Ready long
before Jack's car pulled through the gate, Emily ran out to meet him.
As soon as she slammed the car door against
the bitterly cold wind, he said, “I have some news about your patient.”
“So do I.
You go first.”
“He was taken
by private ambulance to New York yesterday afternoon.
His family must have arranged it as soon as
they got word he'd been found.”
“I heard it on
the radio.
He was supposed to have
performed in DC tonight.
I guess that's
the last we'll hear, now that he's gone.”
Her voice trembled in spite of her efforts at control.
“You okay with
that?”
“Sure, as long
as he's being taken care of.
That's all
that matters,” she said bravely, wishing she could manage to sound more
convincing.
“It's only
natural that you'd be worried about him, Em.
Give yourself some time, okay?”
For most of the
fifteen-minute drive, they rode in silence, Emily staring out the window as
they turned off the highway and the car slowed, making its way along the quiet
streets into town.
The lights of the
church were coming into view.
Taking a
deep breath, she turned her attention to the sight of people making their way
to the open door, holding onto one another as they navigated the slippery
stairs, laughing and talking.
Calls of
“Merry Christmas” met her ears as she stepped out into the cold night air.
Taking Jack's arm, she took her place in the
procession, aware of a growing tingle of excitement as they climbed the
steps.
This was
her
church; she
had been baptized here, attended worship every Sunday with her parents.
Her mother had served as church organist and
her father had taught a Sunday School class for as long as she could
remember.
She loved the cool interior of
the little stone church, the rich sound of the pipe organ and the comfort of
friends and neighbors in nearby pews.
The church was like a second home, always welcoming and always the same.
In the narthex,
the smell of pine boughs and the glow of candlelight wrapped around her,
drawing her in.
The sanctuary was
already crowded.
Local families swelled
with out-of-town guests, sleepy children in the arms of proud grandparents,
several young men in uniform, their mothers or sweethearts clinging to their
arms, all gathered in anticipation of the hour to come.
From her seat next to Jack, she searched the
familiar faces.
Down front, Sara
McConnell sat between sons Peter and James.
Peter had let his hair grow longer, now that he was at college, and the
blonde mane was very becoming.
He was
even better looking than the last time Emily had seen him, which must have been
almost two years ago.
James, home on
leave from Southeast Asia, was in uniform.
Thin and deeply tanned, he looked older, and there was a tense, haggard
expression on his face as he gazed down at his mother.
They had been
close friends; Peter and Emily the same age and James four years older, they
had played together as children.
She had
even dated Peter briefly during their sophomore year, ending the relationship
with an uneasy truce after some awkward attempts at romance.
She smiled as she recalled telling a
red-faced Peter that he could keep his sweaty hands to himself if
that
was all he was interested in.
But they
had put that aside during their senior year, when she'd been struggling to
adjust to life alone and James had been preparing to go overseas.
The three of them had supported each other,
finding comfort in the fact that they were each moving into a future filled
with uncertainty.
Slipping closer
to Jack, she looked around in amazement.
This gathering looked like every other Christmas Eve service she'd
attended through the years.
The same
smiling faces, some looking a bit frail now with age; the same murmur of
voices, using every moment to visit before the first notes sounded from the
organ.
There were smiles of surprised
recognition, and she knew the news of her presence would spread through the
congregation by the end of the service.
Behind her, a
man and woman were deep in soft-spoken conversation, commenting on the
artificial trees with their tiny electric candles that stood grouped behind the
crèche figures at the front of the church.
The man was saying what a pity about those cedar trees.
His wife whispered, “You did your best.”
“But it's still
a shame not to have real trees.
I just
couldn't get to 'em before the ice came.
Guess they're still stacked up on the side of the road by the springs.
Pity, wasting all those trees.”
The woman shushed him softly.
Emily gasped at
the vision of a black clad figure, sailing through the darkness and coming to
rest on a nest of soft cedar branches.
She looked at Jack's profile, but he seemed not to have heard.
Could that have been what happened?
If the trees intended to decorate the church
had indeed cushioned his fall, how could anyone deny that Stani had been saved
by an act of God?
The organ came
to life, and she saw Pastor Mike step to the pulpit, raising his hands for
silence.
Over the soft music, Emily
listened to his warm, strong voice as he called the people to worship.
“This is the
night of our savior's birth.
Let us open
our hearts in welcome as we come together to worship God, the Father, Son and
Holy Spirit on this most miraculous of nights.”
During the ride
home, Emily told Jack what she had overheard.
Skeptical at first, he agreed that certainly something had broken
Stani's flight from the car.
“He had to
have been thrown clear before the car rolled and hit the tree.
I've seen a lot of accidents, Em, but this
was one for the books.
And since there
were no witnesses, unless he remembers what happened, we'll never know for
sure.”
She decided she
would accept her own theory until someone could prove otherwise.
It was comforting to think that a divine hand
had been there to save him.
She would
choose to believe that God had a plan for Stani Moss.
Believing that made giving him up so much
less painful.
Chapter Fourteen
Milo realized immediately
following the surgery on Christmas Eve that he and Jana would never be able to
provide all that Stani would need in the weeks and months ahead.
Stani's doctor had taken Milo aside, while
Jana kept her bedside vigil, and talked frankly of what they might expect
during his recovery.
Obviously, the
shoulder injury was of primary concern, given Stani's profession.
Once it had sufficiently healed from the
surgery, there would be weeks, possibly months, of rehabilitation.
Not only had the joint been separated and the
collarbone fractured; but the arm had been severely twisted, wrenched from the
shoulder; and the resulting damage to soft tissue, muscles and tendons, as well
as nerves, would need time to heal.
Nerves
could take as long as eighteen months, he said.
So they could not expect to see immediate results but rather slow
recovery of strength and motor function over time.
Refusing to consider anything less than full
recovery, Milo had not asked questions about the possibility of permanent damage.
Going on to
describe the head injuries, the doctor explained that X-rays showed Stani had
suffered multiple blows to the front and back of his head, as well as the wound
above his ear.
Fortunately, there was no
sign of skull fracture or bleeding in the brain.
Concussion took time, but usually healed
without long-term effects.
It would not
be surprising for Stani to experience some difficulty with balance at first,
and headaches might persist for an extended period.
The laceration, while certainly responsible
for a significant loss of blood, was superficial.
There was
another area for concern, one which might not be immediately evident, the
doctor went on—the emotional and psychological impact.
First, Stani had survived an accident where
others involved had died.
Such survivors
often experienced depression, even guilt; Stani might well need help coping for
a time.
Secondly—and here the doctor
acknowledged that Milo must be aware of this possibility already—was the effect
of losing the ability to play the violin, even for a short time.
For someone like Stani, whose life centered
on his extraordinary talent, the fear of no longer performing could be
devastating.
He urged Milo to be as
encouraging as possible, without offering any guarantees for the future.
It would require patience and hard work
before they could be certain what the outcome might be.
Everyone around Stani should be aware of the
need for support and encouragement during the lengthy recovery.
Milo knew that
Jana would not leave Stani's bedside unless she felt sure he was being cared
for by equally loving hands.
She would
need someone else, someone she trusted, to relieve her from time to time.
Milo himself needed someone to gather
information and help protect Stani's privacy during his recovery.
He would prefer to have someone who already
knew Stani and understood the nature of his talent and the demands of his
career, rather than bringing in a stranger just now.
The day after
Christmas, Milo received a telegram from John Kimble.
News of Stani's accident had reached
London.
He asked that Milo let him know
the details of Stani's condition and how he might be of service.
He could be in New York in a matter of days.
While
arrangements were being made for a plane ticket and accommodations for John in
New York, Milo received a message via his answering service from Peg
Shannon.
She was returning from Florida
the following day and would come straight to the hospital, prepared to remain
for as long as she was needed.
He was
surprised, though he had hoped Peg might offer her services in some way.
Milo knew she had been fond of Stani and
devoted to his success when he was still just a boy.
From the time she had been enlisted to raise
funds for his first major tour, Peg had remained Stani's staunchest
supporter.
Milo had suspected that there
might have been a more personal involvement as well but had not wanted to pry,
for fear of insulting Peg and losing her as a valuable ally.
Now she was offering to sit by the boy's
bedside, knowing that Jana would need a partner in Stani's care.
John arrived
and after a brief visit to the hospital had gone off in the company of Robert
to retrace Stani's movements and gather whatever information he could; anything
that might shed light on the almost two days before Stani had been found and
returned to New York.
Peg had come as
promised, bag in hand, and established herself in Stani's room.
After persuading Jana to go home and rest for
at least twenty-four hours, she had sought out Stani's doctor, insisting on
being told first-hand what would be needed to restore him to health.
With John
dispatched to Virginia and Peg on hand to relieve Jana, Milo could turn his
full attention to the press coverage of the accident.
The death of one of the sons of a prominent
politician was sensational news, particularly given Mark Stevenson's already
high profile.
It was fortunate, Milo
considered, that most of the articles that appeared over the Christmas holiday
dealt with Sen. Stevenson's statements to the press, the recapping of Mark's
colorful history, and speculation regarding his relationship with a
little-known actress.
Those articles
gave only one line to the fact that Stani Moss, concert violinist, had been
injured in the accident.
Milo knew that
the news of Stani's injury had been announced over the radio on Christmas
Eve.
He had issued an official statement
that afternoon, once Stani was safely out of surgery, emphasizing their
appreciation for the concern expressed for the young artist and requesting
respect for his privacy at such a difficult time.
He had also extended condolences to the
grieving families of the other two young people, refusing to comment on the
relationship between Stani and the others, out of respect for the tragic nature
of the events.