him.

  But he had to remind himself about what she’d been through. And she was just sharing her thoughts with him. Oh, yeah, nice little thoughts about how she’d tried to kill her husband, and how she still wished he were dead.

  “I’ve got to go see Dr. Mercy tomorrow,” Delphi said. “She’s going to check me out and do a chest X-ray to make sure this cough isn’t pneumonia or something. Then I’m getting out of this town. I can’t stick around.” She turned to look at Clarence. “Next time he gets ahold of me, he could kill me, or maybe somebody else. He gets crazy, goes wild. One minute he’s brooding and the next he’s crying. Then he’ll fly into a rage and knock everything off the counters and ram his hand through a window. I know. I’ve seen it all. He’s crazy.”

  Clarence stared at her in the lamplight, trying to think of something intelligent to say. But what do you say to an abused woman who’d tried to make her husband’s skull a piece of the garage floor?

  “Will you take me?” came Delphi’s timid request.

  Clarence watched her a few seconds longer. “Huh?”

  “To see Dr. Mercy tomorrow? Mrs. Richmond says you’ve got an appointment, too, and she and Miss Knight will both be out of town. Dr. Mercy said she’d loan you her car.”

  Clarence shook off the goose bumps that had accumulated at the back of his neck. He had to stop making judgments. How did he know what Delphi’s life was like? How would he like to be a scared young woman with a mean, crazy man for a husband? “Sure I’ll take you, Delphina. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Business was nonexistent at Herald Hospital Emergency Room Tuesday morning, which was why all the staff except for Lukas were taking a break to celebrate Carmen’s birthday. He had been invited, as well, but he thought it might be a good idea for someone to watch the phones and hang around in case of emergency. Consequently he was the one who answered Mr. Amos’s call. And the call was for him.

  “Dr. Bower, it is provident that I caught you.” The disembodied voice was less harsh and angry than the last time Lukas had spoken with him, though it was far from friendly. His nasal twang was more evident, like a country boy attempting to speak with a British accent. “I received your missive in yesterday’s delivery.”

  “Yes?” Missive?

  “As per your request, I have perused your contract. As I understand section five on page two, either party may render this contract null and void if both parties agree to do so.”

  “I see. And do they?”

  “I think it would be in the best interest of both parties, don’t you agree?”

  “I certainly do, Mr. Amos.” Relief, sudden and overwhelming, flowed through Lukas. “When do you think this…agreement might take effect?”

  “It so happens that I am in receipt of a curriculum vitae of a Jefferson City physician who expresses his wish to escape to the country. At this time he is not employed, and I believe it would behoove me in this matter to allow you to step down.”

  Lukas shook his head. Why couldn’t the man just say, “I’ve got a replacement for you, so good riddance”?

  “I’ve taken the liberty of viewing your work schedule,” Amos continued, “and Friday appears to be your final day this week.”

  “That’s right. I’m not down for another shift until next Tuesday.” He’d been looking forward to the long weekend. Was it premature to hope that he could pack his Jeep Friday?

  “I believe I can arrange things so that Friday will be your final time with us, Dr. Bower.”

  He sounded irritable, but why? If he had a replacement, why be cranky? Of course, when was Mr. Amos not cranky? Lukas certainly wouldn’t want to be a hospital administrator. “That sounds good to me, Mr. Amos.”

  “You may tell Mrs. Pinkley to expect you in Knolls next week.” Yes, definitely peevish.

  Hold it…Mrs. Pinkley? “You know the Knolls hospital administrator?”

  “Of course. Her acumen and wisdom are legend among hospital administrators in this region…and I had the privilege of speaking with her via telephone yesterday afternoon.”

  Aha! So Estelle had called about the contract!

  As soon as Mr. Amos hung up, Lukas dialed Estelle’s direct number.

  “You didn’t trust me,” he accused as soon as she answered.

  “Of course I trust you, Lukas.” She didn’t pretend to wonder what he meant. “I just needed to speed things along. I felt it would be easier for Mr. Amos to see reason if I explained the difficulties we were having down here without you.”

  “You bullied him.”

  “I did not. In fact, I even gave him some advice about a pending court case.”

  “A court case?” Could she be talking about Hershel Moss? Or perhaps someone was suing the hospital for substandard care? They could have fifty court cases pending and Lukas wouldn’t know a thing about it.

  “According to Mr. Amos, I can expect to see you here on Monday?” Estelle asked.

  Lukas smiled and felt a warm sense of peace cover him. “Yes. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.” He said goodbye and hung up, and the next patient who walked through the door heard Dr. Lukas Bower laughing out loud with relief and joy. Come next Monday, he would be working with Mercy.

  “Three pounds down since Friday.” Mercy carried Shannon
Becker’s clipboard over to her desk and sat down facing her silent patient. “Your mother says you still aren’t eating.”

  “I know.” Shannon’s shadowed eyes looked huge in her drawn, parchment-colored face. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t meet Mercy’s gaze but stared out the window at the winter grass and gray-brown trees.

  Mercy couldn’t avoid the irony of the situation. Poor Clarence, who had struggled so hard to lose weight, had gained two pounds as of a few moments ago. On the other hand, Shannon seemed unable to force herself to eat. And emotions held the power over both patients. Depression. If she could only help them gain better control of those emotions, she couldn’t help believing the rest would fall into place. Shannon would regain her weight and be a chattering, happy teenager again. Clarence would feel like a man again. But she couldn’t work miracles; only God could do that.

  Mercy had to constantly remind herself that she was not expected to control these people. She couldn’t have prevented Kendra from overexercising at the health club, she couldn’t have prevented the violent rape of Shannon’s body and spirit, and she didn’t even know Clarence when he’d gained all that weight. All she could do was pray for them and let them know she cared. And she had to know when to get firm and when to let go.

  The time had come to get firm with this one.

  She pushed the chart aside and got up from behind the desk. This girl didn’t need to feel as if she had been sent to the principal’s office. So instead, Mercy sat down beside Shannon and moved her chair around so they could face each other.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but I’m afraid this isn’t going to work.” She kept her voice soft and nonthreatening but made it clear she would not back down. “You’re trying to starve yourself to death, and I can’t let that happen. If you lose much more weight, you could be setting yourself up for osteoporosis, even heart damage. You could lose sensation in your hands and feet, and that’s just the beginning.”

  Shannon gripped her hands tightly together in her lap and didn’t look up. “I tried to eat, Dr. Mercy. I’ve been drinking water, lots of water. I just…can’t.”

  “Yes, I know. And I know why. If I were a fifteen-year-old girl in your situation, I also might try to remove all evidence that I’m a female so no one would look at me like that again. I might cut off all my hair and wear my dad’s baggy shirts and jeans and forget to take a shower or brush my teeth for days at a time. I might withdraw inside myself and refuse to trust anyone again.”

  Shannon nodded, and she looked up at Mercy then. A look devoid of hope filled her eyes.

  The girl’s despair brought a quick sheen of tears to Mercy’s eyes. “I can’t let you do that.”

  Shannon studied the tears for a moment. “You’re going to make me go into the hospital, aren’t you?”

  “Not in Knolls. I can’t help you, Shannon. You need to go to a place that deals specifically with emotional disorders. I’ve already spoken with your mother about sending you where you can get some good help, and she agrees.”

  Shannon didn’t move. She didn’t blink. “Where?”

  “There’s a hospital in Tulsa that has a good cure rate.” Mercy couldn’t help hoping that if they caught this thing early enough, Shannon wouldn’t have the long, painful recovery period that other patients sometimes suffered. A seventy-five percent cure rate was considered good, and that took an average of seven years.

  At first the girl didn’t even seem to have the energy to show alarm. “It’s a long way from home.”

  “It’s a five-hour drive from here. And the healing process will take time and a lot of effort from you and your family. Are you willing to give it a try?”

  Shannon bent forward until her forehead rested on her knees. Mercy could see the sharpness of her shoulder blades and the outline of her rib cage. Her shoulders heaved and she sniffed, and Mercy wanted to take the child in her arms and comfort her.

  “I don’t really want to die, Dr. Mercy,” came the muffled reply at last. “It would kill my mom and dad, too. I don’t want to do that to them. And my brothers and sisters…I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to be raped again.”

  Mercy sat back. Finally the heart of the problem. “I’ll tell you what, Shannon. You go to this hospital and get healthy again, and I’ll personally see to it that you attend a complete self-defense course. Then the next time some dirt-bag tries to mess with you, he’ll end up in the hospital. Okay?”

  After a long hesitation, Shannon straightened and looked at Mercy and wiped her face with the ragged sleeve of her dad’s old work shirt. “I’ll try it.”

  “And I’ll be praying for you all the way through it, Shannon,” Mercy said softly.

  I’m going home…I’m going home…Lukas had to force himself to concentrate on the monitor in the trauma-cardiac room. Mr. Bennett, a chubby man in his late fifties, lay on the exam table, hooked up to oxygen via nasal cannula. He was in obvious pain in spite of the four baby aspirin and the nitroglycerin Tex had given him as soon as she established an IV. He was due for another nitro under the tongue.

  His wife stood beside him and held his hand. “His face was white and he was sweating just before we left to come here, Dr. Bower. It’s his heart. I know it’s his heart. His father died of a heart attack when—”

  “Dad was seventy when he died,” Mr. Bennett snapped. “Relax, woman. I’ll be fine.”

  Lukas reread the chart with Tex’s assessment. The patient smoked two packs of cigarettes and drank a six-pack of beer daily. His blood pressure upon presentation was 180 over 95. Tex had already drawn blood, established an IV, and ordered a portable chest X-ray.

  “Mr. Bennett, we’re running an EKG to see what your heart is doing right now,” Lukas said. “The lab is running a cardiac enzyme level on your blood. When we get the results of that we’ll have a better idea about how we’re going to treat you.”

  The gray-haired patient started shaking his head before Lukas finished talking. “Can’t stay, Doc. My mother’s flying in tonight for a family reunion this weekend. My brothers are driving in from Sedalia and St. Louis, and aunts and uncles will be here Friday. It’s a big deal.” He grimaced and caught his breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

  “More pain? Is it your chest?” Lukas asked.

  The man nodded, eyes still shut.

  Lukas gave him another nitroglycerin tablet under the tongue. If the pain didn’t improve, there was morphine waiting.

  “He woke up like that,” Mrs. Bennett said. “He said he was sick to his stomach, and he was breathing in short gasps. Did I tell you he’s diabetic?”

  “No, but that’s helpful,” Lukas said, concentrating on his patient. “Mr. Bennett, have you had other episodes like this recently?”

  “Yes, he has,” Mrs. Bennett volunteered before her husband could answer. “At least four times in the past few weeks, although nothing like this. He woke me up this time on purpose. He never does that. You know how these tough guys are.”

  “The doctor doesn’t want to hear my life history,” Mr. Bennett complained.

  “Actually, I do.” Lukas continued to study the monitor. It showed occasional irregular beats, but they were decreasing in frequency. “How’s the pain now, Mr. Bennett?”

  The patient took a couple of deep breaths and looked up at Lukas. “Better.”

  “Gone completely?”

  “It will be. I can’t stay.”

  That wasn’t good enough. “Let’s wait for the test results to come back.”

  The lines of wood grain on Dr. Robert Simeon’s desk had begun to coalesce into flickering flames that taunted and waved at Theodore, manipulated by the shades of sunlight that slanted in through the broad bay window. Winter wind blew the bare branches of a hawthorn tree outside. Theodore watched the movement with intense fascination, watched the chickadees and cardinals as they skittered from branch to branch, watched the ethereal floating of the clouds against the milky blue of a Missouri winter sky. Nothing kept his imagination hampere
d for longer than a few seconds, and the clouds grew darker, mocking and sinister.

  Worry drew Theo’s gut into a tight knot of memories and fears. He hadn’t even had the courage to tell Mercy about his appointment with Dr. Simeon during their lunch date Saturday. He’d walked away like a coward. But then, Tedi was there. And he still didn’t know for sure…not for sure.

  The tension drew tighter as the door opened and Robert stepped through with his ever-present chart. Robert’s frown was deeper than usual, his movements slower.

  “Hello, Theodore.” Preoccupied, he didn’t offer a handshake.

  Theodore couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  Robert walked around to his chair and sank down into it with a sigh. He placed the chart carefully on the desk and aligned the edges so that it lay perfectly straight. “I’m sorry to say this, but we need to do a biopsy.”

  Theodore nearly moaned out loud. He wanted to shout. He wanted to cry and beg God to please not let this happen. He swallowed. “You saw a problem with the ultrasound?”

  A nod. “We found a large lesion in the liver.”

  “So it really is cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “How bad?” Theo saw the flicker of discomfort in the doctor’s eyes. “Look, Robert, you can tell me. It isn’t like I’m going to sue you for a misdiagnosis at this point.”

  Robert shot him a sharp look of reproach.

  Theo felt immediately ashamed. Don’t take your frustration out on the messenger. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for. It’s just so…This is such a shock. I’ve been praying about this. I went to my pastor and talked to him about my condition, and he prayed with me. I just can’t get it out of my mind. The wondering is the worst thing.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Robert leaned back in his leather swivel chair and rolled his head from side to side as if to stretch tense neck muscles. “You’ll have to trust me about this, because I’ve seen this happen a few more times than you have. I’ve had patients who jumped to conclusions at this point and decided they were going to die, and they gave up. They started to grieve when they should have been fighting back. At this stage of the procedure, we don’t jump to conclusions.”