A Wedding in Apple Grove

by C. H. Admirand

  She shook her head; there was no use to denying it. “I guess good news travels fast.”

  “Well, there was actually talk the day of Edie and Bill’s wedding, but that was just the gossip chain gearing up. Why don’t you sit down and tell me before you settle down under my sink?”

  Meg wondered if there was time; she’d started her day later than she’d intended. “I’m running short of time. If you keep me company while I work, I’ll fill you in.”

  Her friend’s smile was answer enough. “Is it as serious as Trudi says it is? I mean, after all, he is her grandnephew, but Miss Trudi does tend to exaggerate at times.”

  Meg’s grip slipped, and she smacked her knuckles hard on the cast-iron elbow pipe. Damn. She should pay attention to what she was doing. When blood oozed up from the split, she sighed and shimmied back out from under the cabinet.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Winter exclaimed. “You’ve cut yourself.”

  She always carried a few first aid essentials in her toolbox. Mopping the blood with the paper towel Mrs. Winter handed her, she was reaching for the box of bandages when an age-spotted hand stopped her.

  “You cannot cover it until you wash it out properly. There’s no telling what kind of dirt is under that sink.”

  She was about to protest, but the look in the older woman’s eyes stopped her. She nodded instead and followed Mrs. Winter to the bathroom. “Wash it out good with soap and water first, while I get the peroxide.”

  “It’s nothing really—”

  “Have you ever had a deep cut like that fester?”

  Just the word conjured up images she’d rather not have whirling around in her tired brain. Now that she’d cleaned it out, she noticed that it was more of a gash than a split. Must have caught it on the edge of the pipe. Blood welled up again and her head felt light. “Uh… not that I can remember.”

  “Well, Mr. Winter did.” The older woman handed Meg the dark brown bottle and a few cotton balls and watched while Meg cleaned the wound. “It was a bad cut from that old combine of his. Lord, that man was always scraping or cutting some part of himself—said the job wasn’t finished unless he’d drawn blood.”

  Meg winced at the thought and stared down at the blood welling up on her knuckles. She washed it out again and was pretty sure the white she was looking at was her knuckle bone. “I uh… think I’d better sit down.”

  Fast on her feet, Mrs. Winter had Meg by the arm, sitting down on the lid to the toilet, and was shoving Meg’s head between her knees. “Do not move while I call for help.”

  “I don’t need help,” she told her. “I just felt light-headed for a minute. I’ll be fine.”

  Mrs. Winter let go of the back of Meg’s neck and stood with her arms crossed, frowning. “Put pressure on that cut with this.”

  Meg stared at the fluffy white towel and shook her head. “Paper towels are fine. I don’t want to ruin a good towel.”

  “Damn the towel, Megan! You put pressure on that cut with this towel while I call Doc Gannon.”

  Still a little shaky on her pins, Meg decided to listen and pressed the thick towel against her aching hand. It shouldn’t hurt that much for just a cut. Should it? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cut herself deep enough to need stitches.

  “I don’t need to see Doc Gannon.” At least she hoped she didn’t. Staring down at the towel, her hands started to shake. Funny thing about white, it sure turned crimson fast. Mrs. Winter scurried back into the bathroom and had Meg by the arm again. “Doc’s waiting for us, dear. I’ll drive your truck.”

  “Pop doesn’t let anyone but me drive Grandpa’s truck.”

  “Special circumstances. Let’s go.”

  A few minutes later, Meg was sitting with her head between her knees again—this time in the front seat of the Mulcahy’s pickup with Mrs. Winter throwing the shift into reverse. Meg’s head smacked into the dashboard when the woman shifted into second and floored it.

  “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

  Mrs. Winter was patting her on the arm. “Not to worry, we’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

  True to her word, they pulled up outside of the white brick building at the opposite end of town from the sheriff’s office. “I’m fine,” Meg protested as she was pulled out of the truck and up the steps.

  “Well, Mrs. Winter, you’re right,” Doctor Gannon said. “I can see the knuckle bone.” He caught Meg as her legs gave out. “Easy, Megan,” he soothed. “Just lay down right over here.”

  Meg hated stitches. “Are you sure you can’t just butterfly it? That’s what I was going to do.”

  “Hmmph.” Mrs. Winter sniffed. “She wasn’t even going to use soap on it.”

  Meg didn’t want to see twin looks of censure, so she kept her eyes closed.

  “I’m going to numb your hand.”

  “OK.” The only thing she hated worse than stitches was the needle that came before the skin got sewn back together. She gritted her teeth while he injected the needle into her hand.

  “What were you doing when you cut your hand?”

  She concentrated on the soothing sound of Doc Gannon’s voice. He sounded just like his dad. “Mrs. Winter has a leaky elbow pipe under her sink. I was fixing it.”

  “You’re going to need a tetanus shot.”

  Meg’s eyes shot open. She knew she didn’t need one of those today, so she told him, “I’m sure I had one recently.”

  Mrs. Winter leaned close. “Do you want me to call your father?”

  Her gaze collided with that of her friend. “No. He’ll just worry.” Turning her head to the other side, she watched as the man she’d grown up with tore open a package of sutures. There was a tiny vial on the stainless steel tray along with gauze and some Betadine. He knew what he was doing and had since he’d taken over his father’s practice. “You probably checked my chart.”

  He grinned and it was as if the years since graduation melted away and they were sitting in chemistry class together. “Probably. Come on, Mulcahy, it’ll be over before you know it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cherry lollipop. “If you’re a good girl, you can have this.”

  She looked from the lollipop to the sutures in his hand and the tray with the syringe. “Can I have one for the stitches and one for the shot?”

  He laughed out loud, a warm, rich sound that put her at ease. “Some things never change.” While he worked he kept her talking. “Did you know my dad added that to your chart?”

  “The part about not liking shots?”

  He didn’t look up from what he was doing as he answered. “No, the fact that you always bargained for two cherry suckers if you thought you could get an extra one out of him.”

  “How is your dad?” She had always liked Dr. and Mrs. Gannon and missed them since they had retired to Virginia.

  “Playing golf three times a week and bridge the other two.”

  “Your mother sent the nicest card for my birthday,” Mrs. Winter told the doctor.

  Before Meg could brace herself, the doctor had finished and had given her the shot. “Hey, not fair. I wasn’t ready.”

  Instead of answering her, the doctor handed her the promised lollipops. “Don’t use that hand for a day or two and don’t get it wet.”

  “But I—”

  “I want to take another look at it to make sure it’s healing properly.”

  Meg looked down at her gauze-wrapped hand. “How am I going to work today?”

  “Let me think.” His voice was grave as he considered her options. “You aren’t if it involves using that hand. Now, don’t forget to have some orange juice with lunch; it’ll help with your blood sugar.”

  “But, Doc—”

  He waved her away. “No buts or I’m calling your dad.”

 
“Man, you sound just like your father.”

  “Thank you.” His smile told her just how much he appreciated the comment.

  “I didn’t mean that the way you took it,” she grumbled, hating the way she sounded.

  “I’ll overlook the fact that you’re acting like you did when Sheriff Wallace rescued you from the crow’s nest,” Doc Gannon told her.

  “If you hadn’t dared me to climb in the first place—” Meg began only to be interrupted.

  “Ah, the melodious sound of my big sister griping because she can’t stand needles.”

  Meg frowned as her youngest sister walked into the examining room. “What are you doing here?”

  Grace shrugged. “Mrs. Winter thought one of us should know, and since you told her not to call Pop, she called me.”

  Meg turned to glare at Mrs. Winter, but the old woman was already frowning at Meg. “You should be glad there are people who love you and are worried about your welfare, young lady.”

  “I’m hardly a young lady,” she griped. “I’m nearly thirty.”

  “Half my age,” Mrs. Winter reminded her. “Now be a good girl and don’t complain. I’ll follow you two back to the shop and drop off the truck. Grace can drop you off so you can answer phones while she drives me back to my house.”

  “Don’t I get a vote?” Meg protested.

  “No!” The three of them were staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had.

  “Who’s going to finish my jobs for the day?”

  “I’m sure Pop can handle it.”

  “But then you’ll have to tell him what happened.”

  “Do you think he doesn’t already know?”

  Meg groaned. “He’ll lecture me about not paying attention.”

  Grace hooked her arm through Meg on one side while Mrs. Winter did the same on the other. “You should be used to it by now, Sis.”

  She was, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “Perfect.” As they were walking through the door, she tugged on them to stop. “I’m sorry to be such a lousy patient, Doc.”

  Doc Gannon rolled his eyes heavenward. “You’re my most difficult patient.”

  She laughed. “Seriously, thanks, Jack.”

  He smiled at her. “You’re welcome, Meg. Now go rest that hand.”

  “Sure thing, Doc.”

  They pulled around to the back of the shop and she hopped out; she didn’t want either of them thinking she needed help. She was stronger than that. “I promise to hold the fort down, Gracie.”

  Her sister sighed. “Just remember to be polite when you answer the phone.”

  “I’m always polite.”

  The sound of her sister’s laughter followed her into the building.

  Sitting down behind the desk felt odd; she hadn’t done that since the time she’d nearly taken a header off the water tower. It had been a punishment then to answer the phones and not go out on calls with her father. Grumbling, she flipped through the computer screens to see what Grace had been working on.

  There were a few spreadsheets open; she pulled up the one with today’s date on it and scrolled through the jobs to see what her sister Caitlin was up to, but she didn’t have to bother because two minutes later the phone was ringing.

  “Mulcahy’s, Meg speaking.”

  “How many stitches?”

  Meg frowned at the sound of her other sister’s voice and decided to pretend she had no idea who was calling. “You have reached Mulcahy’s, where no job is too small. This is Megan; may I help you?”

  “Damn it, Meg,” her sister said. “It’s me, Cait. Now start talking.”

  She chuckled. “Hey, no need to get grumpy. You weren’t the one who had to get two shots and stitches.”

  “Jeez, why two shots?”

  “One to numb my hand and one in case there was rust in the pipe I hit my hand on.”

  “I heard Doc Gannon saw bone and you got twenty stitches.”

  Meg scrolled down the screen. “How did you hear that if you’re supposed to be putting that addition on for the Millers?”

  “Good news travels fast, and I needed a break.”

  One of the other phone lines was lit up. “Hey, Cait, hang on. The other line’s ringing.”

  “Mulcahy’s, Meg speaking.”

  “Megan dear, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  She smiled, recognizing Miss Trudi’s voice. “I’m fine, just a little cut. I’ll be good as new in no time.”

  “Young Doctor Gannon does a wonderful job. So much like his father.”

  The other phone line was still blinking; her sister hadn’t hung up on her yet. “I have someone on the other line, Miss Trudi, thank you for calling.”

  “Just be sure to do what the doctor told you to.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Meg answered before disconnecting and pushing the other button. “Cait, you still there?”

  “Yeah, who was it: Mrs. Winter, Honey B., or Miss Trudi?”

  “Miss Trudi. I might have to actually do what the doc says for the next day or so.”

  “Must have been a deep gash if you had stitches and a tetanus shot.”

  “Deep enough.”

  “Did you pass out?”

  “Damn, the other line’s blinking again. Talk to you later, Sis. Thanks for checking up on me.”

  Her sister was still grumbling when she disconnected and picked up the incoming call. “Mulcahy’s, Meg—”

  “I just had a call from Grace.”

  Meg sighed. “Hi, Pop.”

  “I’m over at Mrs. Winter’s house now under the sink.”

  “I don’t think it’s the joint that I sweat a few years ago that’s leaking,” Meg told him, “but I didn’t have a chance to spend much time looking.”

  “How’s the hand?”

  “Hurts.”

  “Did you take anything for it yet?”

  “I didn’t need to before you called. I guess the first shot’s wearing off. I swear I can feel where he stitched the skin back together.”

  Her father commiserated with her. “Hate shots, hate needles. Take some of that extra-strength pain reliever. Second drawer down on the left-hand side of my desk.”

  “Thanks, Pop. The other line’s ringing; can I put you on hold?”

  “Gotta go find the leak. Put the other call on speaker and get the damned pain reliever.”

  She smiled as she did as her father asked. “Mulcahy’s, Meg speaking.”

  The drawer stuck and she had to yank it to get it open.

  “Meg, it’s me, Honey B.”

  Meg grabbed the bottle and walked over to the water cooler and filled a paper cup. “I’ve got you on speaker. I’m getting some water.”

  “I heard you passed out twice and Mrs. Winter said it took the Doc twenty-five stitches to close the cut!”

  Meg swallowed the capsules and finished the water before answering.

  “Meg, are you still there? Should I come over?”

  She snickered. “Drinking here. No worries, Honey B. I’m fine, just sore. Hey, the other line’s blinking. Call you later.”

  She sat down before answering the call. An hour later she had had to answer a dozen calls, half of which were her nosy neighbors wanting to know the gory details of how deep the cut was, did she chip the bone, did she crack her head on anything when she passed out… Some of the questions were really imaginative. Especially Mrs. Doyle, who wanted to know if Doc Gannon had really caught Meg in his arms before she fainted.

  “Like I’d ever admit to that even if it happened.” She sipped her second cup of coffee, relieved that the phones were quiet for the moment.

  Her cell phone buzzed. She checked the message and laughed. Don’t just ans
wer the phones, there’s filing.

  “Only you, Gracie.” Just to be difficult, she texted back, Hand hurts, don’t feel like it.

  Two seconds later, her phone buzzed again. Pain relievers in Dad’s desk… be back in twenty.

  Meg rarely got in a snit over something one of her sisters said, but she decided this was worth getting annoyed over. She’d just had her hand stitched back together and had to put up with two needles, damn it. Besides, her sister had probably stopped to have coffee with Peggy and Katie, to help circulate the news. It had been a slow couple of days in Apple Grove, and Grace never could keep her mouth shut for long.

  Grateful for the break, she switched to her father’s desk and relaxed in his comfy chair, swiveling around so she could look out the front window. She could work later; her hand really was starting to ache again. Since it was too early to take anything for the pain, she finished her coffee and closed her eyes.

  She heard the door and figured it was Grace coming back, so she didn’t turn around.

  “’Bout time you showed up, Sis. Oh, and for your information, I didn’t do the filing. My hand hurts.”

  “Meg.”

  Dan’s deep voice flowed over her stiff shoulders like warm syrup on a stack of hotcakes. She swung the chair around and was surprised to see the anxious look on his face.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at the garden center helping your aunt?”

  He shook his head. “I told Aunt Trudi and the guys that I was running over here to see if you were all right first. They all told me to go for it. Besides, the hay delivery got there and the guys were really a big help setting things up the way my aunt wanted it.”

  She started to rise, and he pulled her to her feet and stared down at her gauze-wrapped hand.

  “Did the wrench slip or your hand?”

  “Don’t you want to know how many stitches?”

  He shook his head and pulled her close. “When I heard you’d been hurt, I didn’t know if you’d fallen off a ladder or through somebody’s ancient barn roof.”

  She sighed. “Neither.”

  “Then I heard from my aunt that you’d cut your hand badly. I had stitches a couple of years ago—I can tell you the particulars later—but I know how hard it is to get things done with one hand. And I started thinking about how we both want to spend more time together and came up with a great idea—how about if you come home with me and I’ll take care of you for a few days?”