“Close the door behind you, Grant.” William leaned back in his chair and turned for a moment to look out the window onto the broad lawn in front of the hospital. “We’ve got something to discuss.”
Grant took one of the chairs in a grouping beside the window while William joined him with a cup of coffee and a patient file.
“That’s decaf, right?” Grant asked.
William sank into the chair next to him. “It’s all my nerves can take lately. Want a cup?”
“No thanks. Bonnie’s right, Will, you could use another vacation.” An avid hunter who spent much of his limited leisure time in the woods, William had been diagnosed with Lyme disease last winter. To add to that madness he continued to battle a paperwork nightmare after a third of the town’s water supply had been contaminated with mercury from the offal of methamphetamine production. After nearly a year, the financial impact of that catastrophe still threatened the operation of the hospital.
“I received a call from our mayor first thing this morning.” William tapped the corner of the file balanced on his knee. “Did you realize one of your ER patients Monday evening is a close friend of Jade’s?”
“We couldn’t have avoided the information if we’d tried,” Grant drawled. “Mrs. Peterson, I presume.”
“She wasn’t impressed with the treatment she received.”
“I’m sorry she was disappointed but I haven’t heard anything about a bad outcome.”
Will shrugged. “Jade admits her friend has a tendency to... let’s say... exaggerate.”
“I might have been a little stubborn about refusing the requested narcotic but I wanted to find the reason for her pain before—”
“I didn’t call you in here to interrogate you about the case,” Will said. “I think I have a good idea about what happened. I understand Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t sign the AMA form.”
“She was a little emotional. Lauren saw what happened.”
“And Mitchell Caine never showed up to see her after you called him?”
Obviously, Will had read the documentation. Grant explained the case again.
“And you tried to call Mitchell repeatedly?”
“That’s right. We couldn’t reach him at home or at his office.”
“Did he actually refuse to come to see his patient when you spoke with him?”
“No, he said he would be there. When we spoke about it later, he indicated that he had forgotten. It sounds as if he might have been distracted for some reason.”
“Have you noticed any problems with his treatment of patients in the emergency department lately, other than with Mrs. Peterson?” William asked.
Grant hesitated. “Such as?”
“He’s becoming more and more difficult to communicate with,” William said. “Not only with me but also his patients. I’ve received other complaints. Have you ever smelled alcohol on his breath when he’s been called to come in at night?”
“Never when he was on duty.”
“Could he be having a problem with drugs, then?”
Grant had heard one of the ER secretaries remark casually that she’d seen Dr. Caine take a pill from a prescription bottle a couple of times recently but that could have been anything and he didn’t want to risk a guess about the contents of the bottle. “I don’t know, William. Do you want me to talk to him?”
Will leaned back, rubbed his neck, and stared out the window again, as if he received strength from the view. “I know the two of you aren’t exactly friends but for what it’s worth Mitchell Caine doesn’t have many friends, especially since his split with Darla. Maybe if we relieved him of some responsibilities here at the hospital, if you would reduce his hours in the ER, he could work through his own problems.”
“Believe me, there will be a battle if I try to cut his hours in the department,” Grant said. “There always has been in the past.”
“I’m sure you’ll keep the shouting to a minimum.” William smiled for the first time since Grant had stepped into the office.
The older man set his empty cup on the coffee table and slapped his hands on his knees, a characteristic indication that this conversation was over. “I have a week’s worth of paper work to complete in the next few hours of daylight. I hope you don’t feel like I’m throwing you to the wolves but you’re the best one to handle this in spite of Mitchell’s antipathy. If you and I were to both hold a conference with him right now I think it would be a painful blow to him.”
In response to Grant’s recent medical advice to William, the administrator had just delegated one of his responsibilities. Grant was the lucky recipient.
He’d better gear up for conflict.
***
Late Wednesday morning Archer Pierce arrived home from a hospital visit to find his wife waiting for him at the front door in a floor-length robe of burgundy velvet. Her hair was pulled up in one of those wicked plastic claw things and wisps of luxuriant golden brown curls framed a face still groggy with sleep.
“Morning, beautiful.” He kissed her on the cheek as he entered. “Did you get my note? I left it on the kitchen table. I had a call from the hospital early and I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.”
“I found it. Thanks for the sleep.” She closed the door and stretched. Archer watched appreciatively.
In the kitchen she poured them each a cup of coffee, carried them to the table, then sank into her chair with the natural grace of a dancer. “What a way to start the day when you’d planned to be free until church time tonight.”
He sat down across from her. “Uh, Jess, about that... I was a little too eager to make those plans.”
She hesitated with her cup halfway to her lips. “You told me there wouldn’t be any problem switching days off this week. I know there’s church tonight, but—”
“Mrs. Boucher reminded me I’ve got a meeting at four this afternoon, and Cyrus Hall was admitted to the hospital in Harrison. Mrs. Hall wanted to know if I’d drive down...”
Jessica slumped. “Isn’t there anybody else in the church who can visit today? Can you go down tomorrow?”
“Ordinarily I would but they’re really worried about his heart. Mrs. Hall said he was begging to have me—”
Jessica raised a hand. “I can probably guess the rest. You’ve known Cyrus for thirty-four years and he would be deeply hurt if you didn’t make a personal appearance because he’s watched you grow up in this church and he—”
“Something like that.” Archer battled irritation at the long-suffering tone of her voice. “Jessica, this poor man is probably afraid he’s going to die.”
“I’m sure you’re right and I will pray for him and for his wife. But Archer, you know everyone in Dogwood Springs. In case you hadn’t noticed, the town, as well as our church, is growing. You can’t carry everybody on your own shoulders. You told me you were going to get some help from the deacons until the personnel committee could hire someone.”
“I plan to ask them but the meeting isn’t until Friday night, and—”
“Then ask them Friday night. Either get some help from them—you promised you’d ask, you know—or I’m enrolling you in pre-med.”
He took heart from the teasing tenor of her voice. “Jess, you can’t expect everything to change overnight. You’ve got to give the church some time.”
She frowned down at her hands and then slowly her gaze traveled up to his face. Oh, boy, he’d said the wrong thing.
“Time.” She shook her head. “Our marriage needs time but are we getting it? What if the deacons refuse to give you the help you need?”
“I think they’ll listen to reason.”
“Reason? Are you kidding? Why should they listen to reason? They’ve got you jumping through their hoops, doing the jobs that, according to my Bible, the church members could easily be responsible for. Ha! Reason.” She shoved away from the table. “Archer Pierce, you’re the most reasonable person I know but do you listen to reason about this subject? No.”
&nbs
p; “I am listening, Jess, but you’ve got to understand that they need to be eased into change. A church as large as ours has a lot of needy members and they tend to put the pastor on a pedestal. I know because I saw it happen with Dad a few times. It takes finesse to make—”
“You don’t think anyone else can do the job? Are you the church pastor or the church puppet?”
Archer winced at her words as if he’d been slapped.
Jessica gasped softly and covered her lips with her fingers.
“I can’t believe you said that,” Archer whispered.
“Neither can I.” She stood up and walked to the kitchen sink to stare out across the back lawn. “I’m sorry. I’m also lonely. Even when you’re here you’re not really here with me.”
He swallowed his own annoyance, went to her, and put his arms around her, drawing her back against him. “Something does need to change, I know. I’ll talk to the deacons.”
“I’ve been doing some thinking, Archer.” She took a slow breath. “If I were to request a new contract with fewer performances—”
“No. Out of the question.”
“Then what?” She turned within the circle of his arms to look up at him. “You tell me. If we’re going to have a marriage one of us is going to have to give up something. Heather’s sharing the stage with me now. If it works out she might even be able to take my place.”
“We’ll think of something else. You’re talking out of desperation and we would both blame ourselves later if you felt forced to sacrifice your career to my rotten time management.” He drew her against him. “Sweetheart, you’ve been so patient with me and I know I’ve taken advantage of that. I’ve done this to myself....”
“And to me.” She rested her forehead on his shoulder.
“And to you. I’m not handling the transition well.”
“You’re trying too hard to follow in your father’s footsteps.” Jessica’s voice was suddenly gentle. “Archer, what would you do if you weren’t a pastor?”
He didn’t have to think about the answer because it was one he’d considered several times in the past few months. “I’d be a full-time hospital chaplain.”
She nodded.
“I’ve thought about it more and more often lately, Jess. Remember the night Peregrine died?”
“I’ll never forget.”
“I still believe I was supernaturally drawn to the hospital that night.”
“You’re always drawn to the hospital.”
“But do you know who seemed to benefit the most from my presence? Mitchell Caine.”
“Dr. Caine,” she said dryly.
“I still feel as if I’m needed in that type of ministry.”
“By whom? God or the church? And what does it mean? Does it mean you now have two callings in life?”
“I’m not sure. I just know that the call is too loud for me to ignore.”
She was silent for a long moment and then she looked at her watch. “Why don’t I get dressed and ride down to Harrison with you? We can stop for an early lunch. It’s the only way I’ll get to spend any time with you today.”
***
Grant closed his office door and returned to the desk. One of the more rewarding aspects of his job as ER director was working with the staff but there were exceptions. He dialed Mitchell’s office number. The secretary answered with a harried voice.
When he asked for Mitchell she transferred his call without another word. He’d heard via the hospital grapevine that two of Mitchell’s office staff had quit in the past few months. His attitude still wasn’t winning him any popularity contests.
The line was answered curtly. “This is Dr. Caine.”
“Hello Mitchell, this is Grant.”
There was an impatient sigh. “I’ve already been castigated by the mayor about Mimi Peterson today. Do you have something else to add?”
“Only that I think you might be a little overwhelmed lately. I don’t think you would ordinarily have allowed a patient to slip your mind.”
“And you called just to tell me that.” Mitchell’s sarcasm was typical.
“I called to—”
“I wouldn’t have expected you to pass up this golden opportunity to delete my name from the ER schedule for the next month.”
“How about just cutting it in half?”
“How about leaving it as is?”
“I wouldn’t be helping you if I did that. I’ll send you a revised copy of the ER schedule. I think you’re getting a break from the medical call, as well. I received a new copy a few minutes ago and we’ll allow the hospitalist to handle your in-hospital patients.”
There was a heavy silence on the other end and Grant couldn’t read it. “I’m sorry, Mitchell. I know this must feel like a slap in the face but from my perspective it’s just an attempt to ease your load a little.”
“If I need a break I’ll take one.”
“I’ll send the revised schedules to your office.”
“No.” Another heavy silence. “Put them in my box at the hospital. I’m not in the mood to give my staff a good laugh today.”
Grant paused, hearing the defeat in Mitchell’s voice. “If you want to talk about it I’m available.”
“Thank you for your kind and generous offer.” Again the sarcasm. “But forget it.”
Chapter Eleven
A couple of miles south of Branson’s famous Highway 76, the Lake Junction Country Music Complex snuggled into a forested mountainside overlooking Lake Taneycomo. The newly constructed theater had such great acoustics that Jessica knew their audience could hear clearly, even when her sister, Heather Rose Lane, shimmied too far away from the microphone.
These most recent shows, in which Jessica had given Heather equal billing, had proved to be a great success and Jessica cheered inwardly for her “baby” sister. Tourists from all over the world packed this auditorium, listening in rapt silence as the ethereal quality of Heather’s high soprano voice danced through the air with its magical beauty, in perfect contrast to Jessica’s deeper tones.
Jessica had written the words to this song herself, five years ago, and Heather had written the music.
The sisters ended the song and bowed deeply to the sound of enthusiastic applause. As always, Jessica put an arm around Heather as they straightened. The audience loved Heather’s increased presence onstage. Jessica had learned long ago that life was too short to allow herself to be jealous of other Branson performers, especially her own sister.
The applause died and anticipation once more descended over the theater.
No Branson show would be complete without its down-home country humor and Jessica and Heather had developed their own version. With guitars in hand, they launched into a short, silly duet about the pet pig named Wally they’d raised for the Cape Fair pig races when Heather was eight and Jessica, a teenager by then, was in the 4-H club. When they finished, they could see the desired effect in the faces near the front. One man was doubled over with laughter and a woman wiped tears from her eyes, still chuckling.
The lights changed, the music segued, and Jessica’s voice drifted from the speakers, resonant one moment, soft and tender the next, filling the huge hall again with the crossover hit that had gained her nationwide recognition, “Daddy’s Story Time.”
Heather harmonized with her on the chorus, the sequins on her dress sparkling like jewels in the rosy spotlight, and then she took the next verse. Jessica watched and listened, enthralled by the beautiful voice of her only sibling, by her overpowering charisma.
For a brief moment Heather’s voice paused at a transition in the song about their father. A spotlight reflected against a large mirrored heart that hung overhead. It illuminated a sparkle of tears on Heather’s face and the pain of longing in her eyes. It was a dramatic moment in the song and Heather knew how to evoke the most emotion from it.
Heather seemed to hesitate. Her voice quivered for the first time that evening. It complemented this tender song perfectly and Je
ssica wanted to reach out to her, to assure her that everything would be okay, that the words of the song were true, that their father loved her despite her rebellious streak.
Heather swung away and walked to the other side of the stage on cue, the way she always did. Sequined tassels of her red western-style dress shimmered in the bright lights as she belted out the words about a love that transcended life.
Stage smoke swirled around Heather’s slender figure, floating above the audience with a rainbow of colors.
For as long as Jessica could remember, Heather had craved an audience; she was always seeking a spotlight. Would it be wrong to offer her that opportunity?
Could she possibly let it all go? Jessica retained her stance of loving attention while she allowed the questions that had become an endless loop in her mind.
Of particular importance to her was the fact that she could spend more time with Archer when he did have time for her; she could help more with the church instead of running off for a performance every afternoon and evening. She could become a part of the Dogwood Springs community instead of someone who hovered at the edges of social activity for fear of drawing a crowd by her well-known presence.
But a few years ago she had realized that she was a gifted songwriter and singer, just as a preacher was gifted to preach, just as a teacher was gifted to teach.
The thought of leaving all this hurt too much to contemplate. How could she give up the very thing she’d been called to do?
But what about her marriage?
***
Archer stood at the entrance to the church kitchen where the deacons feasted on potluck provided by their wives. He checked his watch. The meeting had been scheduled to start fifteen minutes ago and still the deacons lingered over their coffee and dessert. As if his time didn’t matter.
Had it ever mattered to them? Or had they always taken him for granted simply because they’d watched him grow up here in the church? Would he always be in competition with the memory of his father’s long years of service here?
Finally John Netz cleared his throat. “Archer, I know you’re a busy man and you’ve got a hospital to attend to on call tonight.”
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