URGENT CARE

by Alexander, Hannah

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Hallowed Halls

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Book Three of the Healing Touch Series

  URGENT CARE

  Hannah Alexander

  Chapter One

  Jessica Lane Pierce took the final curve of the tortuous drive from Branson to Dogwood Springs accompanied by the fanfare of a thunder and lightning storm that sent a cascade of rain across her windshield in circular waves, like a giant intermittent sprinkler system. It was louder than any of the music that had accompanied her on stage tonight. It squeezed her stomach muscles more tightly than stage fright ever had.

  Rain washed the state highway to an ebony sheen and she could even feel her all-wheel-drive hydroplaning on certain sections. The drive from the theater had taken her nearly an hour as opposed to the typical thirty-five minutes in good weather. Branson traffic had been snarled even more than usual because of the deluge that had split the sky a few minutes after her show ended, cutting her usual greet-the-star time in half due to the urgency of the bus drivers and senior citizens to beat the storm.

  Another flash of chain lightning gave her a fascinating view of her new hometown set on the peninsula of a gently sloped hill overlooking the Black Oak River, which would most likely tumble out of its banks before morning if this rain continued. For all she knew it had already escaped those banks.

  Tonight Dogwood Springs didn’t hold its usual appearance of comfortable safety. The waving branches tossed sticks and leaves into the sheen of her headlights, first bone white, then darkening to a menace of fleshless arms and fingers, as if they were reaching out to grab her car or thrust her from the road.

  Jessica couldn’t wait to get home, remove her stage makeup, and fall into her loving husband’s arms—not that the last part was likely to happen soon. If she knew Archer, he wouldn’t be home yet. He was the on-call chaplain at the hospital tonight.

  She pulled to a stop at the first traffic signal, which swung like the Sword of Damocles in the wind as if it might topple onto her hood at any moment. She turned right to bypass the commercial section of town with its quaint shops.

  Three blocks farther, she hit the brakes with a gasp at the sight of the cascade rushing over the low-water bridge in front of her. Headlights flashed as a car pulled up behind her. Too close behind. She lowered her window, getting drenched in seconds, and stuck an arm out to wave the other driver back.

  The car made a U-turn and disappeared into the mist. The driver was obviously aware that this little bridge often flooded, leaving the residents on the hillside beyond it with only one other access to their homes.

  Jessica had no intention of trying to cross. She followed the other car toward the Black Oak River Bridge, grimacing at the thunder that cracked overhead. She breathed a quiet prayer that for once Archer would be at home when she arrived.

  A fresh flood of rain bashed the windshield of the car. Water glistened from the black street. Set as it was on this tree-covered hillside, the town of Dogwood Springs seldom had much trouble with flooding. This storm, however, seemed to be attacking from all sides at once.

  The blare of a nearby horn startled her. She jerked around to see who was honking but only saw an empty street. The blare rode up to a deafening scale and back down again—the public alert system.

  Her cell phone chirped through her car speakers, barely discernable over the scream of the siren. She pressed the answer button on her steering wheel and answered it.

  “Jessica where are you?” Her husband’s voice filled the car with unaccustomed tension.

  “I just got into town, honey. I’ll be home in a few—”

  “Do you have the keys to the church?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Get there now.” His urgency gave the siren fresh significance.

  “Archer, what—”

  “A tornado’s been sighted on the ground between here and Eureka Springs.”

  Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. That was too close.

  “High wind has already taken out electricity in several parts of town, including the hospital. We’re on emergency backup. Get to cover.”

  She peered up into the black sky and suddenly felt as if she could at any second be ripped from the road into that void. “You’re at the hospital? I’m coming there.”

  “If you just got to town you’re closer to the church. We need it unlocked and I need you safe. It’s a designated tornado shelter. Please hurry.”

  “Okay. Archer? Be careful. I love you.”

  “Then move.” Jessica heard tense voices in the background over the telephone. “I love you too,” Archer said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  ***

  Archer Pierce, presently serving as Friday night on-call chaplain to the hospital while trying not to proselytize as pastor of Dogwood Springs Baptist Church, reluctantly broke the connection with his wife, shoved the cell phone into his pocket, and turned back to face the basement hallway where the emergency backup lights were on low beam. The place teemed with the crowd of patients and staff.

  He heard Dr. Grant Sheldon’s voice rise above the confusion of people who had congregated in the large conference room at the west end of the hallway. “We need you to stay in the corridors,” he called. “Everyone, may I have your attention! The safest place to be is in the corridors.”

  The hallway filled until it resembled an airport terminal on Christmas Eve. Not everyone took the alert seriously. Too many laughed and joked, chattered and complained until Archer thought his eardrums might implode.

  He was about to raise his hands and ask for silence when he heard a commotion from the other end of the main corridor at the elevator door.

  “Coming through! Excuse us, coming through! Where’s a doctor?” Christy, the ambulance paramedic, threaded her cargo of gurney complete with pregnant lady through the loud group. Bill, the EMT, helped push the gurney from the other side.

  “Oh my goodness, what happened to her?” a woman cried. “Was she injured in the storm?”

  A shocked silence followed her words and Archer took that opportunity to raise his hand and get Christy’s attention. “Dr. Sheldon’s at the other end of the corridor trying to direct traffic. Everybody step back, please!” He used his pulpit voice. “Please stay calm and allow the attendants to do their jobs.”

  “What do we have?” Grant made his way toward them against the tide of people.

  “Looks like eclampsia,” Christy said.

  They met in the middle of the crowd, the automatic focus of everyone.

  The doctor grasped the rail of the gurney. “She’s already seized?”

  “Yes,” Christy said. “In the ambulance she was complaining of abdominal pain and severe headache
, was confused and disoriented. We brought a crash cart down from upstairs.”

  While Christy gave her report to Grant, Archer studied the patient’s face and ignored the press of people around him. She looked familiar but with the confusion of voices and people pressing too closely he struggled for the name.

  “Pastor Pierce?” a tentative male voice whispered from behind him.

  Archer looked around and recognized one of the most notorious eighteen-year-olds in the county. He suddenly realized the identity of the patient on the gurney. “Kent Eckard, isn’t it?” He held his right hand out.

  The young man looked at Archer’s hand, narrowed his dark-shadowed eyes, and took it as if it was more of a port of safety than a simple greeting.

  “You’re worried about your mother, I’m sure.” The crowd had grown silent around them. The atmosphere seemed to charge with unspoken hostility. Joanne Bonus, single again after a split from Kent’s new stepfather, had attended services a few times with Kent after his enforced leave from town.

  Kent’s over-firm grip tightened on Archer’s before he released it and nodded. He was muscular and broad-shouldered. Archer could see why some of the kids in the youth department got nervous around him but was dismayed by the lack of enthusiasm from the congregation—all except for the people who had the most reason to avoid Kent—Evan Webster and Grant’s twin teenagers, Brooke and Beau Sheldon.

  “She’s in good hands,” Archer said.

  “She’s having a baby.” Kent swallowed hard. “But it ain’t right.”

  “Dr. Sheldon will know what to do,” Archer assured him.

  For a moment Kent didn’t react. It was obvious his attention was focused only on his mother and the treatment she was receiving a few feet away. That focus changed as Archer’s last statement apparently registered.

  “Sheldon.” Kent’s eyes widened. He pointed toward Grant. “That’s Dr. Sheldon?”

  “That’s right and he’s good.”

  “Yeah, but does he know whose mother he’s treating?” Kent’s voice deepened, his brows lowering in suspicion.

  Archer understood the kid’s concern, unfounded though it was. He took Kent’s arm and urged him closer to the gurney where the others huddled over Joanne. Kent needed to see for himself that his mother was being cared for.

  Grant leaned over the patient. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Bonus?”

  “Awful.” Tears dripped down the sides of the woman’s puffy face. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop shaking. I’m so scared.”

  He rested a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. We’re going to take care of you. Just relax and let us do the worrying.” He straightened and looked around then motioned for RN Muriel Stark to join them. He gave orders before turning to Kent. “We’re going to take good care of her, son.”

  Kent’s face reddened. He pressed his lips together into a tight line, as if sealing his mouth shut would prevent him from expressing his fear. Archer touched his arm and gestured for him to go to the stairwell. They could have some privacy there.

  ***

  Jessica studied the darkened three-story outline of the Dogwood Springs Baptist Church set deep into the hillside. She pulled into the lower level of the church lot and parked as close as she could get to the building. To her surprise, a familiar gray Buick sedan pulled in beside her. As Jessica sprang from her car into the blowing rain and fumbled with her key chain, she recognized John and Helen Netz.

  “Just great,” she muttered to herself. “Why did I even bother to come?”

  Apparently, at some time in the past, Jessica had inadvertently offended or disappointed Helen in some way. The woman obviously disapproved of her.

  Tall John, with his craggy face and work-gnarled hands, stepped out of the car. He wore his customary gray winter cap with a matching gray raincoat. Through the car’s rain-spattered window, Jessica could see that Helen had a plastic hood over her carefully sprayed helmet of gray-bronze hair.

  Before Jessica could find the right key John reached the double doors of the basement with his long decisive strides and stuck his key in the lock. He pulled the right door open with a flourish and held it for Jessica then hurried back to his wife, who was waiting patiently for him to open her door and help her out.

  Not that she should need help. Helen was an able woman who held positions on half the committees in church and operated all kitchen activities with the authority of a police sergeant.

  Jessica held the door for the older couple when they reached it. Droplets splashed across her face and arms as Helen drew the plastic from her head.

  “Honey, don’t you have a raincoat for weather like this?” Helen patted Jessica’s arm as she passed and her gaze rested a little too long on Jessica’s face—at the heavy makeup—and wandered down to her glittery green dress.

  “The sky was clear when I left for Branson this afternoon,” Jessica said.

  John took his hat off and perched it on a hook on the wall then helped his wife with her coat. “We thought we’d come down and make sure the doors were unlocked,” he told Jessica. “Archer’s always so busy and the custodian’s out of town this week.”

  “Archer called me.” Jessica flipped on the fluorescent lights. “He’s at the hospital.”

  “Figures,” John said. “He can’t seem to stay away from that place.”

  Helen proceeded to the large kitchen area that took up the far back corner of the basement. It was nestled into the side of the stairwell for partial protection from flying basketballs or volleyballs when the rest of the large multipurpose basement was transformed into a sports arena.

  She pulled open a cupboard door. “I thought we’d make some coffee and sandwiches. John, why don’t you get out the big coffeepot? I can’t reach it.”

  “You know, I don’t think anyone expects us to feed them,” Jessica said. “I doubt if any of the other tornado shelters in the area—”

  “What?” The lady’s eyebrows rose until they nearly met her helmet of hair. “I can’t believe I’m actually hearing the daughter-in-law of Eileen Pierce say such a thing.” Helen pulled a couple of packages of cookies out of the cupboard. “She was the one who thought we should start keeping food on hand for times like this.”

  “Food for tornado warnings?”

  “Yes, and she was always one of the first to pitch in and help.”

  “I was taught to stay away from all things electrical during an electrical storm,” Jessica said. “It seems to me that operating a coffeepot and heating water for cocoa are tempting injury.” And she still refused to believe her practical mother-in-law would condone this kind of thing.

  “Nothing like that has ever happened here. Eileen believed the witness of this church to the community was more important than saving a little money on food.”

  Jessica’s fingernails dug into the flesh of her hands.

  “We always wanted to give them something to remember us by when they went home.” She pulled a serving plate from another cupboard. “She was an asset to her husband and to this church,” Helen said more softly.

  “I know she was.” Jessica took a deep breath. “And she still is.” It was obvious Helen Netz still grieved the loss of a thirty-year friendship when Mom and Dad Pierce moved away from Dogwood Springs after their retirement. It was also obvious Helen didn’t intend for anyone to take Mom Pierce’s place. Jessica had no intention of trying; she just wanted to stay out of the woman’s way. But for now she was stuck.

  “If I can find an apron I’ll kick off my shoes and help,” Jessica said.

  “Well, okay, if you feel like you want to do some work.”

  Jessica bit back a reply as she pushed her stretchy sleeves up to her elbows. John came from the freezer with two loaves of white bread and some lunchmeat.

  Jessica barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Junk food for Jesus. For this I’m risking my life.

  Helen reached into the drawer for a spoon. “Why don’t you dish out the condiments, Jessica? You’ll find som
e small bowls in the third cupboard down and some butter knives in the drawer below it. No, not that one, the next one. There you go.”

  Jessica ignored the woman’s condescending tone and reminded herself of how generously this couple gave of their time to make sure the church functioned smoothly.

  She was going to learn to appreciate this dedicated couple. Someday she would. Never mind that John had nearly destroyed Jessica’s relationship with Archer before they got married by responding to unsubstantiated rumors. Never mind that he expected Archer to fit a specific mold of the Netz opinion of a pastor’s duties to the church and that those duties took a hundred hours of week to fulfill.

  “Do you think many will come?” Jessica asked as she worked.

  “You’d better believe they’ll come,” John said. “This place is a lifesaver for those poor people who don’t have a basement. Literally.”

  And cookies were a necessary part of the rescue? “How often do we get tornado warnings in Dogwood Springs?” Jessica asked.

  “Oh, I can remember quite a few times these past few years—can’t you, John?” Helen pulled two aprons out of a drawer. She handed one to Jessica and kept the other one.

  “But has this town ever been hit by a tornado?” Jessica asked.

  “Not yet,” John said. “Not likely to, sheltered as we are. I reckon this one’ll fizzle out any minute. Still, folks get scared, so they come to the church. My theory is God causes these tornado situations just to get some people into church who wouldn’t otherwise darken the doors.”

  He placed the meat in the microwave to defrost it. “How’s a person supposed to meet God if he never visits here?”

  “But God doesn’t live in this building; He lives where His people do,” Jessica ventured. She was immediately sorry when she caught sharp looks from both directions.

  “Well, His people should be here,” Helen said. “That way there won’t be any confusion about where He is.”

  Jessica turned away to spoon the condiments into the bowls just as the first set of headlights flashed through the basement windows. For the next few minutes she busied herself greeting strangers and church members alike, reassuring them, making them feel comfortable as she urged them toward the more protected part of the basement near the back. She received several enthusiastic greetings from church members as well as from fans who didn’t attend the church but had seen her show. She received only a few strange looks from people who didn’t know her. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a casual tornado party.