Authors: Gloria Repp
She looked up at him. “I should leave now.”
“You’ve been thinking?”
“Something you said.” She leaned forward. “It’s late, and you have Clinic tomorrow.”
She could see the reluctance on his face, but he let her go.
She scribbled a note for Timothy—
I will obey. Pray for me
.—and pinned it onto his pin cushion.
She wanted to sleep in the next morning, just a little, but Aunt Lin was up early, taking a shower and bustling around, as if she were eager to get back to New York.
The wind had increased. “Listen to that!” her aunt said. “The way it tears at this house is downright eerie. They’re saying it might snow.”
Her aunt left soon after, in spite of the forecast. They had briefly discussed what Madeleine could do while she was gone. The dining room. The parlor. Inventory the Blue Room. Plenty of reasons to stay inside and mind her own business.
She had discovered three dead mice in the Blue Room traps when Bria knocked on the back door.
Jude had come too. “No school today,” he said with a grin. “Teachers doing stuff.”
“Perfect. I’ve got some mice for you to dispose of.”
He emptied and reset the traps, using a piece of walnut as bait, and she wondered whether he would say anything about the girl.
He glanced up. “I went to see her this morning. She don’t—doesn’t—look too good. She’s got a sore leg. Do you have any extra food?”
“Take all the food you want. But what about her leg?”
“She cut it. I don’t know how. It’s swelling up.”
“Jude, she needs help. She can’t keep doing this.”
Worry darkened his eyes. “I know. She won’t go home. Says she’d rather die.”
Madeleine gazed across the room, crowded with sofas and chairs. The rug under her feet was thick and warm and dry. That girl was sleeping in the cold. It might snow.
But this wasn’t her house. The girl wasn’t her responsibility.
“Where is this place?” she asked.
“Not very far.”
The girl was hungry.
Love your neighbor as . . .
“Come on,” she said. “Help me pack up some stuff. We’re going over there.”
She hurried down the hall with Jude scrambling to keep up with her. “Bria,” she called, “can you get me a first aid kit?”
“Sure.” Bria stepped out of the dining room. “For the girl? From what Jude says, she’s going to be upset.”
“She’ll get over it.” Madeleine started heating water in the microwave. “Jude, find some chicken in the fridge and make her a sandwich. With cheese. I’ll need a thermos too.”
When the box was ready, she glanced at Bria. “Do you want to come?”
Bria looked grateful, but she said, “Maybe I’d better stay here and keep working.”
“Okay. Listen for the phone.”
Once they were in the car, Jude gave her directions, taking back roads she hadn’t seen before. Finally he pointed out a driveway.
“Let’s bring just the thermos to start with,” Madeleine said, glancing through the trees at the gleaming logs of a two-story home. Some cabin! It looked deserted.
At the back, a deck extended toward the trees, and a second-story balcony formed a roof above it. They tiptoed up the steps until Jude paused. In the corner lay a pile of blankets.
As they went closer, the blankets stirred, and a voice muttered.
Jude bent down. “Hey,” he said in a low voice.
A hand pushed back the blankets, revealing a girl’s pallid face and closed eyes. “Go away,” she said.
Jude looked at Madeleine, and she said softly, “We brought you something good to drink.”
The eyes opened, cinnamon-brown eyes that stared at her suspiciously. “Who’s she?”
Jude dropped to his knees. “A friend. Come on. You need to drink some cocoa.”
“Cocoa?” The girl pulled herself up onto an elbow, and red hair fell across her face. Stringy, as Jude had said.
She took the cup from him and emptied it in short gulps. “I told you don’t bring no one,” she mumbled. She gave a little
uhh
of pain. “If it weren’t for this leg, I’d be gone by now.”
Madeleine knelt on the deck beside her. “May I look at it?”
“Nah. Just a cut,” the girl said, but her voice was faint. “Lemme sleep.” She dropped the cup and sagged back into the blankets.
Madeleine shook her head. “Jude, she’s sick. She’s just going to get worse. And it might snow tonight.”
A plan, half-formed in her mind, took on the hard edges of certainty. “I want to take her back to the Manor.”
“But she’ll fight us. She’s all muscle.” He looked as if he’d already had experience with those muscles.
Madeleine got to her feet, smiling. “Do you mean to tell me that one skinny girl is stronger than the two of us? Stay here. I’ll bring the car closer.”
On her way, she phoned the Manor, and on the fifth ring, Bria answered. Madeleine gave her quick instructions. “Hi, could you vacuum that sofa in the Blue Room and get some sheets and blankets on it?”
“You’re bringing her here?”
“Yes. See you in a little bit.”
The girl lay just as Madeleine had left her, and Jude still looked worried. “She’s going to be mad. She’ll kick and scream.”
But, as Madeleine suspected, the girl no longer had the strength to kick and scream. She half-opened her eyes and moaned as they pulled her to her feet and helped her walk to the car.
“Back seat,” Madeleine said. “I don’t think she can sit up.”
The girl slumped into a corner, and they loaded the duffle bag and blankets in beside her. Jude sat there too, in case she fell over, and Madeleine drove with care.
Bria met them outside and helped them get the girl inside to the sofa. Madeleine took off the heavy parka. She was, as Jude said, very thin. An older teen.
“Does she have any other clothes?” Bria was eying the girl’s muddy jeans and sweater.
Jude said, “There’s a duffle bag with stuff, but no nightgowns or anything like that.”
Madeleine smiled to herself. A girl like this wouldn’t be caught dead in a nightgown. “I’ve got something she can use. Thanks a lot for helping.”
Bria sized up the situation right away. “C’mon Jude. We’ve got work to do.
The girl was still apathetic, her eyes half-closed. Madeleine washed her face and arms, stripped off the dirty clothes, and put her into a pair of warm pajamas. Around her neck hung a pendant on a greasy leather cord, and when she tried to take it off, the girl grabbed for it, so she left it there.
The cut on the girl’s leg was almost three inches long, deep, and obviously infected. She bathed it carefully before spreading it with antibiotic ointment and covering it with a loose bandage.
The girl accepted a mug of thick soup and swallowed the aspirin Madeleine gave her. Then she burrowed into the blankets until her head was out of sight.
Back in the kitchen, Madeleine made sandwiches for their lunch, still thinking about the girl. Would a cut like that heal on its own?
After they’d eaten, she looked in on the girl again. Now that her face was clean, you could see the freckles across her nose and the pallor of her skin—a pretty face. Her parents must be frantic.
She stopped in at the dining room to help Bria and Jude pack boxes, but soon she caught herself staring out the window, wondering what to do.
Timothy. He’d know.
He answered the phone right away, and she told him what she knew about the girl and how she’d brought her to the Manor.
“Your aunt is away?”
“She won’t mind—at least, I hope not. The cut seems to be infected. Jude said she acts like she’s afraid to go home.”
“She’s a teenager?”
“Around seventeen.”
“Sounds like a runaway.” He paused. “The Lord has probably sent her to you for His good reasons. Let’s see . . . that cut. Why don’t you talk to Nathan?”
Perfectly logical, but she didn’t want to ask Nathan for anything. He had put up with enough from her.
“Thanks, Timothy. Just wanted to get your opinion.”
The girl was leaning against the pillows, drinking more soup under Bria’s watchful eye. She ate some toast but didn’t say anything besides, “Got any peanut butter?” Then she curled into the blankets and went back to sleep.
That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
Madeleine worked with Bria and Jude for the rest of the afternoon, and the two of them left after an early supper, carrying a plate of food for Paula and Gemma.
The girl seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so Madeleine read an essay on leavening agents until her eyelids drooped.
That evening Mac stayed outside, and when he returned, his fur was powdered with snow. She watched him licking one paw after another and thought about the girl. She’d have been much too cold, trying to sleep on that deck.
Timothy had suggested reading the book of Ephesians, so she opened her Bible to the first chapter. Just a few verses, he’d said, but the marvelous flow of words, phrase upon sumptuous phrase, kept her reading.
Redemption through his blood . . . the riches of his grace . . . the mystery of his will.
His will. His plan. His reasons for sending the girl . . . here.
“Lord,” she whispered, “please help her to get well fast.”
Because she didn’t want to be responsible? She ignored the cynical question, scribbled a few words in her journal, and tried to sleep.
Around midnight, she heard the girl’s voice and went to check on her. She was tossing back and forth, so Madeleine turned on a low lamp.
The girl cried out.
Madeleine knelt and put an arm around her. “Hey, it’s okay! I’m your friend.” She said the comforting words over and over while the girl huddled against her and sobbed.
After a while she quieted, and Madeleine gave her juice and more aspirin. Her cheeks were flaming. The cut looked worse, streaked with red.
She changed the bandage and sighed in defeat. She’d have to phone Nathan.
Madeleine glanced at her watch. 5:00 A.M. Still too early to phone anyone. She sat up, stiff from sleeping on the floor by the sofa, and shrugged off her blankets.
The girl was asleep, but breathing rapidly.
She turned on a lamp at the back of the room and once again bathed the girl’s face and arms with cool water. The girl turned away, moaning. It had been only an hour since the last aspirin.
5:24. Madeleine sank back down beside the sofa. What was making her feel queasy, giving her chills? It wasn’t about the girl. More like . . . something she’d promised to do.
Kent. She really didn’t want to talk to him.
She leaned her head against the cushioned velvet. “Lord, I can’t handle any more of that man,” she whispered. “Please! Don’t make me talk to him—I’ll do anything else.”
The girl stirred, muttering, and Madeleine put a hand on the thin arm. Burning hot.
Now she had this girl to deal with, and Nathan. After what happened, she was going to feel awkward with him, and for sure, he’d want to keep his distance.
She looked at her watch. 5:32. Did he get up this early? She went back to her bedroom, made the bed, and tidied the desk. Finally she picked up her phone.
He answered on the first ring.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said.
“Mollie! Are you all right?”
“I’ve got a teenager here. With a fever and a cut on her leg—it looks infected.”
“At the Manor?”
“Yes.”
“I’m near there. Ten minutes.”
Better change quickly—jeans, and the cranberry shirt, to give herself cheer. While she brushed her hair, she made a resolution. She would be calm and controlled with him, not the clinging wreck she’d been on Sunday night. Forget Sunday night.
Coffee. She’d seen him drink it. It was so early, they’d both want some.
She set the coffee to perk and folded her blankets into a pile beside the sofa. Before the coffee had finished, a red Jeep was churning up the driveway through the slush.
A minute later, he stood at the door with a brown messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He gave her a searching look, but that was all. He was trying to forget too.
“The girl’s back here,” she said, and led him into the Blue Room.
He knelt beside the sofa and studied the girl’s face for a minute. He took her temperature, checked her pulse, and listened to her chest.
“Has she been starving herself?”
Madeleine told him how Jude had found her, and he nodded.
He eyed the cut on her leg, and set about cleaning and bandaging it. “How’d she do this?”