NECESSARY MEASURES

by Alexander, Hannah

  Lauren McCaffrey turned from the drug dispenser and caught sight of him. “Mr. Butler?”

  “It’s happening again.” He reached for a counter for support. Thank goodness the slurred speech had not returned. Yet.

  She rushed to his side and took his arm. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you to a bed.”

  He allowed her to support part of his weight.

  She turned and called over her shoulder, “Dr. Sheldon, we need you over here.”

  Grant looked up from a chart on the counter of the central workstation then shoved his chair backward, jumped up, and rushed toward them.

  Will took an easier breath. Grant was on duty again. With all the pressure Mitchell put on Grant to add hours to his ER shifts, this was a minor miracle. Mitchell must have decided to keep his own office open today.

  “It’ll be all right, William.” Lauren led him gently forward.

  Grant caught him from behind and helped Lauren guide him into an empty exam room. “How do you feel?”

  “Weak. Shaky. Tingling in my left arm.” He looked at Grant and was reassured by the expression of calm strength that always seemed to emanate from the younger man.

  “Chest pressure or pain?”

  “The same as before.” Will sighed. “I thought I was going to be okay.” His voice trembled and his tongue thickened. Had to focus on controlling his speech. “I delegated nearly half my work.” He sank back onto the bed with a grunt of relief. “I even threatened Jade that if she didn’t stop calling me three times a day about problems with the insurance company, I would run for mayor myself and lock her out of the office.”

  Grant gave a soft chuckle. “I’ll deal with Jade. You remember the drill from last week? Lie back and relax. Let us do all the worrying.” He gave quick orders to Lauren.

  “Maybe this will pass like the last one,” William said.

  “I don’t want to wait for it to pass.”

  “Dr. Sheldon,” Vivian called from the hallway, “we’ve got an injured man in a private vehicle in the ambulance bay. We also have an ambulance on its way in with an ETA of three minutes.”

  “Go,” William said. “You don’t have much time.”

  “I need to see to you first.”

  “Lauren knows what to do.” She was already placing monitor leads on his chest.

  “Someone will want to see to the man in the private vehicle,” Vivian said. “Looks like a child drove him in. They’re both covered in mud and I can’t tell if the child is a boy or a girl. Christy’s in one of her moods today and she’s likely to run right over that car with the ambulance if we don’t clear out that bay before she gets there.”

  Beau entered the room. “Anything I can do to help, Dad?”

  William waved Grant away. “Get to work, Doc, and let Lauren and Beau work on me. I trust them.” Beau Sheldon had already passed his CPR test and his medical knowledge surpassed that of many of the other hospital personnel. He volunteered whenever he wasn’t scheduled to work for pay. William admired the kid.

  Grant gave William’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be back soon. Meanwhile, Lauren and Beau aren’t leaving your side.”

  ***

  The cry of an ambulance whined in the distance as Grant and Todd stepped out into the bay. A muddy pickup truck idled where the ambulance driver would expect to pull in any minute. A man was sprawled in the passenger seat with his head against the window. Sure enough, a girl who looked to be about eleven or twelve sat in the driver’s seat clutching the steering wheel. Tears made dark streaks in the dried mud on her face.

  Grant turned to Todd. “Get a wheelchair.” He opened the passenger door and did a quick visual assessment of the man whose left leg was stretched out. A red-stained white T-shirt was tied around his calf. His jeans were wet, torn in several places, and soaked with blood. The pain was evident in the mud-cragged lines of his face.

  He groaned. “You the doc here?”

  “I’m Dr. Grant Sheldon.” Grant looked at the child in the driver’s seat, then back at the man. “I take it you’re the patient, Mr.—?”

  “Cameron.” The man grimaced in pain. “Call me Cam. I think I need some stitches, maybe a rabies vaccine.”

  Grant reached into the truck to help him out. “Rabies?”

  “Dog bites.”

  Grant hesitated before moving him. “Any broken bones? Back or neck injury?”

  “Nope, they just ripped me up a little.”

  The ambulance siren blared just blocks away as Todd arrived with the wheelchair.

  Grant set the brakes on the chair. “Todd, I’ll help our patient out of the truck but I need you to park it for—”

  Cam reached up and grabbed the side of the doorframe. “Don’t need help parking this thing. Haley dragged me out of the creek, wrapped my leg, and hauled me on the ATV eight miles through rough terrain.” He winced, gasped, grabbed at his leg.

  “Dad!” Haley cried. “Please mister, do something fast!”

  Grant patted the tear-streaked child on the arm. “We’ll take good care of him. Why don’t you go ahead and park your truck over there.” He pointed toward the patient parking area. “Then you can come into the hospital.”

  She nodded and gripped the steering wheel.

  Grant and Todd eased the man into the wheelchair. The ambulance rounded a corner and pulled into view just as Haley put the truck into gear and steered it out of the bay.

  Cam was out of earshot of his young driver when he released a moan. His hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair so tightly his knuckles turned white. He sucked in his breath with deep gasps. “Do something fast. I think I’m still bleeding.”

  “Let’s get him to five,” Grant told Todd.

  Grant unwrapped the patient’s leg as they pushed him to the exam room. He saw multiple puncture-tear wounds of a vicious bite in the fleshy portion of his left calf.

  Cam winced. “I think you found the spot.”

  When they got him into the room Grant palpated the foot and checked the toes. No interrupted blood flow. He examined the wound on Cam’s right thigh and another on his ankle above his boots. Neither was as deep as the calf wound. “Cam, we’ll have to cut your jeans off and irrigate all these wounds. I see three, do you know of others?”

  Cam shook his head. “I was wearing a leather jacket. Can somebody call my wife? She’s going to kill me for taking Haley with me but I don’t want my girl to wait by herself.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Vivian assured him from the doorway. “We’ve got an aide taking her to the private conference room. Dr. Sheldon, the ambulance is in the bay.”

  “Get the patient into a room. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” First he had to get this bleeding stopped.

  ***

  Archer tugged at the bow tie of his black tuxedo, buttoned the coat, and stood in front of the small mirror in his office beside his bookcase. He smiled at himself then chuckled. His youth group would laugh at him. Let ‘em laugh. Jessica would like this look.

  He had never been a particularly modest guy but as far as he knew he wasn’t conceited. Mom and Dad would never have allowed it. Still, even though it embarrassed him when people compared him to Paul Newman in his early thirties, it made him feel good.

  When he made the decision to follow in Dad’s footsteps at the age of seventeen, Dad had warned him that it would be harder for him than most men in ministry because some people automatically expected a handsome man to be weak willed when it came to women. Archer had never considered himself handsome. Women weren’t his problem in spite of what some members of his congregation wanted to think.

  His problem was getting people in this church to take him as seriously as he would like. Mrs. Warren, who had been his Sunday school teacher for two years and youth director for seven, still called him “honey.” If he got too close he was always afraid she might pinch his cheek.

  The familiarity had been a good protection when Jessica forestalled their engagement for a few unsettl
ing weeks this past spring. The members of the church who had watched him grow up knew they could trust him. They had been loyal. For the most part.

  One small powerful faction had tried to stir up some trouble over a rumor about him at the hospital but it never went anywhere because that rumor was based on ugly, mean-spirited lies.

  There was a knock at the door and his secretary stepped in. “Pastor, there’s a—” Mrs. Boucher blinked and stepped back with parted lips. “Why Archer, aren’t you a handsome one!” She had also taught him in Sunday school twenty-five years ago. Though she tried hard to give him the respect she felt a “man of the cloth” deserved, she sometimes slipped up.

  Heat of embarrassment crept up his neck. “It’s my wedding tux. Jessica wanted me to try it on to make sure it fits. I wanted to be wearing it when she arrived.”

  Mrs. Boucher glanced over her shoulder then back at Archer. “Speaking of Jessica, there’s a lady out in the foyer who says she’s here for a counseling session.”

  “A counseling session? Are you sure?” He didn’t have it written in his appointment book.

  “Her name is Lucy Tygart.”

  Archer’s stomach tightened in dread anticipation. What could Evan’s mother be doing in town? “You said she’s here for counseling?”

  Mrs. Boucher spread her hands in a gesture of confusion. “She didn’t want to come into the office—said she’d wait in the lobby for Jessica.”

  “She wants to meet with Jessica?”

  “That’s who she said she wanted to see.”

  “I’ll go speak with her.” Archer instinctively straightened the collar of his coat, wishing he’d waited until Jessica arrived before he tried on the tux. Now he felt silly.

  He stepped into the expansive church foyer and indeed saw sharp-chinned Lucy Tygart seated in one of the padded chairs beside the stairwell that led down to the children’s classrooms on the second floor. The church was built into the side of a hill like much of the town. It consisted of three levels. The main entrance was on the top level and had a broad walkway out to the upper parking lot that crested the hill. The church enjoyed a panoramic view of Dogwood Springs. The auditorium took up the front half of the two top stories and the basement contained a well-supplied kitchen and a multipurpose room that opened to another parking lot and basketball court.

  Lucy stood up when Archer stepped toward her. “Reverend Pierce.” There was the barest hint of latent antagonism in her voice.

  He held out his hand. “Mrs. Tygart. Would you like something to drink? Some water or lemonade? Some tea? We keep a pitcher of—”

  “No thank you.” Lucy stared at his hand as if she were afraid he might be playing some kind of practical joke on her but she took it in a very brief clasp. “I thought your fiancée would be here.”

  “She’s in Branson.” Unless she’d changed her plans she wasn’t due here for another forty-five minutes but he wasn’t going to volunteer that information. Obviously this woman was star struck.

  “She told me she said she would try to meet with me before the church office closed for the evening,” Lucy said. The edge in her voice had softened. He thought he heard a note of uncertainty.

  “You have an appointment with her?”

  Lucy grasped her purse. “I’m obviously too early. Maybe I should leave and come back.”

  “You’re welcome to wait here. Nobody’s going to bite you or throw you out.” He noted the narrowing of her eyes at his gentle chiding. “I have to admit to some curiosity, however, since I’m aware of your attitude about all things relating to church.”

  “Particularly preachers.” She glanced once again toward the door as if hoping Jessica would suddenly appear and rescue her from this unwanted conversation.

  Jessica didn’t do so and Archer continued to wait.

  Lucy crossed her arms. “Tell me Reverend, you live off the tithes of your church members don’t you?” She made it sound as if she’d caught him stealing food from a convenience store.

  He swallowed his irritation and offered up a silent prayer for wisdom. “The church pays me a salary. Pastoring this church is my full-time occupation. It’s fully supported by biblical principles.” He would not debate further with her about the rightness of his calling.

  “My parents belonged to a church when I was a kid.” She turned and strolled across the foyer, stepping through an angled path of stained glass light. “My father was a stockbroker in Fayetteville. He made pretty good money and gave a lot of it to the church. The pastor of that church controlled those people like he was God.”

  Archer followed her from a distance. He probably knew what was coming.

  “So when this guy decides they need a new church building, with all the very best workmanship and most expensive fixtures, he uses his charisma to convince these church members he’s right.” She opened a door to the auditorium and her voice echoed through it. “They build the church and then you know what he does? He manipulates the right people so that the property is put into his name.”

  Archer suppressed a shudder. “I’m sorry. I can imagine what happened next.”

  She pivoted and let the door close to the auditorium. “So he gets all caught up in his own hype—I mean, this guy’s on radio and they’re talking a television broadcast, the works, and he starts dictating what they should and should not do with the extra money coming into their church because of his so-called ministry. He wants to buy a jet.” She huffed, shaking her head. “Really? A jet? When the people finally get wise and start asking questions, he gets all huffy and uses the church property as a point of extortion. There’s a church split, we lose the building, and my parents never enter a church again.”

  “So now you dislike all church leaders?”

  “Can’t you see why?”

  “If one person cuts you off in traffic, does that mean you hate all drivers for the rest of your life.”

  “My parents became very bitter after that.”

  “And you’re continuing a family tradition?” He should’ve stopped the words before they left his mouth.

  Lucy stiffened, her face side-lit by late sunshine angling through amber glass.

  “I’ve seen too many divorces in my life,” he said. “I still believe in the institution of marriage or Jessica and I wouldn’t be getting married in two weeks. You still believe in that same institution in spite of your own divorce, or you wouldn’t have remarried.”

  “But I’ve seen too many televangelists use God’s name to build their bank account.”

  “You’ve seen a lot of divorced, I imagine, and yet you’re happily remarried. You can’t live your life focused on the tares in the wheat.”

  She frowned. “Tares.”

  “The weeds planted by Satan to hurt the true church.”

  “That man ripped our church apart piece by piece.”

  “The man who hurt your family and your church was a tare sown by Satan into the wheat. You’ll find a lot of those wherever you look, but if you focus on them instead of the true church, you’ve lost your main focus.”

  “How is someone supposed to know?” For a moment, her wall of confrontation had lowered a few inches.

  “Good question. My father taught me that it was vital to be a part of a church, but that I also had to have my own relationship with Jesus Christ or I could be misled. If a church places too much emphasis on a leader instead God, that church can lose its way.”

  She stood in the colors of the stained glass, perhaps considering Archer’s words. Or maybe she was mentally building another wall because he’d implied her parents weren’t listening to God.

  “That seducer had the charisma to mislead a lot of people,” Archer said. “When God truly guides a church, their love for one another and for the One who died for them becomes more and more obvious to those who are hungry for the genuine hope they have in Christ.”

  The door opened and Jessica came breezing in, wearing jeans and a blue knit sweater with a matching corduroy jacket.
She had obviously not taken the time to scrub her face after the show, because her eyes held the dark definition of liberal stage makeup.

  She rushed over and grasped Lucy’s hands. “I’m so glad you could come. Would you like to stay here and talk or would you rather take a stroll? It’s a beautiful day and the wind is dying down.”

  “A walk would be nice,” Lucy said.

  Jessica released Lucy’s hands and turned her attention to Archer. The natural warmth in her eyes deepened and her smile widened. “Perfect. You look wonderful. The tux is an exact fit.” Without a hint of self-consciousness, she stepped over and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “I’m going to take a walk with Lucy. I’ll be back before time for us to leave.”

  Before he could reply she touched Lucy’s arm and preceded her out the door into the brilliant late November sunshine. Their footsteps echoed across the concrete walkway for a few seconds before the door closed. Archer stood looking out the narrow windows that framed the doorway and battled disappointment. Obviously, he was a little more conceited than he’d thought; he’d hoped that Jessica would make a little more of a fuss over the tux.

  “Guess it fits,” he murmured as he turned back toward his office to change.

  ***

  Grant examined Cam’s wounds as soon as they were cleared of blood. None of the bites had penetrated the fascial sheath. Still, with two surgeons in the hospital, it wouldn’t hurt to request a second opinion. Bite wounds were notoriously susceptible to infection. And if the dogs were rabid...

  “Cam, tell me what happened.” He sat down on the chair next to the head of the bed.

  The man’s head rolled to the side and he gazed around the room, obviously feeling the effects of the pain meds. “Haley and I were riding my four-wheeler down a logging trail some of my buddies told me about last week.” His speech no longer held the broken edge of pain. “We crossed Pigeon Creek and Haley was screaming and laughing because she got splashed by the cold water.” Cam closed his eyes.

  “When did the dogs attack?”

  “When we came out of the creek.”

  “You’re sure they were dogs? Not a pack of coyotes or—”