by Karen Welch
On her knees in an instant, she watched breathlessly for further movement. Very slowly, as if coming to life, his right hand moved under the layers of quilts. Throwing back the cover, she stared, fascinated, as his fingers slid across his chest in search of the source of his pain. He was frowning, his jaw clenched.
Racing to the kitchen, she grabbed the kettle and a clean dish towel. By the time she returned, he had begun to probe the injured shoulder, his face contorted with the effort. Wetting a corner of the towel, she touched it to his lips. “Stani, you're all right. You've been in an accident, but you're going to be all right. Don't try to move, but please open your eyes if you can hear me.” She felt tears welling and knew she was going to cry, no matter what he did next. Touching the towel to his lips again, she watched his face twist as if in surrender and relax. “Stani, please stay with me!” Her plea was punctuated by a sob she couldn't hold back.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, surprisingly dark, brown eyes; she was momentarily stunned by the depth of their pained focus. For just an instant they seemed to stare directly into hers. Then again his lids drooped and he frowned. She touched his face and realized he was very warm. Fever? Or just the warmth of sleep? She laid her hand on his chest. Warm, but not feverish, she decided.
Gently grasping his hand to move it back to his side, she was surprised when he resisted. As if intentionally, his long fingers wove into hers. It wasn't much, but it was enough to convince her that he knew she was there. She dissolved into tears, great sobs of relief echoing in the cold silence. She had worked so hard, been so determined to get him to safety and keep him alive. Now the touch of his fingers on hers brought every emotion crashing to the surface and her self-control was shattered. Dropping her head on his chest, she cried as she had not done in years.
The hand she still held in hers pulled free. Slowly, but very deliberately, it found its way to her hair, resting there while she wept. She was barely aware of the gentle pressure as his fingers slid down to her neck and came at last to curve around her cheek. Ashamed of herself, and struggling for breath, she raised her head. His palm remained on her cheek for an instant, sliding away in what felt very much like a caress. His eyes were closed, but there was a look of alertness, as if he were listening.
“Stani, you can hear me, can't you?” But after another moment, he seemed to drift off to sleep. His breathing was deeper now, his color a little more normal. She told herself he needed time to recover from hours of wandering in the cold; that maybe his injuries were not so serious after all. He had responded to her voice, taken notice of his surroundings. He had reacted to her ridiculous breakdown. Embarrassed as she was, she had to admit she felt much better able now to face the coming hours. “Thank you, Stani.” Tucking the covers back around him, she touched his hair with the thought that he really did have the most beautiful hair.
She stirred the fire, adding fuel. Turning the lamp low, to conserve what oil remained, she curled on the couch. Dawn was still hours away. Who could say what morning might bring? She would have to get some rest, so that she could care for Stani tomorrow until help came. Lying on her side, where she could see him clearly, she thought about those few moments and realized that on some level they had entered into a relationship of sorts. No matter that they would never meet again once he was taken from here to be cared for by his own family, they would always share these hours. Though she doubted he would remember much about them, she would certainly never forget.
This would not be a story to share, but something she would keep close. She had been given the opportunity to save a life, an extraordinary life. She had come home to find herself, and indeed had done just that. But in comparison to the past few hours, that somehow seemed trivial, even selfish. It was as if, by having this terrifying emergency thrust into the midst of her joyous homecoming, she had been shown things about herself, things she would never otherwise have seen. There was something to be learned from everything in life, she'd been taught, both the bitter and the sweet. This encounter with Stani Moss, she suspected, might well contain a little of both.
Glancing over at his face, she had to smile. He seemed to be sleeping so naturally now, she half expected to hear an occasional snore. Drifting to sleep to the rhythm of his breathing, she could still see those dark eyes gazing up at her, and feel the soft touch of his palm against her cheek. It would be a very long time before that image faded, she was sure.
Emily woke at daybreak. Clouds still hung in the sky, but the snow had stopped falling. Stani had not moved. He still slept, but a little frown creased his face. She knelt beside him, carefully touching his cheek, and was relieved to feel that his skin was still cool. If he continued to sleep, it would be better for him, she knew. There would be no way to relieve the pain of that shoulder if he woke. She quietly tended the fire and extinguished the lamp and the remaining candles.
Rummaging in her duffel bag, she took out a flannel shirt and a heavy dark brown sweater. She couldn't go around all day in her bathrobe, she told herself. Today Jack would come and she wanted to be prepared. She dressed, brushed her hair and silently went to the kitchen for bread and jam.
Sitting by the fire as she ate, she found she couldn't take her eyes from his face, afraid to miss the blink of an eye or even a grimace of pain. She remembered the thought she'd had yesterday, as she struggled to pull him across the yard. He was hers now, to keep alive. She did feel a kinship with him and a need to protect him. But she couldn't let that feeling leave this room she told herself firmly. Once they were found and he was taken to a hospital, she would have to let go of him. In the real world of their respective lives, there was no relationship. She was a girl alone, just starting to make her way to an uncertain future. He had already achieved fame and success in a world far removed from this valley farmhouse. Assuming he was able to return to his career, she would have the gratification of knowing she had played a part in making that possible. But he need never know anything about her or what had brought her here in the first place.
She decided in that moment that she didn't want anyone to know what had happened here. Always reserved, if not precisely shy, she was sure she did not want to face questions or have to tell this story to strangers. Anonymous; she wanted to remain anonymous, out of sight. Someday, Stani Moss, world famous violinist, might make a great comeback from this accident; but the girl who had dragged him out of the storm need never be named.
“Okay, Stani? Do we have a deal?” she whispered. Sweeping crumbs from her sweater, she let out a resolute sigh. That settled, now all she had to do was wait for Jack, or someone, to find them.
Thankfully, there was work to be done. The supply of firewood on the porch had dwindled to a few sticks. She would have to bring in more from the shed. The trouble was she’d lost her shoes. And they were the only pair she'd brought with her. She looked around the room, searching for inspiration. It was then that she spotted the boots, cast off in her frenzy and now lying near the hearth. Why not? They might be a little big for her, but they were certainly better than nothing. Stani would not be needing them this morning, she was sure.
With her feet in the once-fine boots and bundled in coat and gloves, she took the snow shovel and dug her way to the woodshed at the side of the porch. Several trips back and forth and she was satisfied that she could keep them warm for the next few hours. The cold air had made her hungry again, and she fixed a sandwich to eat while she warmed herself, sitting at Stani's feet on the floor. She would be able to eat, she decided, in the midst of even the worst disasters.
Chapter Eight
They never went to bed that night. Jana wanted to drive to Washington. It was unthinkable that they would sit here waiting. They should be doing something, searching, asking questions. She tried to pray, to find assurance that just as God had given Stani his extraordinary talent, he would not allow him to come to harm. A loving God would watch over him, protect him, and permit him a long life in which to share his gift. In answer to her prayers, she felt
a little calmer, comforted by her once-strong faith in the God she had all but forgotten at times.
For Milo, she was more than a little afraid. Milo kept his emotions so rigidly in check, never letting anyone, not even herself, see that he was anxious or worried. Even early in their marriage, when they had struggled to survive on the little she earned teaching and performing, Milo had never let her see anything but his vision for the future, always looking ahead to a better life if only they worked hard. After Stani came along, Milo had gained more and more confidence. As each carefully measured step brought this amazing child closer to a career on the concert stage, Jana watched her husband transformed from the struggling immigrant student she had first fallen in love with to a powerful and highly respected figure in the most elite circles of classical music. He was welcomed into the offices of the great music directors, embraced by world-famous conductors, and regarded as a force in the movement to bring classical performance to a broader audience.
Yet tonight, as they waited for some word of Stani's whereabouts, Milo sat at his desk, head in hands, unkempt and brooding. He seemed to be searching inside himself for some comfort, some hope; a logical explanation for this unexpected turn in their lives. He had always been able to make things happen, to devise and implement a plan, meeting with success at every calculated turn. Now he had lost control, without means to bring these events into line with logic.
Jana feared that if indeed the unspeakable had occurred, if Stani had come to some harm, Milo would not be able to deal with the consequences. He believed himself responsible for whatever had followed his conversation with Stani, blamed himself for having been too harsh. She prayed again, that even now, Milo would turn to God for strength. Though he had long ago abandoned the religion of his parents, surely he had not also abandoned God? They never spoke of it. Each had too much respect for the other to intrude on something so private. But now Jana worried that he might feel he had been too long away from God to accept any comfort.
Because she could think of nothing to say, she busied herself in the kitchen. Preparing a tray of coffee and toast, she carried it into the living room. Milo remained slumped over his desk, staring out at the dull gray sky. Dawn had come. It was past seven on the morning before Christmas Eve. Jana switched on the television, and keeping the volume low, tuned to the morning news show. The broadcast was focused on the prospects for a white Christmas in New York. It seemed that during the night, the entire Eastern seaboard had been blanketed by a sudden storm. In areas south of Washington, widespread power outages and road closures had severely hampered holiday travel.
Jana gasped. “That's it! Oh, Milo, that has to be it!”
He looked up with glazed eyes. “What?”
“The storm. They must have been trapped somewhere by the storm. With the phone lines down, they wouldn't be able to call either. They're probably bundled into some hotel, waiting out the storm.”
The more she talked, the more convinced she became. Crossing the room, she stood behind him, gently kneading his shoulders. “As soon as he can, I'm sure Stani will call us. He must be frantic, knowing how worried we must be. Poor Stani, you know how he hates to cause any bother.”
Milo considered the idea, trying to rally his thoughts. If they had gone somewhere, maybe the mountains to the west of DC, with the romantic notion of a country inn or mountain lodge, they might indeed have been trapped by the fast-moving storm. It would have been foolish to set out in such conditions. Stani was not an experienced driver. It would have been sensible to stay put until the roads were cleared. Yes, he finally agreed, in the absence of any other explanation, this at least offered the prospect of Stani's safe return.
They decided to prepare to travel to Washington as soon as they had heard from Stani. They would attend the concerts and spend Christmas there with him. During the morning, they showered and Jana repacked the bags they had brought back from Aspen. All they needed now was a call from Stani, full of apologies, and this nightmare would be behind them.
Chapter Nine
Gradually the clouds lifted, and, as is often the case after a violent storm, the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky. Emily's spirits began to lift, as melting snow dripped from the roof and songbirds took to the air in search of their breakfast. Her only hope now was that someone out searching would see the smoke from her chimney. Jack would most certainly come to investigate that.
She stayed on the floor near Stani, watching as he continued in what appeared to be a deep, peaceful sleep. He never stirred, and the frown of pain had not crossed his face for a very long time now. His breathing was regular and his pulse was strong. His condition seemed stable, she assured herself. Touching his cheek, which was beginning to show a shadow of rusty beard, she wondered again what he would look like, awake and smiling. He was as familiar to her now as any old friend would be. After watching him for so many hours, his seemed to be the face of someone she had always known, and most definitely someone she would never forget.
Late in the morning, her waiting was finally rewarded by the appearance of the big brown sheriff's cruiser approaching the gate. In her excitement, she flung open the front door and ran out onto the porch, waving her arms and calling out to the tall man wading toward her through the snow.
Jack looked none too happy to see her. His first words were hardly welcoming. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Never mind that now!” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him through the front door.
His gaze went immediately to Stani, and he stopped in his tracks, pulling back on her hand. And then Jack did something he’d never done before. His eyes wide with horror and his face actually turning red, he shouted at her. “What in the name of all that’s holy is going on up here?”
She raised her own voice, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. “Stani Moss! You're searching for him, right? The car accident on the Charlotte Springs road?” Jack was supposed to know all this, not stand there asking questions!
They stood there for a long moment, staring at each other, and then Jack took a deep breath, laying his hands gently on her shoulders. “Okay, slow down. Tell me what's happened here. Slowly!”
She tried to calm herself. “Aren't you searching for someone who wrecked a car?”
“No. We found them yesterday. They're both dead. Are you trying to tell me this guy was in that car?” As his expression changed from questioning to incredulous, she urged him on, nodding her head violently.
“Yes! He walked up the hill into the back yard and collapsed. I thought he was dead! He's badly hurt, his head and his shoulder, at least. I thought you'd be searching. . .oh, Jack, just call for help, please! Then I'll explain it to you. He needs to get to a hospital! Please!”
“All right, Em. I'll be right back.” Giving her shoulders a little squeeze, he turned, heading back out the door. “What did you say his name is?”
“Stani Moss.”
He stopped, giving her a keen look over his shoulder. “How do you know who he is?”
Emily pointed to the wallet and the recording, still on the table. “He's a musician, a famous one. Mother had one of his records.”
Jack picked up first one and then the other, rifling the contents of the wallet and studying the photograph on the jacket. “I'll see if anyone's looking for him.”
After calling for the ambulance, Jack radioed the Virginia Highway Patrol, relaying the information from the New York driver’s license he’d slipped into his pocket. As he trudged back to the house, he primed himself to begin the interrogation. How Emily had ended up in this situation, he couldn’t imagine, but he had every intention of getting to the bottom of things quickly.
At the open doorway, he paused. Emily was talking, her voice low but not so low that he couldn’t hear what she was saying to the man on the floor. “It won't be long now. The ambulance will take you to the hospital at the University. It's a really good hospital. They'll take the best care of you there. I know there's someone out there f
rantic to hear what’s happened to you, and they're going to be so thankful to have you back.” Bending over him and laying a hand on his hair, she said softly, “God be with you, Stani.”
Jack stood silently, captivated by the scene. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting the two of them in a glowing circle. Emily was gazing down at the man beside her with what could only be called tenderness. It struck him suddenly that she had grown up. She was a beautiful young woman now, not just the lovely girl he'd sent off to Williamsburg. She turned to meet his gaze and for a fleeting instant, he saw her mother looking up at him, her wise gray eyes reflecting the same remarkable spirit. What had happened here he might never know; but if he knew anything about Emily, it had been intense. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, moving a cautious step closer, all thought of interrogation vanished.
“I've called for an ambulance, but it’ll take a while on these roads. And I put out a bulletin, in case anyone's looking for him. Is there anything I can do for him, or for you, in the meantime? Can you tell me something about his injuries, Em?”
Without leaving her place on the floor, she described the ugly gash on his scalp, the probability that he had lost a considerable amount of blood, and what seemed to be a badly separated shoulder. “He must have been walking around out there for a long time. He was half frozen. I can only imagine how much pain he must have been in. He's been unconscious most of the time, but I think he's sleeping now. At least he doesn't seem to be too uncomfortable.” She glanced down as if to reassure herself of the fact. “Surely his family's looking for him. Did you say there were two other people in the car?”