Dwight and Anne Hahnfeld and Leo Latshaw came to join them.
Without comment they knelt around her and placed their hands on her shoulders and began, once more, to pray.
***
No more sweat.
Archer collapsed into the mud, panting. The muscles in his arms and shoulders screamed with pain. He was no longer sweating. The heat was building up in his body. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. The world went dark.
In that darkness someone smacked his head between two river rocks, harder and harder, with devilish glee. He felt himself fade in and out of consciousness, unable to get a grip long enough to open his eyes.
A warm wind riffled his hair. He waited another few seconds and forced his eyes open. The sky spun around him sickeningly. He retched with a dry heave.
A moment later he raised his head.
Prickles of pain showered down his neck. Slowly, cautiously, he levered himself up to look behind him.
“Fifty feet,” he muttered hoarsely. He’d come no more than fifty feet. He felt as if he’d just run a marathon, dragging himself forward from sapling to tree to bush, using them as anchors to pull himself forward a few inches at a time.
Without water.
He collapsed, pressing his forehead into the cool mud. He had no idea what kind of damage he might be doing to his back or to his brain if he had a concussion.
As he rested, however, the pain subsided in his head. He became aware once more of birdsong harmonizing with the whisper of wind through the branches above his head.
It was beautiful music. Why had he never heard it this way before?
If he got out alive he would be sure to listen.
Maybe he’d be able to hear this in heaven.
Or if he lived maybe he would have more time to listen from a wheelchair.
He closed his eyes and felt his lids burn, felt the dryness of his mouth. He could barely swallow, could hear the wheeze in his throat.
The fever was definitely getting worse.
The harmony changed slightly and he tried to place it. Strange, it sounded like a dog baying. He’d heard of catbirds but never dogbirds. Auditory hallucinations? The hounds of hell?
In the past twenty-four hours—was that how long it had been since the roar of the river had dissipated?—he’d been the audience to this musical concert. Every time he’d slowed to rest after dragging himself inch by inch over the rough terrain he’d heard the singing. At times he still suspected that the angels must be hovering nearby, listening, maybe even prompting the birds when they missed a note.
He closed his eyes and he could almost imagine the ethereal beauty of his wife’s voice reaching him from somewhere in the distance. Jessica... Lord, be with her.
Along with the heavenly music, he’d seen artwork in the sky so supreme it had brought tears to his eyes. The Master Artist knew how to use the stars and the clouds, the moon and the sun to highlight the spring green of the forest.
If not for Jessica he would gladly die right here, right now.
He might have no choice.
Again the baying inserted an odd dissonance into the music. It came more insistently than before and Archer frowned. A hound from a nearby farm. He’d heard no sounds of other farm animals—no horses, cows, no roosters crowing. He’d heard an occasional jet fly overhead and in the distance he’d heard a train whistle or a honking car horn.
Would his body become the prey of hungry dogs... maybe coyotes, vultures?
He retreated into darkness, seeking oblivion, but the baying followed him there, chasing him through the heat, stalking him along the trail he had created in the forest—the short yet endless trail.
Maybe there were dogs in heaven. He had always suspected that there were. Had hoped.
Maybe he was there already. He gave up his hold on consciousness as he opened his mouth to whisper, “Just take me, Lo—”
A wet sponge attacked his face, drawing a slimy line down his right cheekbone. He reached up to push it away and it attacked his hand.
He forced his burning eyes open and found himself looking into the soulful dark eyes of a familiar, long-snouted face.
Coot, Charles Lane’s bloodhound.
As if in a dream he heard a shout in the distance, laughter, saw his normally shy father-in-law praising his dog to high heaven while he ran to Archer’s side and dropped to his knees.
Coot danced in an excited circle, baying merrily like this was some kind of celebration.
Charles leaned over him. “Archer? Son, can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
“My back,” he said. “Dad, I think my back’s broken.”
***
Jessica held Mimi Peterson’s hand as she sat beside the exam bed and listened to Mimi tell about the struggle she’d had with her undiagnosed disorder.
“It’s been so awful, all these months being accused of faking pain just so I could get a shot of that stupid medication that made things even worse.”
“It sounds horrible. I wish you could have found help sooner.”
“If you ask me it was Dr. Sheldon who discovered the real problem, even though it was Dr. Caine’s office that called me and set me up for treatment.”
Archer had been right. Patients desperately needed a listening ear and Mimi was especially needy right now.
“How is the pain?” Jessica asked.
“It’s getting better but I had another episode this morning. I thought I’d come in and make sure everything’s doing what it should. Dr. Caine told me yesterday that the pain should go away soon. I hope so.”
“So do I,” Jessica said. She smiled at Mimi.
“They gave me blood transfusions. Something like that. It’s the heme in hemoglobin that my body isn’t producing right. Dr. Caine explained all about it. I’m hoping this will be my last time in here.”
“Jessica?” someone called from behind her.
She turned to see Lauren standing in the doorway, blond hair pulled back in its workday ponytail, a half smile on her face.
“Mimi, do you mind if I borrow your prayer partner for a few minutes?” Lauren asked.
Mimi looked disappointed. “That’s okay. Jessica, why don’t we get together for lunch sometime next week? My treat.”
“That sounds good.” She said good-bye and followed Lauren out of the room.
“What’s up? Do you have another patient for me?”
Lauren’s old familiar McCaffrey smile shot across her face. “Come with me to Grant’s office.”
From the corner of her eye Jessica saw a nurse and a secretary watching her intently.
Lauren ushered her into the office where Grant stood waiting. Lauren closed the door.
“Jessica,” Grant said, “we’ve got some good news.”
Jessica looked from Lauren to Grant and then caught her breath. “Archer.”
Lauren burst into delighted laughter.
“It is Archer?” Jessica exclaimed.
“They’ve found him,” Grant said. “He’s alive.”
She cried out and caught him by the shoulders. “Alive! He’s alive! Oh thank God!”
“You need to be prepared, though, Jessica.” Grant pulled a chair over for her. “Have a seat.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” She sat down.
Grant sat facing her. “He’s unable to walk. At this point we don’t know the extent of his injuries and I wouldn’t want to venture a guess. He’s conscious and talking, though he isn’t making complete sense right now. He has a high fever. They’ve secured him on a long spine board with c-spine immobilization.”
“Talking. He’s talking!” Archer was alive! It was the only thing she could grasp. “Has anyone told Mom and Dad Pierce? Do they know yet?”
“I thought you might want to call them.” Grant paused. “Jessica, do you understand what I’m saying about Archer? We don’t know what condition he might be in when they bring him here.”
“How soon before he gets here?”
“Probably a
bout ten minutes.”
Jessica reached for Lauren’s hands and held them tightly. “Why didn’t I listen to you? Archer’s coming home! I’m going to see my husband in ten minutes!” She jumped to her feet and caught Lauren in a tight hug. Then she hugged Grant and then hugged Lauren again.
“Oh thank you God. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
***
Archer heard his wife’s voice and saw her face as soon as he was pulled from the ambulance. He looked up to find her accompanying the gurney through the automatic entrance doors at the ambulance bay. Her face was streaked with tears and she wore the broadest smile he had ever seen.
“Oh, honey, you’re alive!” She laid a hand on his face and more tears fell down her cheeks as she walked beside him toward the trauma room.
He had never been so relieved. He was alive. His wife was right beside him. He wouldn’t worry about his back and legs, wouldn’t worry about anything. Right now all he wanted to do was revel in the fact that he was alive. God had answered his prayers—and those of his wife, his family, his friends, and most likely every single member of his church.
You were there all along, right, God?
***
Jessica didn’t leave Archer’s side until Grant and Lauren shooed her out of the room.
“It’s just for a few minutes.” Lauren gave Jessica’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll call you as soon as we get him checked out.”
Jessica nodded, unable to speak, keeping her gaze fixed on that wonderful muddy face until the door blocked the view of her living, breathing husband.
She turned to pace the hallway of the place that had become so familiar to her. This ER was where she had discovered she was pregnant and where she had discovered the strength of friendship and church kinship. After learning in this very place that her husband was still alive, she’d felt the ER become sacred to her.
She glanced through the reception window to the waiting room as a bedraggled man with broad shoulders stepped through the entry door.
“Dad?”
Her father caught sight of her and rushed across the tile floor, unconcerned about the muddy tracks or the stares from two ladies seated at the far end of the room. “Did they bring him in?” he asked as he reached the reception window and tried to peer around the partition into the ER proper. “He here yet?”
“Yes, he’s here. Dad, he’s alive!”
He nodded.
She opened the door for him to join her. “You know they found him?”
A pleased grin broadened his face by half. “I know the fella who did.”
She caught her breath. “You?”
“Coot did it. Knew he could. Didn’t even need that jacket of Archer’s. All I had to do was say his name. You know how Coot wallers all over him when you two are down at the farm.”
“Oh, Daddy.” She flung her arms around him and squeezed, mud and all. “Oh, Daddy, thank you.”
Chapter Thirty-one
On Thursday morning Mitchell Caine walked down the busy hallway of the orthopedics floor of Cox South Hospital in Springfield, avoiding the gazes of staff members. He knew several of the physicians, nurses, and technicians here from residency training as well as years of practice during which he referred regularly to colleagues at this facility. He had also met many others at regional conferences and social functions.
The medical community was a tight one. When word spread about what he had done he might well be ostracized at future events. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t matter but he knew better.
So many memories... Too much to think about right now.
He stopped at the room number the volunteer in the downstairs lobby had given him and took a moment to breathe deeply.
He hesitated at the open door and then stepped into the room. To his relief Archer was alone. The other hospital bed had no patient.
Archer opened his eyes as Mitchell approached the bedside.
To his amazement Archer welcomed him with one of his typical smiles and an outstretched hand.
“Mitchell, I was hoping to see you.”
Mitchell took the hand and held it gently. The skin was scraped and raw-looking.
“I can’t find the words to express how sorry—”
“Tony already filled me in on some details,” Archer said. “I understand you were the one who called and told him what happened. It was because of that call that my father-in-law found me yesterday.”
“It’s so hard to imagine that I actually would have done something so despicable and yet the evidence became too clear to ignore.”
Archer hesitated. “You don’t remember?”
“No. I have a... a problem with prescription drugs.” The humiliation of those words…. “I was under the influence Friday night. Didn’t Tony tell you?”
“He didn’t give me all the details, only the important information. I was a little out of it yesterday.” Archer watched Mitchell as if trying to decide whether or not he was emotionally stable enough to hear details.
“Tell me what happened,” Mitchell said.
“You were behind me and your SUV hydroplaned. My car had already begun to slide and it didn’t take much force from your front bumper to push me over the edge.”
Mitchell’s face felt as if it were collapsing in on itself. His gut clenched. “I’m so sorry.”
“But surely you’ve heard the prognosis,” Archer said. “I have a broken back.” He reached for the bed rail and repositioned himself slightly. “But there was no displacement—I think that’s what you docs like to call it—and no permanent damage. I have what you physicians like to refer to as spinal shock. I should regain the use of my legs in a few days. Meanwhile I’m going to take it easy and make the most of my downtime.”
“Tony also said you weren’t pressing charges.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because of me you nearly died. Your wife and your family, your church... all of them endured a great deal of agony. There is such a thing as justice.”
“Over an accident?”
“An unnecessary accident. One that would not have happened if I had been behaving responsibly.”
“I’m safe now, Mitchell. I’ve had a life-changing experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything.”
Mitchell didn’t understand this man. He never had. And yet he wanted to. Something told him that someday maybe he would.
“I don’t know if I can explain this well enough for you to understand it,” Archer said. “My mind’s still a little foggy from the fever but I discovered a lot about myself while I was out there. I realized that I had a problem with faith and with wanting my own way.”
“You have a problem with faith?”
“Sure do. While I was out there I had to struggle to forgive you because I had seen your face in the glow of my headlights just before I went over the side. I knew you had been the one to hit me and I couldn’t understand why you hadn’t come to help me.”
“So why forgive me?”
“Because I realized that you could well have been injured, too. In fact, I believe you’ve been among the walking injured for years. And so instead of blaming you I prayed for you.”
“I don’t—”
“I know you don’t want my prayers, Mitchell, but—”
“I don’t deserve your prayers,” Mitchell said softly. “I’ve come to realize that I do need them. Very much.”
Any other time he would have been amused by the expression of surprise that crossed Archer’s features. Now he was only gratified that Archer had brought up a subject Mitchell very much wanted to discuss.
“Why don’t we talk about it?” Archer asked. “My schedule looks pretty clear for the next hour or so.”
Mitchell pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. “Go ahead and talk, Archer, I’m listening.”
***
Lauren sat in the sunlight of the brilliant April morning and watched the antics of Brooke and Beau Sheldon as they worked to put the
porch swing together.
“Oh, duh, not that way,” Brooke said. “You’ve got the ratchy thingy turned backward.”
“It’s a ratchet, not a thingy, and it isn’t backward it’s just the wrong size.”
“You know, Beau, you could use a shop class next year.”
“You could use another class or two in home ec. I’m still burping that meatless wonder you tried to pass off as meatloaf last night.”
“Would you just give me those instructions and shut up?”
Lauren sat back and closed her eyes as she listened to them.
“Do you think that thing will be safe once they get the swing up?” came a deep, beloved voice beside her.
She opened her eyes to find Grant placing a lawn chair beside hers. He held out a cup of tea for her.
She took it and sipped. “Mmm, vanilla. I love it. Thanks. I think I’ll let Brooke test the swing first. If she doesn’t fall and break something I’d be willing to give it a try.”
“I heard that!”
Lauren chuckled. Yes, she could definitely get accustomed to this. Grant sank down into the chair and leaned toward her for a kiss. She loved the feel of him, the smell of him, and the gleam of attraction she saw in those gray eyes.
She couldn’t imagine now why she’d had any doubts at all. This was going to be a wonderful life.
***
Jessica closed the door to Archer’s room and leaned against it with a satisfied sigh. “Finally! Some time alone.”
He took her hand as she leaned over his bed. “You handled all the visitors wonderfully, Jessica. You’re a natural.”
“Ha. That’s what you think.”
“You are, you just don’t know it yet. I need to talk to you about something.”
Her expression froze. “Has the doctor been in? Is there a problem with—?”
“There’s no problem with my back. Would you please relax? Remember last summer when I told you my work wasn’t finished at Dogwood Springs Baptist Church?”
“Sure do. It was during the mercury scare—”
“When you proposed to me,” Archer teased.
“Oh yes, and you tried to use the church as an excuse to keep from accepting my proposal.”
“That isn’t how I remember it,” Archer said. “Anyway, things have changed since then.” He paused and looked out the window, his heart sending up a quick prayer for strength and wisdom. Was he sure about this? Enough to tell Jessica?
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