Healing the Boss’s Heart

by Valerie Hansen

  “I thought you said only adults were unaccounted for,” Maya remarked, trotting to keep pace with the men. “Who do you think this little girl is? Does she look familiar?”

  Michael glanced at the child’s scratched, dingy face as he gently stroked her hair. “No. I don’t place her. We have lots of toddlers in our congregation but this one is a stranger to me.”

  “Me, too,” Maya said. “I haven’t seen any little girls like her in Layla’s preschool or day care, either. I suppose she could have been visiting the area with some tourists. It is summer and we did find her near the river.”

  “First things first,” Greg said flatly. “We don’t need to know her name in order to get treatment for her. Not in an emergency situation like this.” He led the way into the open-sided tent and went straight to a doctor clad in a formerly white coat that had begun to look a lot like the spotted, torn clothing everyone else was wearing.

  “She seems okay to us,” Greg told the middle-aged man, “but we have no idea how she got so far out of town or who her parents are.”

  The doctor put his stethoscope to the child’s chest and listened while Greg continued to cradle her. “Sounds okay. I don’t want to touch her eyes without sterile solution to flush them out. Best thing to do is have her transported to the hospital.”

  As he spoke he was feeling the toddler’s arms and legs and flexing the joints. “No pain in her limbs and just one little bump on her head. I’d say she’s fine, considering. Still, the hospital is the right place for her.” He glanced toward the back of the tent. “Unfortunately, we don’t have an ambulance available.”

  “Would it be all right if I carried her over?” Greg asked.

  The doctor nodded. “I don’t see why not. You got her this far. The sooner we put her into a controlled medical environment, the better.”

  Greg looked to Maya. “Are you coming or do you want to stay here with your daughter?”

  “Layla’s in good hands. I’ll go with you. You might need me.”

  He wasn’t about to argue. Yes, he could care for the abandoned child himself, yet it was somehow comforting to have Maya by his side. Although that was an unusual response for him, he wasn’t too surprised by it. They had all been through a terrible trauma and everyone’s emotions were bound to be on edge. Even his.

  He shouldered through the crowd and started off toward the local hospital, taking extra care to watch his step so he wouldn’t trip and fall while carrying the little girl.

  “Funny. I’m kind of glad there was no ambulance,” he said, once he and Maya were in the clear. “It seems wrong to turn her over to strangers when no one even knows who she is.”

  “I’m sure they’ll find out. If not tonight, then soon. She must have parents nearby.” Her voice became a whisper as she added, “I just hope and pray they survived.”

  All Greg could say was, “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Leaving their foundling at the chaotic hospital was harder for both of them than Maya had thought it would be. She almost wept as a nurse accepted the child, made a few notes on a chart, then hurried away with her, headed for the pediatric ward.

  Gregory thrust his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Well, mission accomplished. What now?”

  “I suppose we should go back to the church. I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch and you probably haven’t, either, have you?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have to eat. We’re going to need all the energy we can get in the next few days.” Looking into his eyes she saw more than intelligence; she saw empathy. And pathos. They might have laughed together over trifles mere hours before, but that didn’t mean he didn’t comprehend the weight of what others were going through.

  “All right,” he finally said. “We’ll go eat. I just hope we don’t run into Tommy and have to tell him we came back without his dog.”

  “I don’t suppose he’d be the least bit impressed to hear that we rescued a child instead.”

  “I seriously doubt it. He told me that mutt was his only friend.”

  “I was afraid of that. What’re we going to do?”

  “Hope the dog finds its way home, I guess.”

  Little else was said as they made their way back to the busy church grounds. Gregory held the door for Maya and followed her into the noisy, crowded fellowship hall.

  She was astounded by the number of survivors gathered there—and more were arriving by the minute, far more than they’d seen over by the new town hall. These folks were mostly women and children, Maya noted. That figured. Lots of men were probably still working, still digging, still part of the initial efforts to restore order.

  “I’m going to grab a sandwich and coffee and head out again,” Gregory said. “No sense just sitting here when I can make myself useful.”

  “Okay. The food’s over there and you can wash your hands in the kitchen.”

  She led the way to the dwindling stack of sandwiches and handed him a paper plate after he’d dried his hands. “I feel the same way about not wanting to stand around, but I have no idea what else I can do.”

  “Probably nothing tonight,” he said as he took several half sandwiches and a handful of chips. “By tomorrow I’m sure things will be better organized. They might even have the power restored so they can pump enough water to reach the rest of the town.” He looked around. “Are you going to sleep here or go back to the apartment?”

  “These people will need what little bedding the church has collected. As soon as I’m sure there’s nothing more I can do to help, I’ll leave.”

  “Okay. When you get to the apartments, let yourself into mine and take whatever you need. It’s not locked. There are extra pillows and blankets in the hall closet. You can pull the loose cushions off the sofa and take them to your place. I’ll help you move your bedroom furniture tomorrow.”

  “Really, there’s no need for all that.”

  He was adamant. “Yes, there is. There’s not a lot I can actually do, no matter how much I want to. Let me help you and Layla. Please? It’ll make me feel much better.”

  Smiling, she nodded in assent. “All right. Since you put it that way…”

  Apparently satisfied, he turned and walked away. Maya watched him go, thanking the Lord that Gregory Garrison had decided to hire her, considering their families’ past differences.

  Reverend Michael would surely say that the Lord worked in mysterious ways if she told him her story, but Maya didn’t need anyone to reaffirm that. Her boss had stopped her from risking her life when she had panicked, had kept her safe from the worst of the storm and had provided a place for her and her daughter to live in its aftermath. There was no more to say.

  She smiled to herself. Whether Gregory Garrison liked the idea or not, God was working through him to help the helpless and comfort the fatherless, just as scripture taught.

  Someday soon, she vowed, her smile becoming a wide grin, she was going to tell him exactly that.

  And in the meantime, she had to locate Tommy and explain to him that they hadn’t found Charlie. It was not going to be easy.

  Maya had assumed she’d have to leave the church grounds and go to the Otis house to find Tommy, but when she walked outside she was relieved to spot the boy nearby. He was engaged in earnest conversation with an elderly woman who was apparently preparing to rescue displaced pets.

  “You gotta find Charlie,” Tommy explained to the gray-haired woman. He held out his hand parallel to the ground. “He’s this big. And he’s black, mostly. Except for a little white.”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” the pet rescuer said. “We haven’t had any dog like that brought in yet. Be patient. It hasn’t been very long. Maybe he’ll show up soon.”

  Whirling, hiding his teary eyes, the boy came face-to-face with Maya. He immediately brightened. “Did you find him? Did ya?”

  The din from workers, survivors and newly arrived heavy equipment made it difficult to hear normal levels of speech. She laid her hand li
ghtly on Tommy’s shoulder and bent over so they could converse without raising their voices before she said, “I’m sorry, honey. We looked really hard.”

  “Sure you did.” His lower lip quivered and stuck out in a pout.

  “We did. Honest. Mr. Garrison is going to keep looking while he helps clean up this mess,” she said. “And I’ll keep my eyes open on my way home.” She straightened. “Shouldn’t you be getting home, too?”

  “It don’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Maya corrected.

  “That’s what I said.”

  She let the misunderstanding go and smiled. “Okay. Are Mr. and Mrs. Otis around here? I’d like to talk to them.”

  His glance darted from side to side, evidently searching the crowd. “You gonna tell on me?”

  “I do think it’s only fair for them to know where you are. They’ll worry about you if you’re missing, just like you worry about Charlie.”

  Her heart nearly broke when the boy said, “Not like me and Charlie. We’re buddies ’cause we wanna be. They let me live at their house ’cause they have to.”

  There was nothing Maya could say in response that she felt he’d comprehend. Tommy was far too young to understand why some kindhearted folks took in needy children like him. Yes, they were paid for their trouble, but no amount of money could get some people to do what Beth and Brandon Otis did so lovingly.

  Maya patted his shoulder. “Tell me where Mr. and Mrs. Otis are?”

  Begrudgingly, the boy pointed to a knot of adults gathered beneath what was left of one of the cottonwoods behind the church. “Over there.”

  “Thanks. You coming?”

  “I guess.”

  Maya likened Tommy’s attitude and bearing to that of someone going to the dentist for treatment of a bad toothache. He dragged his feet but accompanied her just the same. Maybe later she’d get the chance to explain the foster system to him and help him grasp the fact that his temporary parents were caring for him because they wanted to, not out of necessity.

  Right now, tonight, she figured the poor kid had enough on his mind. After all, he was only six years old, his dog was missing and his world had once again been turned upside down. This was not the right time to try to reason with him. Finding Charlie was the most important thing. He truly needed that scruffy old dog.

  As she escorted the boy to rejoin his foster parents, Maya vowed that she would continue to do all she could to bring Charlie home to his young, lonely master. In the back of her mind, however, there seemed little real hope of doing so.

  Chapter Seven

  If Maya hadn’t needed to make her daughter comfortable she wouldn’t have set foot in Gregory Garrison’s apartment. Layla, however, deserved a bed, even if it was makeshift, and at least a pillow. They wouldn’t need other bedding to cover them on such a hot summer night, but blankets and sheets would help pad the sofa cushions so Maya took some of those and a few small towels for her bathroom, too. Thankfully, they had washed up before leaving the church. Their part of town still didn’t have running water, let alone electricity or gas to heat it.

  “I don’t wanna sleep on the floor, I wanna sleep in the boat,” Layla whined as her mother changed into clean shorts and a tank top, then began to make up their pallets side by side near the open window to take advantage of whatever cool breezes happened to stir.

  “Well, you can’t and that’s that.”

  “Pretty please?”

  “No kind of please, pretty or not,” Maya insisted. “It’s bad enough that we’re bothering Mr. Garrison this way without wrecking his things.”

  “I won’t wreck the boat. I’ll be real careful. Honest.”

  “No.”

  “But, Mama…”

  Maya arched her eyebrows and gave her child the sternest look she could muster under the circumstances. It would do her well to remember that Layla still had to be taught manners, no matter how glad Maya was to have her there, alive and well. The urge to weep for joy and gladly give the little girl anything she asked for was so strong she had to continually fight it.

  Although Maya had always pictured herself as a loving mother, she also knew that her daughter needed rules. All children did. That really was a big part of Tommy’s problem. Being passed from one home to another had undoubtedly left the little boy terribly confused. She knew she would have been at his age. It had been hard enough losing her parents as a teenager. Going through that as a small child had to be one of the worst things imaginable.

  Fighting tears of sympathy, Maya helped Layla disrobe, slipped a light cotton gown over her head, then drew her into a tight embrace and held her close. “I’m sorry, honey. Really I am. But I don’t have any other choice. We can’t go home. You saw how awful our house looks. And we need a place to live till we can fix everything. Mr. Garrison was very kind to let us stay here and I don’t want to do anything that will make him change his mind.”

  “Mama, you’re squishing me,” Layla squeaked, wriggling to get free.

  Before Maya could brush away her sparse tears, the girl noticed. “Aw, don’t cry, Mama.” She patted Maya’s hand. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

  Maya swiped at her damp cheeks and forced a smile. “It’s not your fault. I’m just sad because we don’t have a place to live and I can’t take care of you the way I want to.”

  “Then I’ll take care of you,” Layla said enthusiastically. She patted the pillows on their makeshift beds. “Say your prayers like a good girl and go to sleep.”

  Touched, Maya stretched out, closed her eyes, folded her hands for a quick bedtime prayer, then pretended to nap beside the sweet child.

  When she heard Layla’s deep, restful breathing begin, she slipped away and went to the window to take one more look at her formerly lovely town. There were times, like now, when she had so much trouble accepting the recent devastation she just had to see it again to believe it had really happened.

  Below, recently arrived, portable gas generators hummed, and workers continued to toil. Temporary lights, which had been set up in several locations along Main Street, cast eerie shadows on the broken remnants of familiar buildings and sent fingers of pale illumination into the apartment where Maya stood.

  The cloud-filtered moonlight on the park across the street made it look to her like a graveyard for broken, toppled trees. Their black, shadowy branches curled and grasped as if they were the claws of a ferocious, predatory beast, bent on destruction.

  That’s what the tornado had been, Maya concluded with a lump in her throat. It was a monster that had chewed up High Plains and spit out the pieces as it tore across the countryside.

  And she was one of those pieces. She and her family and friends. Late word had come back across the river that the Logan ranch had been hit by a smaller tornado, as she’d feared, but that no one had been injured there. For that she was doubly thankful, although she still wanted to hear the whole story directly from Jesse—to hear his voice again—and the sooner the better.

  Maya closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the frame of the open window. “Dear Jesus. What am I going to do? What are any of us going to do?” she whispered.

  There was no easy answer, nor was there a way to plan for the future, at least not this soon. Later, when all the assessments had been completed and the rubble carted off, they could start to rebuild. But how many citizens would want to stay? she wondered. How many would simply give up and move away?

  That was a good question. One of many that would be answered in the coming days and weeks. High Plains was long past its prime, as were many old towns that had been bypassed by the federal highway system. Yet people had held on and had managed to establish a productive, well-balanced community that served both itself and the outlying homes and ranches.

  Other than a few trips to visit her premature nieces in the hospital, there hadn’t been many reasons for Maya to travel even as far as Manhattan recently. Except for the larger hospital and some department stores th
at the bigger city offered, everything she needed was either available in High Plains or could be ordered. Plus, Manhattan was a bustling college town and she hated to fight all the traffic.

  Looking below, she contrasted the chaotic street with its normal peace and quiet. More than structures were gone. The ambience of her beloved town had been erased as well. She was going to miss that even more than the picturesque buildings themselves.

  Greg labored with the men till he was so spent he could barely stand. Thankfully, other crews and equipment kept arriving from outlying areas, some from as far away as Wichita and Topeka, so the local workers could start to slack off a bit.

  The police had their hands full sorting legitimate relief arrivals from would-be profiteers and looters. Passing vehicles now bore official-looking entry permits taped to their windshields.

  And then there were the news vans. If one more reporter stuck a microphone in his face and asked him how he felt to have had his home town practically leveled, he was not going to be responsible for his response. Even Michael was starting to sound testy and that almost never happened.

  Yawning, Greg decided to head home for a short time. He knew all he needed was a nap, not a whole night’s sleep, and he’d be ready to go again.

  He grabbed a couple extra bottles of cold drinking water in case Maya had forgotten to take any, then headed for the Garrison building.

  Main Street was in better shape than it had been, he noted, but still not clean enough to make driving safe. Since it was paved with brick it would probably have to be swept by hand to prevent the heavy equipment from breaking it up. That would definitely take a lot longer than using skip loaders and dump trucks would have.

  In passing, it looked to Greg as if Grocery Town was salvageable and would probably be back in business soon, though its front windows were blown out. He wasn’t so sure about the General Store next to the grocery or the pie shop that sat between the Garrison Building and the bank. The fact that both those larger edifices had survived so well while Elmira’s little bakery and diner had been devastated amazed him. He would have thought, given the shelter of the other buildings, the smaller one would have been well protected.