by Marta Perry
“Hey, I always appreciated your skill, even back when you were the high-and-mighty neurosurgery consult and I was just another nameless EMT.” Too late, she realized she shouldn’t have mentioned that again.
But he didn’t seem bothered, glancing up from the chart with a slight smile. “Trust me, you were never nameless. An EMT with that mop of red curls could only be called Flanagan. You lit up that place like a torch every time you walked in.”
She was absurdly pleased at the comment. “Frankly, I never considered the red hair an asset.”
“Combined with that air of naive innocence, it was unmistakable.”
Now that wasn’t a compliment, although it was true. She’d been decades younger in experience and outlook when she’d arrived in Philadelphia. Eager to prove herself, thinking she had everything under control. She hadn’t.
“Terry?” Jake was looking at her, eyes frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She forced a smile. “I’d just resent that if I didn’t know it was probably true. I gave a new meaning to green then.”
She couldn’t go any deeper than that, because it led into places that would hurt both of them and destroy this fragile balance. If he didn’t realize how bruised she’d been when she’d run back to Suffolk, so much the better.
He was looking at her as if he might pursue the subject, but fortunately she spotted Manuela, hovering outside the screen door. “There’s Manuela. Why is she standing out there?”
“Let’s find out.” Jake started toward the clinic door, and she hurried after him.
The moment she got close enough to see Manuela’s face, she knew something was very wrong. No tears—just a set, despairing expression that was somehow worse than tears.
“Manuela, what is it?” She caught the girl’s arm, but she stood stiffly, not yielding. “What’s wrong?”
Jake guided them away from the clinic door, under the shade of the sycamore tree that stood at the building’s corner. “We were worried about you when you didn’t come in today,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
“I cannot come.” Manuela seemed to force the words out. “I just came to tell you that I must not work for the clinic any longer.”
“If this is because of your father—”
The girl swallowed hard, shaking her head. “No. Not my father’s doing.”
Further questions hovered ready to burst from her, but Jake shook his head warningly. “Just tell us in your own way,” he said. “Whatever it is, we’ll help you.”
“You can’t help. I should have known—” She stopped, gulping back a sob.
Terry’s heart twisted. Known what? That this small thing was too good to be true?
Manuela took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders as if to say she could bear whatever she had to. “The crew chief came to see us.”
A ripple of anger rushed through Terry. She should have realized they weren’t finished with that man yet. “What is he trying now?”
“Not him.” The girl shook her head. “He just brought the message. He said to my father that Mr. Dixon was angry with us. That it was illegal for me to work at the clinic.”
She exchanged glances with Jake over the girl’s head. Why would Dixon get involved in this? Manuela’s family wasn’t here illegally, and surely they weren’t breaking any laws by paying Manuela for doing chores around the clinic. It wasn’t as if she were working long hours or handling dangerous materials.
“Why illegal?” Jake asked. “Did he say why Mr. Dixon thought that?”
“Mr. Dixon said that our contract that allowed us to be here to work was with them. That we must not work for anyone else. He was very angry, so my father says I must not come anymore.” She tried for a brave smile, but it trembled. “I thank you for helping me to learn. I’m sorry.”
She started to turn away, but Terry grasped her arm, mind racing a mile a minute. “Wait a minute, Manuela. I’m not at all sure he’s right about that. We can do something. Jake, tell her.”
“I’d like to help, but I don’t know what we can do.” His gaze evaded hers.
It didn’t matter. She knew what he was thinking. That if this came to the hospital board’s attention, it would reflect on him. It had been his idea.
“We can’t sacrifice Manuela’s future for the sake of expediency.”
Jake met her eyes now, his look level. “It’s not a question of expediency.”
Jake had a job at stake, so he said. Maybe she couldn’t believe his position really hinged on something so trivial, but she had to respect that. Still, her hands weren’t tied.
“Look, I can understand why you might not want to be involved.” She kept her voice even. This didn’t have to lead to a fight. They could talk about it like colleagues, not enemies. “You can stay out of it. I’ll go to see Matthew Dixon myself.”
“No.” His fingers closed over her arm. Before she could jerk away, he spoke again. “You’re not going to see Matthew Dixon. We are.”
In the few minutes it took to drive over the back roads to the Dixon farmhouse, Jake managed to second-guess himself at least thirty times. Did he really want to do this? What if Dixon turned around and complained to the chief of staff about him? Or worse, complained to Morley?
The lane curved around a clump of sumac bushes, their plumes red as flames, and the house came into view. A brick center section, its color worn to a soft rose over probably a couple of centuries, had wings of white frame going out on either side. A generous porch spanned the front.
The house should look welcoming, but instead it seemed faintly forlorn. The lane was rutted, and the porch sagged a bit at one end. No flowers filled the beds to either side of the front walk, and a crumbling brick wall enclosed what had probably been a side garden.
“They could use a load of gravel,” Terry commented as they bumped to a stop.
“It looks as if Mr. Dixon hasn’t been keeping the place up very well.” He sat with his hands on the wheel, staring at the house. “Is he badly off?”
Terry shrugged. “I’m not sure any farmers are doing really well now, but Dixon has always been thought to have plenty of family money. I remember that Andy and his sisters went away to a private academy when the rest of us headed to Suffolk Middle School.”
He glanced at her. Terry’s temper had nearly gotten the better of her at Manuela’s tale, but she seemed to have it under control now. She was frowning a little, her forehead crinkling and her green eyes clouded.
“So, did you miss him when he went away?”
Her wide-eyed gaze met his. “Andy? Get serious.”
“He said you were his girlfriend.” Even in this situation, he couldn’t resist the urge to tease her a little. Was that what all those siblings of hers did?
“I don’t know why he was goofing off like that. He barely noticed me when we were in elementary school. Girls weren’t big on his agenda then.”
“What was?”
“Sports, I guess. And having the best of everything. Whatever the new fad was, Andy had to have it first.”
“Seems funny he settled down here again after school. You’d have expected him to head for the bright lights.” The way Terry had. Did she regret coming back to Suffolk?
Her mouth firmed a little, almost as if she guessed what he thought. “I suppose Andy felt his father needed him. This is a big operation.” She glanced toward the barn. It needed a coat of paint, too. “Or at least, it was. If Matthew Dixon is having financial troubles, that could account for the condition of the workers’ housing. Well, are we going in?” She grasped the door handle.
“Wait a second.” His hand brushed her shoulder. “When we get in there, let me handle talking to Mr. Dixon.”
He could feel her tense through that lightest of contacts, her shoulder tightening against his fingers.
“Why?” She sounded ready for battle. “My family has known him for years.”
And you’re the stranger here. She didn’t add that, but she was p
robably thinking it.
“That didn’t seem to help you the last time you confronted him, did it?”
Her frown deepened. “That was odd, now that I think about it. I’d have expected him to recognize me as a Flanagan, even if he didn’t remember my name. I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”
He let his finger touch a strand of coppery hair. “Maybe it’s not that. Have there been any rumors about Dixon’s health?”
“Not that I know of.” Her gaze met his. “Are you thinking some form of dementia?”
“It’s possible. That might explain the son’s protective attitude.”
She nodded slowly. “I guess so. Brendan might know something, as their pastor, but he wouldn’t say. Maybe we ought to talk to Andy, instead.”
“Manuela said the orders came from the old man. Let’s start with him, in any event.” He opened the door. “I don’t suppose you’d consider waiting in the car?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
She slid out, and he rounded the car to join her. They mounted the three steps to the porch, their footsteps thudding in the silence. The glass-paneled door stood open behind the barrier of a flimsy screen door.
He knocked, the door rattling in its frame. Nothing. He tried again, harder. A voice, sounding far away, called something he couldn’t distinguish. He glanced at Terry.
“Do you suppose that meant come in?”
“Let’s take it that way.”
She yanked the screen door open and stepped inside. He followed her into a center hallway, papered in a floral pattern that looked as if it would have been right at home in the 1930s. A staircase mounted to the second floor, and archways on either side of them led into a living room and dining room furnished with dark, heavy pieces.
“Mr. Dixon?” Terry called. “Are you here?”
This time they got a livelier response. A door at the back of the hallway swung open, and Andy Dixon strode through. He checked his steps momentarily at the sight of them and then came forward, smiling, his hand extended.
“Terry. Dr. Landsdowne. This is an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you?”
Impatient, Jake cut across Terry’s polite response. “We’d like to speak to your father, please.”
Andy’s open face clouded, and he glanced toward the second floor. “I’m afraid you can’t. He always rests in the afternoon. Can’t I help you with whatever it is?”
“We’d prefer to talk with him.” He glanced at his watch. Nearly five. “Won’t he be getting up soon?”
“I’m afraid not.” Andy’s voice lowered, and he took a step closer to them. “The truth is, he’s not up to handling much of anything these days. So if you need something, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me.”
“We’re worried about Manuela. Manuela Ortiz.” Terry burst into speech. “Mel Jordan told her parents that your father objected to her working at the clinic.”
He should have known Terry wouldn’t be able to stay out of it. “We’ve been paying Manuela a small amount to help out,” he explained. “It’s useful to have her to translate to the patients, and we couldn’t understand why your father would object to that.”
“This must be some sort of misunderstanding. Look, let’s go out on the porch and talk. I don’t want to risk Dad hearing. He gets upset over nothing these days.”
He ushered them out onto the porch. Giving them a very polite version of the bum’s rush? Jake couldn’t help but wonder how the Dixon family’s chain of command fit together. Was Andy really in charge, as he seemed to imply?
“That’s better.” Andy closed the door behind them, his pleasant face creased with worry. “Really, I’m sorry about this. Of course there’s no problem with the girl—Manuela, is it?—working at the clinic.”
“Apparently Jordan thought there was.” He didn’t care to be caught in the middle over who was in charge here.
“Jordan has no business speaking to my father at all.” Andy’s voice sharpened. “I’ve told him that. Please don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you, Andy.” Terry’s voice was warm, and she seemed to accept everything the man said at face value. There was no reason why that should annoy him, but it did.
“I’d just like to be certain that your father isn’t going to complain about us to the hospital.”
“Believe me, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” Andy glanced at his watch. “I don’t want to rush you, but I do have some things to do—”
“Of course.” Terry shot him a look that demanded politeness. “We’re very grateful, Andy. And Manuela will be so relieved.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Lifting his hand in farewell, Andy went back into the silent farmhouse, closing the door firmly behind him.
Terry frowned at him. “What’s wrong? We got what we wanted. You should be happy.”
“I am. It’s fine.” He started toward the car. It was fine, wasn’t it? So why did he have this nagging worry that the situation with the Dixons could explode in his face?
Jake stood for the final blessing as the worship service ended. Brendan, formal in his black robe, spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire congregation of Grace Church. Jake felt himself giving in to the warmth and tried to resist. Then the organ music swelled, and Brendan was walking quickly to the back toward the sanctuary.
Jake slid the hymnal back into its rack. He still wasn’t sure why he’d come to worship this morning. Maybe it should be credited, or debited, to Brendan’s persistence. He could hardly tell Brendan that he preferred to do his wrestling with God in private these days. Maybe he could leave—
But Siobhan Flanagan slipped through the pews, slim and agile as a girl, to cut him off. “Jake, how nice to see you this morning. How did you like the service?”
It was impossible to resist the warmth of her smile. “Very much. Brendan is an excellent speaker.” He’d rather talk about Brendan’s speaking ability than the topic of the sermon.
“…we are called to do the good work God has already prepared for us to do,” Siobhan quoted. “That’s one of my favorite verses.”
“It seems a rather frightening one to me.” The words came out before he had a chance to remind himself that he didn’t intend to open up about his private spiritual health.
“Why?” Her air of interested attention robbed the word of any intent to pry.
“I suppose because it puts a heavy burden on the individual. If you don’t do the work God planned for you, who will?”
“True. But I always see it that since God planned it, He also prepares us to do it.” Her smile flashed. “Well, enough serious theology for the moment. Let’s go to Fellowship Hall before all the coffee is gone.”
She linked her arm in his, clearly not taking no for an answer. He let her draw him into the flow of people heading out the door to the left of the pulpit.
He wouldn’t argue with Siobhan, but he wasn’t sure she was right. He’d thought he’d known what God wanted of him, but either he’d been wrong or God had changed His mind.
Fellowship Hall was an expanse of beige carpet and beige cinder block walls, brightened by colorful banners between the windows. The buzz of conversation was nearly deafening. It sounded as if these people hadn’t seen each other in weeks.
Siobhan tugged him directly to a serving table laden with cookies, coffee cake, fruit, cheese, even vegetables and dip. A person could make a meal of what was spread out for the coffee hour, and it looked as if some people were.
Well, he’d have his coffee and speak to a few people, so no one could accuse him of being unfriendly…. Now why did a certain redhead’s face pop into his mind at that thought?
Siobhan had been caught by an elderly woman who seemed intent on volunteering her for a rummage sale, so he took a few steps away, scanning the crowd. Somewhat to his surprise, he saw a few people from the migrant camp. Perhaps Brendan had sent the bus for them. They’d been corralled by a
smiling couple and ushered to the food table as if they were the guests of honor.
When he spotted Terry’s red curls, he realized he’d been looking for her. A niece and a nephew hung from each hand, and she was laughing down at them.
Something warm seemed to unfurl in his heart at her expression. Terry, of all people, ought to be married with children of her own by now. They’d look like her, with those red curls and green eyes.
Terry’s gaze met his, and now the smile was for him. He couldn’t leave without speaking to her. He’d just say hello, and then he’d be free to leave. He made his way through the crowd to her side.
“Looks as if you have an anchor on each arm,” he said.
“I have a pest on each arm,” she said with mock ferocity. “Go on, you two. Go get another cookie. Your mom will really appreciate the sugar high.”
They ran off. She watched them for a moment before turning to him. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” She couldn’t know he found it difficult to be here.
“I thought you might have run into Matthew Dixon. He hardly ever comes to church, but he’s here today.”
He glanced around the room. “Maybe I should speak to him. Where is he?”
“Over there.” She drew in a breath. “He’s talking to Dr. Getz. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I’m sure it’s not,” he said grimly. “I suppose I should see just what they’re talking about.”
“If he’s complaining, it’s probably about me. I’ll come, too.”
He almost told her he’d handle it, but they weren’t in the hospital now. This was her turf, not his. Besides, for some ridiculous reason it felt good to have someone next to him as he approached the two men.
“It’s been terrible, that’s what it’s been.” Dixon, lean as a rail in a navy suit that looked as if it didn’t get much use, glared at Sam Getz.
Jake felt as if he’d been punched. Dixon was complaining about them to the chief of staff. How was he going to explain this away?
“It was that late frost,” Getz said. He glanced at them with a smile. “Not that Dr. Landsdowne would know what a late frost does to the apple harvest. He’s a city boy.”