[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm

by Janette Oke

  “When can we do it again?” several voices asked in noisy chorus.

  “I’ll check the roster and let you know,” he promised.

  In truth, he would enjoy such an outing almost as much as the boys. If only Danny would be allowed ...

  Henry’s sadness was not dispelled the next morning at church when all of the boys were excitedly telling of their camping trip—the fish they’d caught and the stars they could name and the food they’d eaten and the hike they’d gone on—a sad-faced Danny listening, close to tears.

  Then they were saying they were going camping again. The sergeant had said so. Just as soon as he had some time off. “Maybe when you grow up you can come too,” noted a boy named Tom to Danny. Henry saw the little chin tremble. He wasn’t sure if the older boy had intended consolation or meant to be mean. Either way it had the same effect.

  Henry clamped his jaw and started down the walk toward home. He’d try again. He had to, for Danny’s sake.

  He didn’t call her first. Just showed up on her porch and rapped on the door. She was wearing an apron over her Sunday dress, a large fork in her hand. He could smell chicken frying.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your Sunday,” he began quickly. “I promise not to keep you long.”

  She nodded. “You’ll have to wait while I set the chicken back off the heat.”

  He nodded agreement and crossed over to his assigned porch chair.

  She did not keep him waiting for long, and when she came back she still wore the apron. He rose to his feet, hat in his hands, twisting it round and round in his fingers.

  “I’m sure you heard all the talk this morning—among the boys, I mean.”

  She smiled. “Who could miss it?”

  “They had themselves a great time,” he admitted.

  “I congratulate you.”

  That wasn’t what he had meant. Wasn’t what he had wanted to hear.

  “That’s just boys,” he was quick to amend. “They love that kind of outing.”

  Her silence and closed expression said more than words.

  “I was just wondering ... I mean ... Danny was pretty disappointed ... I wondered ...”

  She looked to be immediately on the defensive. He saw her shoulders stiffen. “He’s not going off with your boys,” she said.

  “No ... not that. I just was wondering if it’d make any difference if I took him ... alone. So I could watch him full-time. Just the two ...” He slowed to a stop when he saw her chin begin to tremble. “Look,” she managed to say, “I know you can’t understand this. I’ve already lost his father. Do you think I would risk any chance of losing him?”

  So that was it. She was frightened. Frightened to death of something happening to Danny.

  Seeing her there, her face pale, contorted by emotion and painful memories, he wanted to reach for her again. To hold her as he had before. To try to bring comfort. She must still be in deep grief. If only she would let someone ease the sorrow.

  He could not move. Could not speak. He swallowed. She had said he couldn’t understand. But he did. For years he had shared her pain night after miserable night. He had ached for her. Even shed tears for her. Had prayed that she might find healing.

  But he could say none of this now. “I’m sorry,” he said instead. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m really sorry.”

  CHAPTER Nineteen

  “Where’s Laray?”

  “We got a call from that rancher about the bear. It’s taken some more calves.”

  “Laray went out to check on it?”

  “They’re going to take a ride through the back country. See if they can find traces. Maybe where it dens.”

  “Likely doesn’t bother with a den this time of year. Just ranges. ”

  “Well, they’re going to see what they can find.”

  “Did he take his rifle?” Henry wanted to know. A marauding bear could be a formidable foe.

  “He took it. The rancher is going to ride with him. In case something happens, there will be someone to cover.”

  Henry skimmed through the reports that had come in the post. Nothing much here that I need to concern myself with, he thought. All city stuff.

  He decided to take a ride to check out a complaint from a farmer that someone had snipped one of his fences. He hoped it wasn’t true. Maybe a wild animal or some other natural phenomenon broke the wire. But upon close observation, he realized it had indeed been done with wire cutters. He spent some time looking for any clues that might give him a lead, helped the farmer restring the area, and headed back to town to write up his report. They’d have to watch, this carefully. Cutting fences was akin to stealing—and there was never a legitimate reason to do so.

  Henry had just grabbed a bite at Jessie’s when Rogers came through the door. Henry knew without asking that something was wrong. He was on his feet before he’d even set down his coffee cup.

  “It’s Laray,” said Rogers, his face and voice strained.

  “He found the bear?”

  “It found him. He’s mauled—pretty bad.”

  Henry did not even pause to grab his Stetson. “Where is he?” he asked as they went for the door.

  “The rancher has him in his truck. He’ll be coming through here on his way to the hospital. Wanted to know if someone would want to travel along.”

  “Of course,” said Henry. “Meet me at the office.”

  He nearly ran to the building that housed the detachment, his mind in a whirl. What needed to be done? What could he do? He picked up the phone and dialed the operator. “Get me the hospital,” he said crisply. “Emergency.”

  There was little he could tell the medical people. Only that they would be heading in with a patient who had been mauled by a bear. He had no idea what the injuries were—only that they were said to be serious.

  By the time he hung up the phone, Rogers was there. He had retrieved Henry’s Stetson.

  “I’m going to wait out on Main Street,” Henry said. “You keep a lid on things here.”

  He did not have to wait long until the dust of the rancher’s truck signaled the dreaded arrival. The vehicle was traveling far too fast, but Henry was not going to take issue over that.

  “He’s in the back,” called the rancher as soon as he had slowed enough for Henry to leap to the running board. Henry swung himself up and over the stock racks. What he saw made him feel sick.

  Laray was bedded on a blanket thrown over straw. His face was so bloodied he was barely recognizable. One arm dangled at a crazy angle, a blood-covered mass protruding from the shreds of a torn jacket and shirt. Henry steeled himself, fighting down the urge to heave.

  He knelt in the straw and reached out to the young man’s good shoulder. “Laray. It’s Delaney. We’re going to get you some help.”

  The truck hit a wash in the road and nearly sent Henry sprawling. He struggled to regain his balance and spoke again. “Just hang on, friend. We’ll get you there as soon as we can. Hang on.”

  The young man’s eyelids fluttered ever so lightly—the only response.

  Henry felt panic. “Hang on,” he said again. “Just hold on. Fight, man. Fight.”

  “I ... can’t” came the muffled reply. Henry was both relieved and frightened. Relieved that Laray was still conscious. Frightened because it seemed he had already given up.

  “Yes. Yes, you can. You’ll make it. Just hang in there.”

  A small movement of the man’s head looked like a refusal.

  “Listen,” said Henry, grasping him by the uninjured hand. “My father ... my father was out on patrol, and a madman ... with a knife ... jumped him. The guy lashed out at him, catching his leg. He made three big gashes before Dad could subdue him. He managed to tie the fellow to his sled and head his team for home. By then he’d already lost too much blood. He should have died. Never should have made it. But he thought about us—and he wouldn’t give up. By the time he staggered into the post, he was almost unconscious.

  “We t
hought we’d lose him even then. But he kept fighting. Kept praying—”

  “I can’t pray.” The man’s voice was so low Henry could barely pick up the words. Henry remembered the trip through the storm when the young man had said he let his mother do the praying for him. So at least he knew about prayer, about faith.

  “Yes, you can. We can all pray.”

  “I ... I turned away.”

  Henry leaned close to catch the whisper.

  “Then turn back. Do you remember the story of the Prodigal Son?”

  The head nodded ever so slightly.

  “The father was waiting. Waiting for the son to come back. It’s not just a nice little story. It’s truth. Jesus told the story so those listening would know that they can come back. It only takes a willingness to ask for forgiveness. To confess where we’ve gone wrong.”

  Henry feared Laray was slipping into unconsciousness. He dared not do more than stroke the young man’s head. He did not know where the injuries were in the mass of blood. He dared not shake him. Who knew what might have happened to his neck? His spine? Henry leaned over close and spoke above the roar of the truck. “Laray, listen to me. If you can’t fight, then pray. Pray—so that if you leave this life, you’ll be safe in the next. Please, Laray. Pray.”

  The man on the blood-soaked blanket did not respond. He had slipped into unconsciousness. Henry crossed the unsteady truck box and leaned over to shout into the rancher’s window. “Floor it. We’ve got to get there pronto.”

  The truck lurched forward, reeling and careening as it hit potholes in the washboard roadbed. Dust was so heavy Henry had to fight for breath. We’ll be lucky if we don’t all perish, he thought, steadying himself while he fought to hold Laray in place.

  He breathed a prayer of thanks when they screeched to a stop at the Emergency entrance. Two white-coated attendants were already there with a stretcher. The first one took one look and turned as white as the coat.

  “What happened to him?”

  “A bear,” Henry said, his tone clipped. “Get him in there—quick. There’s not much pulse left.”

  Henry stepped back and watched, hoping and praying they were in time, but fearing it might already be too late. Hanging on to the stretcher, the attendants disappeared through the doors on a run.

  The rancher refused to go home until he knew the outcome. Together they waited, both men somber, hushed.

  At last the rancher had to talk. “We took saddle horses and started out to where the cattle were grazing. We talked about whether to split up to cover more ground or stick together in case there was trouble. We decided to stick together.” The rancher stared with a glazed look at the opposite wall.

  “We’d gone two or three miles when I heard a cow bawling. That’s how I’d been tipped off before. Cows bawling, looking for a nursing calf. We rode toward the sound, and sure enough, we hadn’t gone too far when we spotted this carcass in a wash.

  “The Mountie handed me the reins to his horse and decided to take a closer look. There was about a four- or five-foot cutbank at the spot, and we didn’t want to take the horses down. He slid over the edge and walked over to the calf. He called up to me. Said it was a fresh kill. Looked around for tracks. Could have been wolves. But it was the bear. He found one clear track in some mud.

  “I was watching from up top. He was just turning to come back up when out of the brush this fella came, charging straight for him.

  “The horses spooked. By the time I was able to get clear of them and pick up the rifle I’d dropped, that bear was all over him.” He stopped and blew out a long breath. “I managed to put it down with one shot. I was scared to death. I knew if I just wounded it, it would be all over for him.”

  He was shaking so hard he could barely speak.

  “Fell right on him. It was all I could do to drag the carcass off enough to get the Mountie freed up. He was a mess. Worst sight I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “You did a great job,” Henry tried to assure him.

  “We shoulda been prepared for that bear. They’re very protective of their kill. I shoulda known better than to let him go down there.”

  Henry had nothing to offer. It was true. With a fresh kill they should have known the bear wouldn’t be far away. He was likely sleeping off his first meal in the shade. But he still would have considered the carcass his possession.

  “What say we go find ourselves a cup of coffee? Maybe a sandwich?” asked Henry. The rancher slowly got up to his feet.

  “We are most concerned about his arm,” the doctor informed them later. Henry was relieved to know Laray was still alive.

  “The facial cuts aren’t too deep. They’ll heal. ’Course he lost a lot of blood—but we hope we have him stabilized. But the arm—it was broken and mangled pretty badly. We’re thankful the muscle was still intact. It’s going to be a while before we know how much use he’ll have. We’ll just have to wait and see and pray for the best.”

  Henry wondered if the doctor had simply used a figure of speech or if he really would be praying.

  “You can see him if you like, but we have him heavily sedated.”

  They decided to see him.

  Though he was paler than his hospital pillow and there were tubes and instruments sticking out all over like trees in a forest, Laray looked much better than the last time they had seen him. The blood was all washed away. His scalp and facial cuts were now covered with white gauze.

  “Sixty-two stitches in total,” the doctor remarked from somewhere behind Henry. “And that was just his head.”

  Henry winced. “His arm—we didn’t even count.”

  The arm was swathed in bandages. The bone had been carefully realigned but without a cast. It was strapped to a board to prevent movement, but the lacerations needed time to heal.

  “When will he waken?” asked Henry.

  “We’ll keep him sedated for a while. We’ll be giving him transfusions overnight and see what shape he’s in by morning. He’s going to need quite a bit of help. Lost a good share of his own blood.”

  Henry was all too aware of that.

  “I’d like to be kept informed. If he wakens I’d like to be notified,” Henry said.

  The doctor nodded. “Just leave your number. I’ll have you called.”

  It was a quiet ride home through the darkness. Henry was exhausted, and he knew the rancher was also. “Thanks for the lift,” Henry said as he climbed from the truck. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  As tired as he was, Henry stopped to pray for Laray one more time before he climbed into his bed.

  “Hello,” said Henry the next day, trying to keep his voice even and controlled.

  “Hello,” murmured Laray from his swath of bandages.

  “How’s it going?”

  Laray tried a smile, but it was crooked because of one of the cuts near his chin. “You tell me,” he answered. “I’m not sure what’s real and what’s a nightmare.”

  Henry nodded in understanding. “Well ... you’re here. And that’s real enough.”

  “Yeah ... I guess I’m pretty lucky, eh?”

  “You could say that. I like to think it was more than that.”

  Laray closed his eyes. When he looked back at Henry, they seemed to shine with tears. “Prayer, huh?”

  Henry nodded.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about prayer ... while I’ve been lying here.”

  Henry waited.

  “You talked to me about prayer on the way in, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “You ... you said something about the... the prodigal... coming home.”

  Henry was surprised that he remembered. That he had even heard. He nodded.

  “It made a lot of sense. I’ve been thinking about it since... since I can think again. I decided you were right. That I should come back ... so I asked for that forgiveness you talked about.”

  Unable to speak, Henry reached out to squeeze the young man’s shoulder.

/>   “I was wondering,” Laray went on, “I mean... I think my mom would like to hear that. Could you maybe drop her a line? Let her know?”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll give her a call. She’s waiting for another report anyway.”

  Laray managed another lopsided smile. “Tell her I’ll be fine. Once I’m on my feet again I’ll call her myself. Can’t move too far yet with all these tubes and this bunged-up arm.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “Just tell her ... I’ve come home. She’ll be glad to hear that.”

  “I’m glad to hear it too.”

  Henry decided he’d better get out of there while he still had control of his emotions. It was enough to know that the young man’s wounds would heal. It was even more wonderful to know that the inner person was healing too.

  “I’ll check back tomorrow,” he promised and gave the man a pat on the shoulder.

  Henry returned to the street and paused to get his bearings. He needed to find a store that sold Bibles. Laray was going to be needing one, and Henry determined that he’d find one to bring with him on his next visit to see the young man.

  Laray’s recovery happened far more quickly than they would have dared hope. In two weeks he was released from the hospital, and after a week of recuperating in his simple officer’s quarters, he insisted he was bored to death and wanted to get back to work. Henry hesitantly agreed to his returning to the office, even though there was still much repair to be done on his mangled arm.

  The small amount of scarring on the young officer’s face was nearly miraculous. Two of the cuts to his scalp were a bit deeper, but they would be covered by hair.

  “Hey, Buddy,” joked Rogers, “you can never go bald or you’ll look like a baseball. All those crisscross stitches.”

  Laray laughed as heartily as any of them.

  He insisted he was up to handling a desk job, and they put him to work, more to keep him occupied than anything.

  But Henry soon learned how helpful it was to have a man stationed in the office. Laray took the calls, relayed messages, and did a lot of the paper work. He needed only one arm to perform most tasks. This freed the other two men for patrolling and investigating complaints. Henry made sure Laray had plenty of time to do the therapy required for the arm. And every day they breathed a little prayer of thanks that the young man had actually made it back. Henry was reminded again of the power in a mother’s prayers.