by Nancy Brophy
On cue everyone checked his watch while Twylla pushed a button on her cell phone. “Road trip. We’ll be there within the hour,” she told the pilot.
No one spoke. Finally, Dare voiced the statement on everyone’s mind. “Let’s draw straws to see who gets to tell Stillwater we need him.”
# # #
Dallas
Poppy had mastered the art of appearing old and infirm, although John suspected he could out-boogie them all. The bent and frail man was escorted to Cezi’s ICU room despite the fact it was not ‘ten minutes until the hour’ the official time of visiting hours. The busty blonde nurse, who’d been hell-bent to enforce the rules no matter how much John tried to out-rank her, chose to ignore them for Poppy. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all if the old guy had slipped his phone number in the pocket of her scrubs.
After he was comfortably seated, the nurse bent to hear his whispered words. She nodded, stroked his hair and poured him a cup of water, before quietly backing out the door and glaring at John.
Then she jerked her thumb at him to indicate Poppy wanted him to join him and for once she wasn’t going to stop him. John bit back his grin as he hurried into the room.
Poppy watched the doorway and sprang out of the chair as soon as the nurse had disappeared. He stood on the Cezi’s right side, impatiently waving his hand and gesturing for John to stand on the left.
“Hold her hand and mine.” He did the same, offering his hand across the narrow bed.
Her delicate fingers were cold. He rubbed his thumb to generate some circulation. Poppy’s hand was equally fragile, but warm to the touch. Power radiated off his fingers, making John’s confidence swell.
“Pour your strength into her,” Poppy said without giving him a clue to how he expected that to happen.
An idea flashed into his head. The Blackfoot told the story of Napi, creator of the earth. First the Old Man, as he was known in the legend, marked it with red paint before he gave the earth’s landscape shape.
“Hold on.” John looked around for a substitute and the best he could come up with was uneaten red gelatin from a tray in the hall. He smeared it on the floor and then stepped on top of it. If the nurses hated him before, this was going to cement his position with them forever.
“Old Man, lend me your strength,” John said and closed his eyes. His heels warmed as the earth pulled through his feet, climbed his legs and infused his torso. He clasped Cezi’s hand and strength poured through him into her. When Poppy placed his hand in his, the circle was complete.
Poppy chanted, a low murmur in a language John failed to comprehend, but believed two cultures merged to heal one small dark-haired woman.
Half an hour later, Poppy quieted, but didn’t release his hold. John popped open an eyelid. Cezi’s hand was no longer cold. In fact, it radiated heat. Her skin tone had improved. Whatever strength Poppy had given her was working. Poppy’s face appeared haggard and his body swayed. John dropped the hands he held and hurried to the far side of the bed to ease Poppy into a chair before he ended face down on the floor.
“She will start to get better now,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and drained.
“She already is. Have some water.” He helped the older man drink. “Rest here for a few minutes. I’ll keep the nurses away.”
Poppy’s strength had waned to the point he could barely nod in agreement. His body slumped into the chair and his breathing labored. The man had to be close to a hundred. He was entitled to a brief nap. Damned if the nurses were going to kick him out on John’s watch. He darted out of the room, determined to head off interference.
Ten minutes later Poppy opened his eyes, completely refreshed. He leaned over and patted Cezi’s hand. “He’s a good man, Peata. Figure out a way to keep him around. Enough frolicking with the spirits, come back to us. He needs you.”
He kissed her knuckles like an old time suitor, then walked quietly from the room.
Chapter Forty-Three
Two days later
The sterile hospital was designed for efficiency. Everything was self-contained. Clean, bright, tidy and antiseptic, the room was the most depressing place, Cezi had ever seen. ICU had been worse. The bank of monitors with their rhythmic taps and dings should have been soothing, but she suspected Pavlov had used the same noises with his dogs.
If this was what outside medicine was like, how did gajé ever get well?
A nurse dressed in baby blue scrubs covered with tiny pastel dinosaurs adjusted her bed, fluffed her pillows, and shifted her water cup to be within easy reach.
Despite her no-nonsense manner she wore a gentle smile. Her gray eyes exuded kindness. “You’ve had a lot of visitors.”
The remote was looped around the bars designed to hold Cezi captive. Since she hadn’t fallen out of bed for over twenty years, she doubted their necessity now. But with a definite metallic snap they went into place. The nurse pushed buttons on the remote causing the precariously tilted, overhead television to roar to life and then spent a few minutes fiddling with the volume control.
“I’m sure it won’t be long before someone comes to see you. Can I get you anything?”
Cezi ran her tongue over her teeth. The grouty fuzz of five days without dental hygiene disgusted her. “Toothpaste and a toothbrush. I probably need a hairbrush, also.”
The nurse slid a tray table in front of her, pulled up the center space to show her a mirror. Sealed packages of deodorant, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a comb and a razor waited for her. “Anything else?”
“This sounds crazy, I know, but I have a craving for red Jello,” Cezi’s voice croaked. Speaking was painful. Five days with tubes inside her had left her throat raw, but she never ate Jello no matter what the color.
“I think that’s doable. Let me see what I can find.” The nurse disappeared through the partially closed door, leaving Cezi with plenty to do.
Twenty minutes later, the dulcet tones of her family’s rowdy chatter reached her. Laughter bubbled up inside her chest and a grin she couldn’t control stretched across her face. She closed the table, pushed it away and wiggled until she sat rather than lay like an invalid.
The door flung open. Loud, noisy gypsies spilled inside. Each carried a gift - balloons, books, plants, and stuffed animals. Hugs and kisses were exchanged all around. Her entire family included Rolf, looking pretty spry, pushed their way to her bedside.
The bedside bars disappeared. Shopping bags opened, food and drinks made the rounds. Her father perched on the edge of her bed and held her hand.
Andrej burst into an old Roma tune about a pretty maiden stolen away in the night. The entire family joined at the ribald chorus.
A bottle of sweet wine made its way to Nicholae, who lifted it to his lips and took a long swig, before passing it to Cezi. Normally, she’d have joined right in, but today she wasn’t feeling up to drinking and passed it on.
Her father’s dark eyes studied her and she gave a grin to pass it off, but as usual he wasn’t buying it. “Did you see the Indian before he left?”
He left? Why did those words always surprise her?
“He got called away, something about the Cayman Islands.”
The Cayman Islands? He’d found money connected with the case. Of course, he had to check that out. He wouldn’t have left without a good reason. He would return, she knew that to the very marrow of her bones.
Not because they had ‘unfinished issues between them’ as he’d so succinctly put it, but because he’d want to. Something drew them together. It wasn’t the sex, although she returned from the dead just for another opportunity to scratch that itch. No, he’d be back because even though he hadn’t said the words, he loved her. And she loved him.
Rolf squeezed through the crowd to sit on her other side. “How’re you doing?” A sling held his shoulder in place, but the pain in his eyes was gone. He didn’t grimace with each step.
“Better,” She said. “You?”
Rolf beamed, nabbed her chin
and gave her a playful smack on the lips. “Everything’s going to be okay. Has the Indian gotten hold of you yet?”
“No phone.”
Disappointment shone in his eyes. “Too bad. I hoped to ask Hiawatha why the Great White Chief called him home.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It hit the news yesterday morning that your guys had located a bunch of abducted girls.”
“Really? That’s great.” Her heart swelled. John was right. Justice was the only thing that eased the misery Cain inflicted.
“So, I’m sitting right next to him, when the President of the United States calls him on his cell phone to see if he has time to drop by.” Rolf laughed making a disbelieving noise. “The President? Can you believe it? I think lover boy wanted to say no, that he was waiting on you. But how do you say no to the President?”
# # #
Washington DC
“He will see you now,” a pretty young assistant in a conservative navy power suit said. “Right in here.” She glided through the maze of desks and opened the door between two secret service agents.
John had met with the President on several occasions, but never in the oval office and never one-on-one. His impression of the man was one of austere competence. When necessary he could radiate charisma, certainly enough to get him elected. But his natural state was one of quiet intelligence.
As he entered, the man rose from behind his desk and came around to greet him.
“Agent Stillwater. Good to see you.” They shook hands. Neither smiled. “Sit.” He gestured toward the couches. “I understand you have good news for me.”
“Yes, sir, I do. The FBPA has broken up a nationwide white slavery ring. We’ve located hundreds of missing American girls and are bringing them home as we speak.”
The President leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “When you say hundreds, exactly how many do you mean?”
“As of two hours ago, two hundred and sixty-seven girls have been located. We’re hoping for at least one hundred more. The details are in my report.” He handed the President a copy.
“Good work,” he placed the packet on the coffee table. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
John had voted for the man. He appeared to have a sense of what needed to be done for national security. But this would be the first time, John had asked for the White House to help in a case. “We’ve located a bank account in the Caymans with over three million dollars obtained from this venture, we’d like the funds frozen.”
“Done.” The President picked up the report and flipped through it. “I assume the information I’ll need is included in your report.”
“Yes, sir. Last page.”
The President snapped the report closed and studied John’s face. “Will there be fallout from this?”
Absolute honesty was essential, but John didn’t know the answer. “Hard to say. We’re missing a couple of the main players and we’re squeezing everybody and everything we can to see what pops up.”
“Makes sense. Update me regularly.” The President stood to indicate the meeting was at an end. John rose, relieved to be done.
The President placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked toward the door. “What’s next on the horizon for you?”
John evaluated the question. Was the President being polite or was he seeking an answer. “Getting married.” Why on earth he blurted those words out he had no idea, but they were out there now.
For the first time, the other man beamed and thumped his back. “Congratulations.”
John smiled, a little embarrassed. “You may be premature. I haven’t asked her yet.”
The President chuckled. “You don’t seem insecure about it.”
“She’s smarter than I am,” John said. “Worse, she believes she’s the captain of her own ship.”
“Maybe you should try living with her first, if you’re not already doing that.” John could see in his eyes he wanted to recant his statement, but decided to tough it out. “Let’s hope the voters don’t hear me giving out that advice.”
“Unfortunately living with her wouldn’t solve my problem. Czigany is a woman who needs to know where she belongs. I plan to bind her to me in every way possible – legally, financially, whatever I can think of.”
“Married my wife forty-two years ago. She believed some of those same ideas. Made me work like a dog to convince her I was the one. From experience I can you I’ve never regretted it.”
John smiled glad he voted for the right man.
Chapter Forty-Four
A week later a long line of cars left Dallas early Friday morning. Cezi rode shotgun in the first car. Her father drove, Tomas stretched out in the back.
Pump jacks were so prevalent in the oil-rich community that she imagined she could hear the CLICK-click, CLICK-click, CLICK-click clatter over the blowing air of the AC and through the closed windows. The further they drove west into central Texas the more barren the soil became. Already golden patches of burned grass appeared and it was only mid-July.
Cezi swallowed her excitement. She’d only been gone two weeks, but with everything that had happened she believed even the landscape would reflect the changes. Mesquite trees lined the blacktop ushering them into downtown Armadillo Creek.
Outside Henderson Hardware store, Mr. Henderson dressed in blue and white striped overalls, swept the drifted dirt from the sidewalk.
“Did he wave?” Cezi asked, hardly able to believe the man’s friendly gesture.
“Wave back,” Nicholae said. She did and when her father whispered ‘smile,’ she did that, too.
The heat of the day hadn’t reached its peak. In another hour everyone would retreat inside for the air conditioning, not venturing out again unless necessary until the sun set.
“What’s going on?” she asked as one person after another waved. Queen Elizabeth’s wrist rotation had nothing on Cezi’s stiff wave.
Nicholae slowed and signaled his turn. “They’ve been concerned about you.”
“Who has?”
“The townspeople.” Nicholae tilted his head indicating the local Armadillo Creek residents. “Someone has come out to the Hollow every day to check on your progress.”
Cezi stared at her father stupefied, unable to even comment.
“Several people have left checks.” Tomas said. “Last I heard it was about ten thousand dollars total. Campaign contributions.”
Nicholae nodded his agreement as the car drove past the Sheriff’s building. The building was dark and no cars parked in front.
Cezi glanced at the clock on the dash – nine-thirty in the morning. Why weren’t they at work? “Campaign contributions? For what?”
“Sheriff,” Tomas said. “Election in the fall. After all the trouble this summer, they want someone who’ll take their problems seriously. And know what to do in the time of trouble.”
Cezi laughed, realizing her father and cousin were leading her on. This was their idea of a joke. But when no one laughed in response, she frowned. “I’d never win.”
Tomas snorted. “Well, not with that loser attitude.”
Annoyance crept up her throat. She spun in the seat to look at her cousin. “Who would vote for me?”
Tomas twisted his lips in that way Romney males used to show their superiority. “I would.”
Ha. She knew it was a joke. “You can’t vote. You’re not registered.”
Nicholae thumped her on the head with his knuckle. “You think if you ran for office, we wouldn’t register?”
“I’m not qualified.”
“Bull,” Tomas said. “You know tons about crime scene investigations. You’re organized. You’re so fair that if I was speeding, not only would you ignore our relationship and give me a ticket, you’d call dad to reinforce it with a lecture.”
Cezi looked at her cousin. He believed she’d make a good sheriff. She grinned. “Should I do it?”
Her father turned his head so she couldn’t
see his face as he spoke. “It’s an option to keep on the table.”
Her happiness faded. Did she need an option in case John didn’t return?
“Just think about it. We’re having a celebration tomorrow night. Poppy’s invited some outsiders to join us so be prepared, some will probably want to quiz you.”
“Would I have to work with Carl and Bobby Joe?”
Her father laughed. “They’re part of the package, but I doubt if they’ll be any happier than you.”
# # #
How did she feel? Rotten. With a sharp knife she cut a pain pill in half and popped it in her mouth with a large swallow of water. She stared at her appearance in the full-length mirror. Bracelets ringed her wrists and tinkled pleasantly when she raised her arms to pull her hair into a bright, multicolored scarf.
Wrapping a gold mesh fringed scarf around her waist to keep her otherwise black ensemble from slipping to her knees. She’d lost weight in the hospital.
Once the townspeople saw her dressed in gypsy regalia, they’d probably stop payment on those checks. But her Roma heritage was who she was.
As quickly as that thought crossed her mind, she realized that being gypsy no longer defined her. Yes, it’d contributed to who she’d become, but she was so much more.
She skipped the community meal and settled for more red Jello. The cherry flavor was okay, but she was developing a real fondness for strawberry banana particularly with sliced bananas in the mold. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d start liking cottage cheese next.
A chuckle caught in her throat as she waltzed out the door.