One Summer’s Knight

by Kathleen Creighton

  “Ready?” Was it his imagination, or did she sound as breathless as he felt, standing there looking at him with her eyes alight, drying her hands on a towel. She handed him the towel almost absentmindedly; he took it and gave his face and neck, shoulders and torso a cursory wipe with it before laying it across his lap-a seemingly casual act, but oh, how grateful he was for that towel just then.

  “I could sure use a shower,” he muttered. A cold one.

  “You can shower when I’m finished…I’ll lend you one of my shower caps, if you like.” She was frowning at his scalp. “Am I to assume you’d rather I didn’t shave off too much of your hair? Just kidding.”

  Riley snorted. “You’re a regular not, Doc.”

  “Gee…my other patients don’t seem to mind. Okay, hold the towel up to your face while I pour some of this hydrogen peroxide into the cut…little bit more…okay, that’s good. Now some antiseptic…”

  “Ouch!”

  “Don’t be a baby…the sting just means-”

  “It’s doing its job, I know. Hurry it up, will you?”

  “Almost done. Now-I’d like to put a couple of these little butterfly bandages across the cut to close it, but I’ll have to snip off just a lit-tle teeny bit of hair. Is that going to be okay? You won’t even see it, I promise.”

  Lord, how vain did she think he was? “Do it,” he muttered. “Get it over with.” He closed his eyes and held his breath; it wasn’t pain he was trying his best to shut out, but her scent, her nearness. His stomach growled; he was helpless to stop it.

  “Hmm,” she said softly, her voice just a breath away from his ear, “that’s right, I guess you never did get to eat your waffles, did you? They’re still there, you know, in the kitchen. When we’re done here, I can warm them up for you, if you like. They’ll crisp up nicely in the toaster.”

  There it was again-that mystifying little irritation. She sounded like somebody’s mother. Which definitely wasn’t what he wanted from her, not then. Not ever. “Gee, Doc,” he said sarcastically, “do you normally offer your patients blueberry waffles after surgery?”

  “No…I usually give them doggy treats…okay-that’s it. Done.” She stood back, her eyes innocent. “Beatle probably wouldn’t mind sharing some of hers, if you’d prefer.”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or growl; what he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. He might have done it that time, and the hell with the consequences, if at that moment David had not come bursting through the doorway at that pace all children seem to prefer, somewhere just below a dead run. Right behind him was the beetle-dog, her toenails clickety-clicking on the tile.

  “Mom-” naturally he was out of breath “-I looked and looked, and I can’t find her anywhere. I called, and even Beatle helped search. Helen’s gone, Mom, I swear. She just vanished.”

  Chapter 9

  “Take a deep breath,” Summer ordered. “Calm down. Now-she can’t just vanish, can she? So she has to be here somewhere. Unless-” She looked at Riley.

  He shook his head. “She couldn’t get past the perimeter of the grounds, not without setting off the alarm.”

  “Okay, then. She has to be here. Tell me where you looked.”

  David lifted his hands and hitched up his shoulders as far as they would go. “I told you-I looked everywhere.”

  Summer straightened and threw Riley a look of apology. “She does this sometimes. When she’s angry, or afraid she’s in big trouble, she…hides. Right now-” an ironic smile tugged at her mouth “-she’s afraid she’s in big trouble because she thinks she may have killed you.” She drew a deep breath and gave her son’s shoulders a squeeze. “All right, I think we should start in the house, don’t you? Come on-we’ll take it one room-” And she was already turning to hustle the boy ahead of her out of the bathroom. She stopped, though, as Riley struggled to his feet, and shooed him back with a wave of her hand. “No, no-that’s okay, stay there. No need for you to bother yourself. Here-” Distracted, she paused at the sink where she’d dumped the tray of ice cubes, pulled up the stopper and turned on the tap, then dropped in a washcloth. “Put this on your foot I’m sure David and I can find her.”

  Riley reached over and turned off the water. “If she’s hiding because she’s afraid she’s hurt me,” he said reasonably, “then seeing me alive and well ought to reassure her. Maybe she’ll come out of her own accord. And if she doesn’t-” he bit on his lip as he tested his foot, decided the pain was entirely manageable and then nodded “-then I probably know some hiding places you don’t. This house has a few odd nooks and crannies.”

  For a moment she hesitated, and he could see the struggle in her eyes-a brief one, an automatic rejection of the idea of anyone helping her more than a real objection, he thought. Then she nodded in acceptance and abruptly pivoted, following her son from the room. Riley raised his eyes skyward in a silent appeal for patience and hobbled after her.

  As they were passing through his bedroom, he observed what looked like a fat furry pillow squarely in the middle of his bed. Summer saw it, too, and halted dead in her tracks.

  “Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. Here-just let me take her-” She threw him a look of pure misery and bent over to pick up the cat, trying her best, it seemed to him, to do so without letting any part of her touch any part of the bed. No small feat, given the size of his bed.

  Riley’s mind suddenly became crowded with images and associations, all having to do with Summer and her proximity to his bed, thoughts he had no business entertaining, even for a moment. His belly grumbled ominously. “Leave her-let her sleep,” he growled, waving Summer out of his bedroom with an impatience bordering on urgency.

  They commenced the search at one end of the upstairs hall, taking it one bedroom at a time, opening doors and drawers and cupboards, peering into closets, behind draperies and under beds-any space a five-year-old body could possibly squeeze into as well as a few it couldn’t. They’d finished the two empty rooms on the north side of the house and were about to move on to the one Summer was occupying when Riley noticed that the dog Beatle appeared to have taken an interest in one of the doors across the hall. He paused to watch her as she sniffed and snuffled at the bottom of the closed door, then raised her head and gave a soft “Wuf.”

  Summer looked down at the Chihuahua, then up at Riley. He raised his eyebrows; she shrugged a who knows?

  Then David, with a faith born of innocence, said, “Hey, Beatle, did you find her? Huh? Find Helen, Beatle-where’s -Helen? Come on-let’s go find Helen.” And he turned the knob and opened the door. Beatle scampered into the room. Riley and Summer exchanged a look, then followed.

  It was very warm in the room. Riley knew it could get downright hot in those south-facing rooms in the summertime, in spite of air-conditioning and the huge magnolia trees that had been planted on that side of the house long ago to provide shade for the tall casement windows. It was precisely why Riley had given his guests quarters on the north side, though the south rooms were larger and certainly brighter.

  While Riley stood frowning in the doorway, thinking about that, Summer walked on into the room, calling, “Helen? Honey, are you in here?” She opened a wardrobe door. David dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the canopy bed.

  Meanwhile, the dog Beatle hesitated only long enough to give the rug a sniff, then scampered over to the window, put her paws up on the sill and uttered that same small but decisive “Wuf.”

  It was then that Riley realized the window was open. “The balcony,” he said, and started forward.

  Summer, too, was moving toward the window, moving like a sleepwalker. “Helen? Honey…?” She put her hand on the window casing and leaned out.

  Riley’s house had been built in the sumptuous twenties, in a Southern Gothic style more typical of Savannah than Charleston. All the upstairs windows had narrow balconies trimmed with wrought iron, meant more for decoration than actual use. Still, he thought, a child might e
asily hide on one, crouched below the level of the windowsill…

  Summer was looking down, up, all around. But it was obvious the balcony was not occupied. She stepped onto it and peered over the railing. She looked down…and Riley could feel his heart trying to bang its way out of his chest. But there was no scream of horror and grief, and moving up behind her, he could feel her body relax slightly.

  And then…go absolutely rigid. In a spasmlike reflex her hands clutched the railing, so hard the knuckles went white, and she cried out, “Oh, my God…”

  Never, in all his life, had Riley heard such terror in a human voice. It had to be the worst sound he had ever heard. He went icy inside as his mind struggled to form the terrible question. But by then Summer had turned blindly into him and was hiding her face against his chest. And without thought he folded his arms around her and held her tightly while his eyes searched for what she’d already seen that had frightened her so.

  Leaves. All he could see was those damned leathery, greeny-bronze magnolia leaves. The huge tree filled the window, its branches in some places extending over the balcony railing to scrape against the walls of the house. Oh, hell-and the gardener had just mentioned something to him last spring, he remembered now, about it being time to trim those back. He’d been in the middle of a tricky court case and hadn’t wanted to be bothered just then with calling the tree people. And had apparently forgotten about it. Damn.

  He saw it now-splashes of hot pink and lemon-yellow, colors Mother Nature never put in a magnolia tree. He even remembered the outfit-one of the ones he’d bought-pink shorts with a pattern of tiny cartoon characters, Disney, he thought, and a yellow sun top with a large version of the same characters on the front.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured hoarsely, stroking Summer’s hair. He could feel her trembling. “She’s all right. I can see her. She’s all right.”

  She jerked away from him with a loud sniff. “She’s not making any noise,” she said in a strained voice as she leaned over the balcony railing, trying to see through the leaves. As if, he thought, she were clenching her teeth together to keep them from chattering. “That’s not Helen. You don’t know-”

  He gave a short, ironic laugh. “I think she’s too scared to move. Talk to her-keep her calm. Tell her we’re gonna get her down, okay?” But Lord in heaven, how?

  Summer called in a high, thin voice, “Helen? Mommy’s here, honey…Mommy’s here. Are you okay? Answer me, sweetheart.” For a moment, it seemed, they all stopped breathing. And then they heard it-a barely audible whimper. Riley saw Summer close her eyes. Her face was bleached bone-white and shiny with sweat, as if she were about one deep breath away from fainting, but her voice sounded calm enough. Only he would hear the knife edge of panic in it as she called, “Okay, that’s my girl. You just hang on tight, now, okay? Don’t try to move. We’re coming…”

  Riley put a hand on her arm, then gripped it tightly. “Not this way, we’re not,” he said in a tight undertone. “That branch will never take the weight.”

  “But I can see her-”

  “So can I.” The kid was stretched out flat on her stomach with her bottom toward the window, her head toward the trunk, arms and legs clamped tightly around the limb. “She’s too far out to reach from here. We’ll have to get her from below.”

  “If she falls…” Summer’s face was a mask of terror.

  “She’s not going to fall.” And if she did-Dear God, if she did?-he was never going to forgive himself. Never. He leaned over the railing and looked down. Lord, it was a long way down. And the kid was so small… He drew a deep breath. “There’s a limb below this one. Big enough to stand on. If I can climb up to it-”

  She threw him a wild look, which he imagined was about equal parts surprise and doubt. “Are you sure you… I mean, maybe I should-”

  Well, he thought, who could blame her? Climbing trees didn’t exactly fit the image he worked so hard to build for himself. Would she even believe him, he wondered, if he told her there’d been times he’d slept in one?

  “Hey,” he said in a cracking voice, “you may find this hard to believe, but I have climbed a tree or two.” His smile felt cramped.

  It was the first time she’d ever seen that smile, Summer realized; a dark, off-center smile, with haunted, remembering eyes. Something about it shook her even then, a small earthquake that rocked the underpinnings of her most basic conceptions of the man, and she filed it away for pondering over…later.

  “There’s a ladder,” said David. Summer and Riley both turned to look at him. He nodded, eyes round with eagerness and bright with fear. “I saw it. Over behind the garage. It’s a big one, too.”

  Summer clamped a hand to her mouth, stifling a small whimper. Riley touched her arm and said in a low voice, “Stay here-keep her calm. Young man-” he put his hand on David’s shoulder as he passed him “-you come with me. Show me where you saw this ladder.”

  “Come on!” David was so wired he seemed about to jump out of his socks. He’d be feeling it, too, Summer realized as she watched them go off together, Riley’s hand on the back of David’s neck seemingly all that held him to the ground. He’d feel the guilt, the sense of responsibility for this. Her heart ached for him. If anything happens to his sister, he’s going to blame himself-

  Nothing is going to happen. She’s going to be all right. She has to be all right.

  Somewhere way off in the distance, thunder grumbled. A breeze sprang up, making the magnolia’s leaves rustle with a dry, crackly sound. Helen whimpered and uttered a thin, terror-filled cry. “Mommy!”

  Summer spun back to the railing. “Helen, it’s okay-I’m right here. Mr. Riley’s gone to get a ladder, okay? We’re gonna have you down in just a minute-you just stay right where you are and hold on tight, you hear me? Hey, I know what-let’s sing a song. Okay? You sing, too, sweetie. Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh…”

  Though it couldn’t have been very many minutes before she saw Riley and David come jogging around the far corner of the house, each holding one end of an aluminum extension ladder, those were, undoubtedly, the longest minutes of Summer’s life. Through every one of those minutes she had to fight the compulsion to climb over that balcony railing and onto that limb against all common sense, somehow convinced that, if she could just get her hands on her child, if she could just touch her, everything would be all right. Through every one of those minutes the terror, unspeakable, unthinkable, unimaginable terror, held her heart in a grip of ice. Through every one of those minutes, as she spoke her calm words of encouragement and sang her daughter’s favorite songs in a quavering voice one good breath away from hysteria, she prayed. Oh, God please…

  She watched, helplessly leaning over the wrought-iron railing, as far below, Riley placed the ladder against the tree limb, set it firmly and began to climb. He was wearing neither shirt nor shoes, she saw with a small sense of shock; she’d forgotten all about his injuries, and so, it seemed, for the moment at least, had he. Spots of sunlight dappled his naked back and shoulders as he climbed, so that he seemed almost a part of his surroundings, a half-wild creature of the forest primeval, and a far, far cry from the Riley Grogan whose normal habitat was the courtrooms and ballrooms of Charleston. And yet, no less graceful, no less confident. As if he were as much at home in this world as that one.

  It all happened rather quickly then. Making it look easy, Riley pulled himself from the ladder onto the limb and unfolded himself until he was standing upright. Then, holding on to and climbing through smaller branches, he moved along it until he was directly below the place where Helen clung to her precarious perch. Summer heard the low, soothing murmur of his voice; leaves rustled and branches thrashed; and then came the cry she had prayed for: “Okay-I’ve got her!”

  She couldn’t hold back a gasp, and it was more than half a sob. But it wasn’t over yet, she knew that. As if her gaze alone could keep them from falling, she did not take her eyes off Helen’s lemon-yellow top and Riley’s
sweat-glistening shoulders until she saw that they’d made it safely to the top of the ladder. Then she tore herself away from the balcony railing, dove through the window into the bedroom and dashed headlong for the stairs.

  He was just stepping off the bottom rung when she got there. She’d been running full-tilt, not even aware of her feet touching the ground; now, a few feet away from her goal, she halted. Afraid if she took one more step the shaking would catch up with her and her legs lose the strength to support her. Afraid if she tried to speak a single word she would burst into sobs. So instead she stood and looked at the two of them-at the man whose face and body were streaked now with dust and sweat; and at the little girl who was clinging to him, her legs clasped around his torso, her arms in a death grip around his neck, face buned against his chest, like a large, brightly colored starfish.

  “Wow,” David was yelling. “Wow, you did it! Boy, was that cool!”

  Riley spoke in a soft-gruff voice to the top of Helen’s head. “Hey-here’s your mama. You can let go now.”

  He was walking toward Summer, and she could see him trying, without success, to peel Helen’s arms from around his neck. Summer burst out laughing-and finally into tears

  “Hey, missy,” said Riley firmly, “you’re on good old terra firma now-you’re gonna have to let go of me.” But then Summer saw him give up trying to pry his burden loose and suddenly wrap his arms around her and envelop her in a comforting hug, much as he’d enveloped Summer just a short while ago. And after a moment she saw her daughter’s small body relax.

  Then all at once Helen drew back and looked at Riley’s face. Alarm sparked fleetingly in his eyes as she took dead aim, then pounced forward and kissed him-hard-on the nose.

  Clearly shaken and teary-eyed from the blow, he croaked, “Uh…well, you’re welcome,” while Helen turned to grin valiantly over her shoulder, her dusty, tear-streaked face not the least bit vanquished. But she went on clinging to her rescuer’s neck until the last possible second, making it plain that it was only with great reluctance she was allowing herself to be transferred to Summer’s arms.