Sacred Ground

by Rita Karnopp

"I'll drop you two off at the door, and I'll park the car.” John stopped at the curb. “I'll be along as soon as I can."

  Willow unsnapped her seat belt and grabbed her purse. Brett had already opened the door and she bolted out. They didn't waste any time talking. As though one mind led them, they rushed to the reception desk.

  "Lance and Sean Turner . . . I mean Lance Jenkins and Sean Turner, what room?" She felt flushed and breathless.

  "Intensive Care 412 for Mr. Jenkins and Intensive Care 418 for Mr. Turner," the elderly woman said.

  Willow glanced at Brett's pale face. She'd refused to think about the severity of things before. The constant chatting between Brett and his father kept her from thinking about all the possibilities. It suddenly occurred to her that John had done a fine job of keeping them from thinking of all the nightmares that go through a parent's mind. It hadn't dawned on her that she'd never heard him talk that much, even at a council meeting.

  "Come,” Brett said, guiding her elbow.

  She wanted to run, but kept her pace slow enough for Brett to hobble without stumbling. It seemed to take forever for the elevator to stop on the first floor and even longer for it to climb to the fourth.

  "I'll go see Lance, you go find Sean. I'll come see how he's doing as soon as I can," she said, her tone low with forced control.

  "Willow?" He said, more than asked.

  "It'll be fine, Brett. I'll be there as soon as I can. We aren't going to lose either of them, we just can't," she said, her voice cracking.

  Brett pulled her into his chest. Tears threatened and she forced them back. "Go," she said with tenderness.

  Willow walked down the hall, each step faster than the last. Stopping before Room ICU 412 she took a deep breath. She pushed the door open a crack, paused, and then walked past a nurse toward the small form on the bed. A large wrap covered Lance’s hand.

  "Mom?" He sounded like a small child, not her grown nine-year-old.

  "Hi, baby. I'd say bull riding isn't the best career choice. What do you think?" she asked, forcing her voice to sound cheerful.

  "Sean is hurt real bad . . ." His eyes rolled back in his head.

  Fear filled her. Willow glanced around at all the machines hooked up to her son. "What is all this?" she asked the nurse sitting on a chair in front of the window. "There's more wrong than a severed thumb, isn't there?"

  "You're Mrs. Jenkins?" the nurse asked.

  "Yes, I'm Lance's mother. What's going on here?" she asked again.

  "I'll call for Doctor Anders." The nurse pushed the button on the bedside. "He wanted to talk to you the minute you arrived." She scurried toward the door like a frightened kitten. "Get Doctor Anders," she directed to a flushed nurse's aide.

  Willow leaned over her son and kissed his cheek. As she lifted a strand of hair from his forehead, she realized for the first time his head had been covered by a soft, cotton, stocking-type hat. She lifted the material and froze. His head had been shaved.

  "Mrs. Jenkins?" a deep voice asked.

  Tears surfaced, Willow fought them back. "What's wrong?" she asked. The voice didn't sound like hers. She glanced at the man dressed in white and held her breath.

  "Mrs. Jenkins, I'm Doctor Jeff Anders. I've been treating Lance since his arrival. As you know, Lance took quite a fall off that bull. The rope didn't release when he fell. They found his thumb and we've stitched it back on. The color is good and I expect to see signs of rejuvenation soon. We have high expectations―"

  "Stop stalling!" Willow growled. "You're evading the serious stuff here and I don't appreciate it."

  "I know this is going to sound all wrong, but if it hadn't been for this accident, I believe your son would have faced this life-threatening situation within a month, but then it might have been too late."

  "What are you talking about? Why is Lance hooked up to all these machines?" she asked, clenching her teeth.

  "We did a CAT scan and found a tumor in his skull. We have all the paperwork prepared for you to sign and the operating room is all set up. My staff is standing by. What I'm saying is that we need to operate immediately. I've talked to him and it seems Lance is prepared for this. Hard to believe of a nine-year-old, but it's almost like he knew. The tumor has to come out. The sooner we remove it the better."

  "My God!"Willow said, sinking onto the edge of the bed next to Lance. "I knew something was wrong. I've mentioned his headaches so often. No one would believe me."

  "Calm down, please. I understand you're upset. We don't have time for accusations or hysterics. We need your permission to operate, now."

  Willow straightened her back and raised her jaw. "Get me a pen, I'll sign. Take him, and Doctor Anders, please bring him back to me."

  "I'll do my best, Mrs. Jenkins. If you don't mind my saying so, it's his inner strength that will do more for him than even I can do."

  "Thank you." Willow kissed Lance’s cheek. "You need to call on the old ones for help," she whispered in his ear. "Watch for the buffalo, your protector will give you strength."

  "You're under a great deal of stress. I could prescribe a sedative for you," Doctor Anders offered.

  Willow shook her head.

  "Be assured I'm a fine surgeon and if that tumor is operable, I can do it. Start saying your prayers, I'll take all the help I can get."

  Willow recognized the warmth in his smile and felt reassured this doctor would do his best. "Thank you," she said.

  "You’re welcome," he said as he rushed from the room.

  It took only seconds for a nurse to bring the papers to sign and for orderlies to wheel in a gurney. They transferred IVs, tubes, machines, and Lance to the cart.

  She rushed to his side and kissed his cheek. "I'll be here when you wake. I love you, Lance. Call on your ancestors. They will guide you down the path back to us so Brett, Sean, you, and me can be a family." She squeezed his good hand as they whisked him out of the room.

  "Sign here." A middle-aged woman stood before her with a clipboard and pen.

  It didn't seem real. Willow knew it would be wise to read the papers, but she signed and signed until the woman seemed satisfied and left.

  As Willow sought ICU 418 she prayed Sean was doing better than Lance. Fear filled her as she entered the room.

  On the second bed, a nurse was drawing blood from Brett’s arm.

  Willow rushed to him, glancing at the drawn curtain around the first bed. "You all right?"

  "I'm . . . yeah, I'm fine. They're going to cross-match my blood, just in case Sean needs some during surgery. They stopped his bleeding, which means the artery was just missed, thank God. They need to operate to put the bones together. They're going to have to put a few screws in it, I guess."

  "They stopped the bleeding; that's a good sign," she said, reassuringly.

  "I called Lorraine, but she's gone to Hawaii with some guy. Her mother is trying to locate her. Not that I want her here, but it seemed serious enough to let her know."

  "Can I see him?" She rubbed Brett's arm.

  "I'm done here," the nurse said cheerfully. "You both can go to him. Make an effort to touch him, hospitals can be scary things for these young ones."

  Willow moved around the white shelter. She didn't expect the dome of plastic that surrounded Sean. The nurse's comment made more sense now.

  "It's to keep the risk of infection down," Brett explained. “I feel like I can't get close enough to him.”

  Willow searched out the small form beneath the covering and gadgets. "Hi, Sean. I don't think I'd use your father's tapes as good examples of bronco riding anymore," she teased. "There are easier ways to get out of doing chores."

  "Hey, I think that was a smile," Brett said, moving in closer.

  "Yes, I think it was," Willow agreed. "I just saw your brother and he said to tell you to be tough. He has to have surgery on a tumor in his head―"

  "He's what? Good God, Willow―"

  "It's all my fault," Sean sobbed. “It was my idea to ride the bull.”<
br />
  "No, it wasn't your fault at all. To be honest, Sean, you may have saved his life. They wouldn't have found that tumor until later, which might have been too late." She pulled Sean's hand into hers and rubbed it with her thumb. "He is going to be just fine and so are you," she said with as much reassurance and warmth as she could find.

  "Where is this tumor?" Brett asked.

  "They didn't have time to explain it all. They've already rushed him into surgery. The tumor has been causing all those headaches." Willow paused to get control. Sean didn't need tears right now.

  "Lord!" Brett slid his arm across her shoulder. "I can't believe it. I should have been there with you."

  "No, Sean needed you more. They're both going to be just fine," she said, giving him a smile. "We're all going to be just fine."

  "All the boys wanted was for us to like each other and now that we do―"

  "You do?" Sean asked, his voice a scratchy whisper.

  "Yes, we more than do," Willow confessed. "Does that make you happy?"

  He nodded slightly.

  "What would you think about us being a family, the four of us?" she asked, smiling when he forced open his eyes.

  "For real?" Sean asked.

  "For real," Brett answered. "I've asked Willow to be my wife and your mom. You and Lance will be brothers, like you've always wanted."

  "Brothers work," Sean mumbled before his eyes slid close.

  Willow smiled, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "You be tough and get better so you can be there for Lance. We want you well for us, too. We went through a lot of trouble to fall in love for you and Lance." Sean didn't answer, but she felt certain he heard.

  "Morning, folks." An elderly man holding a patient chart pulled back the privacy curtain. “I'm Doctor Fulburn. I've taken a special interest in Sean. He's a real inspiration with his humor and attitude. I won't mislead you by saying things aren't serious, because they are. But we've got the bleeding under control and although the break is nasty, it’s clean. I don't expect to find many bone fragments."

  "Have you looked at my records?" Willow asked, suddenly embarrassed she hadn't thought of it sooner. "If I'm compatible, I'd be willing―"

  "We already checked. We will be getting blood from you for Lance. Your blood type is not a go for Sean. We have a few leads and are checking John Steals Many Horses and even Brett, here. He'd admitted―"

  "No need to say it," Willow interrupted, looking over at Sean. "We are aware of the circumstances. With that in mind, why even check?"

  "At this point, we're willing to try all our avenues." Doctor Fulburn reached for the lab reports a nurse handed him. "Mr. Turner, your mother specified under no circumstances would she allow us to use any stored blood. She has a true fear of AIDS contamination. I tried assuring her about our testing, but she wouldn't even listen. Either we find at least one compatible donor, or we won't have a choice. You'd be surprised . . . " he paused, reading with interest.

  Silence filled the room. Willow struggled to read his expression, but it remained neutral.

  "Mr. Turner, I don't know how to tell you this. I mean, it's obvious you love your son and his . . ." Doctor Fulburn paused, and then continued in a hushed tone, "parentage is of no, shall we say, importance to you. How would you feel if I were to tell you our tests show conclusively that you're Sean's father in every sense of the word?"

  Brett rubbed his palms over his face. "I knew there was a possibility, but Lorraine insisted he wasn't mine. She seemed to gloat over the fact. Lord, I didn't know. I only wish I'd learned this under different circumstances. Does this mean I can be a donor?"

  Doctor Fulburn shuffled the papers, and then paused to read a sheet of numbers. "I'm relieved to say you and his grandfather are both compatible."

  "When can you do surgery?" Willow asked, anxious to get it done and over with.

  "Now."

  * * *

  The night seemed like a year to Brett. He felt certain they all had aged during the wait. Glancing at his parents across the room, he saw as well as felt their love and concern. He'd never imagined his mother with a man, especially not an Indian.

  Willow had finally fallen asleep. He held her head in his lap, wanting desperately to give her the support and reassurance she needed.

  "You want some coffee?" a soft voice asked.

  Brett looked up into brown eyes similar to Willows. "Thanks, Mary Wolf," he said, reaching for the cup. "You live on the reservation?" He felt stupid the minute he asked it.

  "No, actually I live in Missoula with my husband and three boys. I drove up to Browning to spend time with Mom and Dad."

  "What's your husband's name?" Brett asked.

  "Bill Wolf. He's an airline mechanic. I'm a pharmacist." Mary sat in a chair to his left. "Didn't quite expect that, did you? Don't look so embarrassed, most don't. It seems the stereotype of drunken Indian, lazy wife living on the Res follows us around. We're used to it."

  "I would be lying if I didn't say I'm impressed. You're right about the stigma, and I won't pretend it doesn't matter anymore. I've got a lot to learn, but give me time."

  "I think Willow finally found the right man. I approve, and I'm happy for you both. We all really like Sean. He's a great kid. Your mother has been a very important woman to our People for a long time.” Mary took a sip of her coffee. “I can see you're surprised."

  "I think shocked is more the word. I can't begin to tell you what it's like to discover I have a father, respectable at that. I have fallen in love with my strong-headed neighbor and I now have two sons who are giving me more gray hairs than I care to count. I've never been happier." Brett shook his head at how crazy it all sounded.

  A slow smile spread across Mary's face, enhancing her resemblance to Willow. She turned her head and Brett followed her gaze. He drew in a ragged breath at the sight of the white jacket.

  "It's early, folks, but I knew you'd be waiting, praying for a couple miracles. I'm going to be blunt," Doctor Anders said, pulling up a chair.

  Brett shook Willow's shoulder and he felt her tense at the sight of Doctor Anders. She sat quickly. Brett found her hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "I won't beat around with fancy words and details. Both surgeries went better than I could have hoped for. Lance’s thumb has been sewn back on, and his color is looking better than I had expected. Of course we’ll keep a close watch and make sure it progresses well."

  Brett struggled to keep his eyes dry and pulled Willow's shaking shoulders against his chest.

  "I removed the tumor and we sent it onto the lab. It gave me no indications to worry. It's too early to see signs of him improving, but I'm confident we will soon."

  "Thank you," Willow whispered.

  "Can we see him?" Brett asked.

  "He needs to stay in ICU for a couple of days, and then we'll move him to a regular room for the rest of his recovery. I'll have the nurse get you when he comes out of the anesthetic. You'll be able to visit him one at a time right now and more later as he improves. He'll need a lot of rest. Mom and Dad can stay with him all the time, in shifts if you prefer. He'll need to know you're there at all times."

  "We will be." Brett took a breath. "I have a favor to ask. Could you put Lance and Sean in the same room, ICU, too? They'll be the best therapy for each other."

  "I agree." Doctor Anders stood. "I'll see that it's taken care of. I don't want to make it all seem slight, Lance has been through quite an ordeal, but all indications are remarkably good. I saw Doctor Fulburn coming out of surgery as I came this way. I'll go tell him you're all here waiting."

  Willow sagged against him, and he hugged her close. He closed his eyes, afraid to reveal his overwhelming emotions. Lance had been the serious one. He didn't take Sean's condition lightly, but fixing a broken bone seemed like a picnic in comparison to what Lance had gone through.

  "Morning, folks," Doctor Fulburn said.

  Brett couldn't help thinking ho
w much the man sounded like Doctor Anders. Taking another deep breath, Brett sat perfectly still, anxious for the results.

  "I'm glad to hear Lance is doing so well. His brother has been through an awful ordeal, himself. He's received one pint of blood and I've repaired his arm. It was a serious break and as it looks, he'll have limited movement for awhile―"

  "What kind of limited movement?" Brett jumped to his feet. "I thought it was relatively simple. Pull it in place and put in a couple bolts or whatever. Isn't that what you said?"

  "Calm down, Mr. Turner. You must understand any bone snapped like Sean's arm, and breaking through the skin, isn't a simple matter. Sean is young and he'll heal relatively fast. The young fellas make fools of us fossils. We must face a few facts, though," Doctor Fulburn said, sitting in a stiff, waiting room chair.

  "What facts?" Brett asked, sitting back down, but remaining straight-backed.

  "For one, the pins will remain in place for quite some time. I won't remove them until I'm certain the healing is complete. He'll need therapy, and as he grows it may give him some pain. But the boy is lucky. He's strong and the worst is behind him. I'll keep you folks informed of any changes. He'll be moved into his room after the anesthetic wears off. We'll let you know."

  Brett rose and extended his hand. "Thank you. Willow and I realize you did a lot for Sean and we appreciate it. We're fortunate they're both alive. I shudder to think how close we came to losing them."

  Doctor Fulburn rose and shook Brett's hand briefly. "You're welcome. I'll stop in to check on Sean later today," he added, then walked away.

  "What do you all say we go get us a big breakfast, then come back and check on the boys?" John asked, getting to his feet.

  Brett suddenly realized his stomach growled in agreement. "Go on down to McDonalds. Willow and I will join you in a bit. Mom would you go with . . . Dad, and I'll . . ." He looked down at his cast. "Mom, do you mind if Willow drives your car?" He took the keys she offered and slipped them into his pocket.

  "Sounds fine with me. We'll see you in a bit, then." John squeezed Brett's arm.

  Brett looked into his father’s eyes and felt his fill with tears. He wasn't sure who made the first move, maybe they both did, but within seconds Brett found his father's arms around him. Unashamedly, Brett wept. Hearing his father sob, Brett hugged him closer. They'd waited a long time for this moment.