Wake the Dawn (13 page)

The car’s single working headlight shone pretty much along the roadway, but it was turning yellow as the battery died.

The wire rose ten feet up, like a striking cobra, and slammed down. Esther screamed and leaped straight back. It danced around a bit, sparking. Her rubber-soled shoes were still dry. If they got wet, she could be electrocuted during the next dance. Or if that wire touched her.

She bolted forward, grabbed the door to the backseat, and flung herself into the car. The door slammed behind her. “I’m a doctor.”

The driver cried out, “Oh, thank God!” She was sitting on the passenger side.

So well prepared was Esther that she also had a flashlight, one of those little LED things. She flicked it on to see the child. It was a beautiful child, winsome, maybe three years old. He was wheezing so badly he was barely wheezing at all. Even in the sallow LED light, she could see he was blue from lack of air. “Is this a chronic problem?”

“Asthma. Yes. I’ve never seen it this bad. Is he going to die?”

“Not if I can help it. When did—”

The end of the wire struck the car hood, cannon-loud. Esther screamed and went straight up.

She grabbed a couple of deep breaths. “Sorry. I don’t do sudden noises well. When did this episode begin?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just don’t know. I’ve lost track of time and everything else. Hours, but I really can’t say how many hours. I’m a bad mother, aren’t I?”

“You’re a good mother!” She pulled an ampoule of epinephrine and loaded a syringe. “Does the child have a nebulizer?”

“In the trunk. I should have had it up here. But he’d been so good these last few months, no problems; I didn’t even think I’d need it, I just keep it in the trunk as a precaution.”

“Good foresight. We’ll get it later.”

Esther’s nerves were shot, her mind a train wreck. Could she even do this? She must, so she would. She’d go for subcutaneous first, and if she couldn’t manage that, go for intramuscular. She poised the needle, took a deep breath, and pushed. It slid in beneath the skin and she closed the syringe down slowly, slowly, watching; she deliberately inhaled when she realized she’d been holding her breath.

Success.

The mother called, “I can’t hear him breathing! Did he die?
Did he die?
Oh, God!”

“God is taking good care of him so far. Yes, he’s breathing.”

Reason would suggest no one wanted to hear wheezing in a three-year-old, but when the child drew a deep, wheezy breath, Esther rejoiced. He had been so far gone, this was an improvement. He coughed. He spit up. He wheezed some more. Esther whipped out her stethoscope to get vitals.

The driver’s voice seemed firmer now, less shrill. “I didn’t see that broken line until I was right on top of it almost. It was bouncing around on the road right in front of me and I swerved to miss it. Right into the ditch. I tried to back out and couldn’t. Tried driving forward. When I realized I was permanently stuck, I tried my cell. Two bars, enough of a signal to get out. The woman on the desk said she was sending help and told me to stay away from anything metal. Sit on the passenger side; you know, because of the steering wheel. But he was wheezing worse and worse, and I got scareder and scareder. I was about ready to jump out and run with him when your headlights appeared.”

And Esther asked what was none of her business. “Is your name Amber Marie?”

“Why did you ask that?” It was a demand more than a question, and a harsh one.

“Just a guess. You heard that the bridge into town was out, so you crossed the river down at Centennial Bridge and came north by the back roads on this side. Then your son had an unexpected asthmatic attack and you had to get to a clinic. Your father last heard of you in Chicago. And here you are with Illinois plates on an unpaved back road no one but a local would know about; and only a local would know it’s a good way to town on this side.”

“So you think you know my father.”

“If your father is Paul Harden, yes, I do. He brought me; he’s sitting in that patrol car.”

She gasped, drawing in enough air to implode the windows. “Who are you?”

“The clinician. A border patrolman, Ben James, is minding the store while I’m out here.”

“Ben…” She buried her face in her hands. “I should never have come. This was so wrong. I shouldn’t have returned.”

The little boy started squirming, so Esther released him from his car seat. She curled him up and passed him across the seat back to his mother. She wrapped around him and he clung to her, wheezing and coughing and crying. The crying eased off. The dancing wire slapped the car roof. Esther jumped. Her shriek was even louder than the boy’s. He began crying again, sucking in great breaths, breathing vigorously without realizing what he was doing.

Esther leaned over the backseat and turned the flashlight on him. “Good. He’s getting his color back. All the same, I want him to spend the night at the clinic, please, just to make sure he’s doing well.”

“I was going to stay at the Sunrise Motel. That’s close enough to the clinic that I can get there if I have to.”

“The Sunrise Motel burned down two years ago. Suspected arson, but never proven.”

“Oh.” She looked crushed. “Things just keep getting worse and worse.”

Half a mile up the road, the sheets of wild-flying rain began to glow in streaky flashing red. Esther pointed. “Look! Reinforcements!”

As the ambulance approached, the rain-blurred flashing red lights turned into regular flashing red lights.

That dancing wire lay limp on the road. Dead? Or about to leap up any second to zap someone?

The driver’s-side door of Chief’s vehicle opened, cream-colored in the yellowing headlight of this car. He stepped out and stood in the road, gripping the door, looking their way. He held his cell to his ear; it made a glowing blue mark on his cheek. He flipped the cell shut; the glow disappeared.

He took two steps forward, hesitated, hung on to the car door. “Amber?”

Esther had guessed it right.

The driver cried out, shoved on her door. It unlatched but wouldn’t move, blocked shut by the ditch berm. Frustrated, she swore and butt-scooted up the seat to the driver’s-side door. She shoved it open. “Daddy!” She leaned on the door to keep it open as she crawled out, let it slam shut behind her. “Daddy! Oh, Daddy!”

Leave the child in the car or bring him? Esther thought a moment and decided to bring him. They could tend him in the ambulance. She left her bag in the car, scooped up the little boy, and squirmed out. She ran toward Chief as Amber was also running to him, but not for the same reason. He hung on to the car door without moving, looking ready to fall over. Minutes ago he had vomited. That said much. Too much. He was in deeper trouble than the child right now, cardiac trouble, Esther was certain, and the big oaf wouldn’t even admit it.

Yvette and Dennis tumbled out of the ambulance and they were coming toward Chief, too. At least they had their rain gear on. Esther should tell them to bring a gurney. Esther was instantly soaked to the skin on the windward side; her leeward side was hardly damp.

Amber was soaked through, too, her clothes clinging, her hair stringing down over her shoulders. She sobbed, “Oh, Daddy! I’m so sorry!” And she hugged tightly around him.

He had abandoned the car door and was wrapped around her, both arms. He pressed his head down against hers. “Amber, Amber, I was afraid you were gone. I’m sorry I drove you away, baby. I’m sorry! Please forgive me! Please don’t go!”

She said something that Esther didn’t hear because she could see Chief’s face turned toward her and it seized her full attention. Highly emotional, yes, the facial expression one would expect. But it changed to a shocked expression. He exhaled loudly. His eyes went wide. He sucked air in, a What-in-blazes look on his face. His eyelids dropped to half-mast, his face lost all expression. As if his very bones had suddenly melted, he slid gracelessly down through his daughter’s hug, collapsing in a pile on the ground.

Did Esther set the little boy down or simply toss him aside? She didn’t remember, she didn’t care. She darted forward—“Cardiac! Get the defib! The defib!” She grabbed Chief’s ankles and straightened him out, rolled him to his back, ripped his soaked shirt away, the buttons flying. “No!” She screamed it as she tapped his xiphoid process to locate it, centered her palms on his sternum, leaned directly over him to keep his heart going with CPR compressions.

He would not die! He would not! Not now! This was too much! The rain slammed his face, hit his half-open eyes, and he did not close them.

His daughter was screaming “Daddy,” shrieking hysterically. Now the little boy was screaming somewhere behind her. Yvette was screaming. Dennis was screaming. She kept up the compressions. She would save him!

He must not die now! Esther must save him. She must! The chest compressions would save him. Dennis was drying off the chief’s bare skin over his ribs enough to slap on the patches. He was telling Esther to back off, let the defibrillator do its thing. She must save him!

The mechanical voice was telling them shock was indicated, telling them to stand clear. No! The compressions would save him! She must…!

Dennis had wrapped his arms around her waist; he was physically pulling her off Chief, keeping her from saving him. She fought him. He dragged her back, away, where the pelting rain slammed her and she could not reach Chief to save him. No! No! No! No!

As if at the other end of a tunnel she heard the harsh mechanical voice, the hysterical daughter, the screaming child. She kicked, she fought. He was dying. She had to save him. The rain. The wind. The roaring river. The flashing lights. No!

Her feet touched the ground. She lowered herself, wrapped around herself, pulled everything together, curled up in a tiny knot that the noise and rain and wind could not get into.

“Esther?” Ben’s voice. Firm hands held her shoulders; their warmth penetrated her sopping-wet shirt and lab coat.

She was sobbing. She was curled up in the middle of the dirt road in the rain with all the storm noise still around her.

“Esther.”

Yes, it was Ben. She uncurled, straightened a bit.

She looked up at his wet face. He was sitting up against her, his legs going in the other direction from hers, his right side pressed close against her right side.

She shuddered and let her head drop against his shoulder. “Why are you out here?”

“Dennis said abandon what I’m doing and get out here now. I’m glad I did.”

“But where are they? That’s his daughter, did you know that?”

“I know. They’re taking Amber and the boy back in the ambulance. You’re getting kudos for risking your life—huge risk—to get to the boy in time to save him. They did some blood work on him; he was checking out when you shot him the epinephrine.”

“Chief.”

“Nothing you or I or anyone in the world could do to save him. Had he been in the emergency room at Mayo when he went down, they couldn’t have saved him.”

“I’m not going back there. I don’t want to go back if Chief’s not there.” She shuddered again, clear down to the soles of her feet.

“You have to.” His voice was steady and very, very sad. “You’re the only doctor. No medical examiner. You have to officially pronounce him dead.”

Chapter Fourteen

I
should have just—just…” Ben wagged his head.

“Just what? Tackled him like you did the meth jerk? We all tried to tell him! He wouldn’t listen.” Jenny blew her nose again.

Ben stopped his pacing to stare up at the ceiling, hoping to stop the tears. This was almost worse than when his dad died. Chief had been like a father to him, ever since he joined the border patrol. What would they do without him?

“Go on home. Hug that baby.” The baby. The bright spot in a black moment.

“What is Amber going to do?”

“Stay at her dad’s house. That’s what she was hoping to do anyway. How someone as lovely and decent as her got so messed up, I’ll never understand. The two of you dated for a while, didn’t you?”

Ben nodded. The heady pride of dating the prettiest girl in school burst over him again, of being chosen homecoming king and queen, she with her pretty dress, he still in his football uniform, dirt and all. He’d been the one to break it off, well not really, but when he joined the marines they wrote and emailed for a while, and then he deployed and the relationship faded away. He’d heard she quit school and got married, that she was shooting meth in Duluth, that she was an A student at North Dakota State, that she was hiding from her daddy, that she was traveling. He was halfway around the world with his own things to worry about—like staying alive, for instance, as his comrades in arms died around him. Wondering when the next roadside bomb would go off, whether he would return from his next patrol. He heaved a heart-wrenching sigh. “Make sure someone lets me know if…”

“We will.”

“Is someone there with Amber?”

“Her aunt came from out in the country; I think she lives over near Bemidji somewhere.”

“And Esther?”

“That shot you gave her knocked her out. I tucked her into bed with her cell phone at hand. I’ll spend the rest of the night in her guest room, me and the cat.”

“Jenny, you help hold this town together.”

“Get outta here.” She paused. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

Ben snorted. “If you mean will all this knock me back to the bottle, you needn’t worry. There’s none at the house and if Esther heard I fell off the wagon, she’d take Dawn away from me faster than I could blink.”

Jenny shook her head slowly. “Guess that is one of the many things we can be thankful for in all this storm. You are back among the land of the living.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She threw a pencil at him. “Just make sure you show up at seven
A.M.
and keep your phone handy. Maybe I should be telling Bo this.”

Ben touched two fingers to his forehead in a casual salute and headed for his truck. While it was still raining hard enough that he needed the wipers on high speed, the wind had died to fitful gusts. Doppler showed the storm heading east to torment some other region but lacking the power it had used to slam Pineville.

Why had God taken Chief? But then why did God pick and choose so randomly? That’s what it seemed like. Like Allie? But this time the thought of her didn’t send him into a towering rage. That was another change. He knew plenty of people were praying the change would be permanent. Instead of driving straight to his house, he turned onto the street that led by Esther’s. The porch light was on and a lamp in the living room, but otherwise the house was dark. Should he go check on her? Or leave it for Jenny? He parked across the street to think a moment. She should sleep for four to six hours at least. He checked his watch. Two hours already gone.

Headlights came up behind him and the small SUV turned into Esther’s drive, parking. Jenny climbed out, reached back in for a bag, and waved at him.

Ben blinked his headlights and drove on home. Beth had left the light on in the mud room and the light above the stove. Bo met him at the door, tail whipping, and whimpered his delight.

“Yes, I am home, big boy.” He leaned over for the requisite face washing and rubbed the dog’s ears the way he liked best. “You been taking care of things here?”

“I’m in here, Ben.” Beth’s voice came from the living room.

Ben hung up his slicker and bent over to unlace his boots, giving Bo’s tongue access to his ears. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m here.” Together they padded into the kitchen, where he glanced at the note on the table.

“Supper wrapped in fridge, just microwave. B.”

Ben followed the instructions, feeling the tension of the last hours drain away and quiet peace settling over him. Thank God he still had his home to come back to. So many didn’t. Beth and Ansel didn’t. Leaning against the doorjamb, he smiled at the picture before him. Beth with a baby blanket thrown over her shoulder and the sounds of a nursing baby loud in the quiet room.

“Everything okay here?”

She nodded. “All is well. Ansel brought a few more things from our house, so that makes it better. They got tarps over most of the damaged roof. He’s been out all day volunteering with half of the town. Your sister called, I left a list of messages by the phone.”

The microwave pinged, so Ben went for his meal and returned to sit on the sofa near the rocking chair that had been his mother’s. “Thanks.” He lifted his plate.

“Least I could do.”

“Dawn sleeping?”

Beth nodded. “Fed her first. She gets real unhappy when she is hungry and nothing shows up—immediately.” She rested her head against the back of the chair. “So what’s the news of today?”

Ben flinched. Beth didn’t know. “It’s bad. A druggie came looking for a fix, held a little boy hostage. We took him down; the highway patrol has him. Various illnesses and injuries, and…” He had to swallow and blink. “And Chief Harden collapsed and Esther couldn’t revive him.”

“He
died
?” She gaped at him.

“Hugging his daughter.”

“
Amber?
” She clapped her free hand over her mouth.

“She was coming back to her daddy and got stuck in a ditch. Not her fault. I mean, not bad driving. She has a son, Beth. Cute little kid. When—”

“Chief Harden has a grandson.” She sobbed. “Had one.”

“Yeah. When the boy got a severe asthma attack, she nine-one-oned and headed for the clinic. Chief responded, took Esther with him because of the medical emergency. I’m getting all this secondhand from Dennis, but apparently the chief and Amber were in the middle of reconciling when he went down right on the street. And Esther risked her life running past a live wire to get to the boy. Saved him.”

Beth was wagging her head. Her newborn squirmed and she mindlessly put the baby to her shoulder and patted, staring at Ben.

“It gets uglier. Esther was giving him CPR when the van got there with a defib, and Dennis had to pull her off him. She went ballistic, then catatonic.”

“Esther! Ben, she’s so strong and competent…look how she did! And delivered Nathan here. But then, I suppose, losing Chief…Is there something wrong with her?”

“I don’t know.” He knew, but that wasn’t a topic of conversation yet. “I brought her in, shot her with a good sleep aid, and Jenny and Yvette took her home.”

Tears bubbled up over the rim of Beth’s eyelids and trickled down her cheek. She mopped her face with the corner of the blanket. “He wasn’t that old.”

“Sixty-four. He’d talked about retirement but we all knew that after his wife died, he’d stay until they kicked him out.”

“And Amber came back.”

“Apparently, to make things right with her father.”

“And you said he died when they were hugging? How awful for Amber!”

“I’ll know more when I can talk with Esther.” Ben forced himself to eat more of his supper and then took his plate to the kitchen.

She called after him, “Just put it in the sink. I’ll take care of it later. When do you report in tomorrow?”

“Seven.” He stiffened his elbows, propping himself on the counter’s edge. The world was happening way too fast. “Thanks, Beth. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You already did.”

Bo informed him just before the alarm went off that he needed to go outside, so Ben pulled on his bathrobe and complied, and while he was in the kitchen he started the coffeepot. No matter how quiet he was, he seemed to wake Ansel. The temporary housemate blinked his way into the dimly lit room.

“Morning.” A yawn split his face. “I didn’t even hear you come in last night.”

“Making it despite everything.”

“Beth told me after she fed the babies. I’m so sorry, Ben. The destruction is bad enough, but to lose Harden this way. Remember when he coached football?”

“And when he took his scout troop on a twenty-mile hike that about killed them.” Ben snorted. “We were too tired to sit around the campfire. Soon as the tents were up, we crashed. And I suspect that was his idea all along. He never did like s’mores.”

Ansel chuckled, nodding.

Ben leaned at the counter, staring out the kitchen window to see a strip of pale morning on the horizon. It was still raining lightly here, but the front had nearly passed. “Storm’s about over.” He paused. It was still too raw. “That man made more of a difference in my life than anyone but my dad. First as a kid, then getting me into the patrol. He never let up.”

“Thank God.”

“I am, my friend, I am.” He opened the window a little to hear better. “Choppers.”

“More help?”

“Most likely.” A sharp bark at the back door said Bo was ready to come back in. While Ansel went to the door, the coffeepot pinged and Ben poured two cups. Bo parked close beside him and shook. Stupid dog.

“I need to get dressed.” He handed one mug to Ansel and took the other with him upstairs. Grateful he’d put in an extra bathroom during one of his renovating times, he showered, shaved, and found two clean and pressed uniforms hanging in the closet. Beth again. One more thing he owed her for.

Having a woman in the house sure made a difference. As he descended the steps, he heard a baby cry, not the newborn from the sound of the wail. Bo appeared at the bottom of the stairs and gave a sharp bark, then hightailed it back to the dining room. Ben headed downstairs just in time to see Ansel picking Dawn up. “I’ll feed her.”

“You have time?”

Ben nodded. “I’ll make time.”

“You change her, I’ll warm her bottle.” They both whispered in the hopes of letting Beth and Natalie sleep.

Jiggling the baby in one arm, Ben headed for the highboy. Bo watched as if making sure he did nothing wrong. This one took a while to clean up.

Ansel handed him a bottle. “Anything else?”

Ben settled himself in the rocker, set the bottle on the end table between the rocker and the sofa, and got Dawn cradled in his arm, all the while shushing her in a singy kind of voice, one that worked with animals and seemed effective with a baby, too. She latched onto the bottle like she’d not eaten for a day rather than a few hours. “Look at you, beautiful baby. Take it easy so you don’t choke.”

“Beth says to take it out of her mouth every couple of minutes so she has to slow down. Otherwise, she has been known to puke all over you. If I were you, I’d cover that nice clean uniform with a towel. Hang on, I’ll be right back.” He returned with the towel and draped it over Ben’s chest and knees. “I learned this the hard way.”

Ben’s phone rang, and he dug it out of his breast pocket. Doing normally two-handed things with only one created a bit of a problem, especially when the hand had to not hold the bottle. He clamped that under his chin, and Dawn wiggled to get the nipple back.

Ansel’s laugh didn’t help.

He barked at his phone, “Ben James.”

“Hope you’re all dressed and ready to roll, because we need you here as soon as you can get in.”

“Good morning to you, too, Jenny. I’m feeding Dawn but Ansel here can take over. Do I bring Bo?”

“Not right away, but we may need him later. You want me to order you breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

Ansel took the baby from his arms and sat down in the rocker as soon as Ben stood up. “The store’s closed. I’ll be reporting into the disaster center. Let me know if you want me to bring Bo over.”

“Thanks. And tell Beth thank you, too, will you?”

Once in the SUV, Ben hauled in a deep breath. How would he do all this if he didn’t have Beth and Ansel there?

How would the whole town cope? Some of the trees that made it through the first storm had succumbed to the second, the waterlogged ground too soft to hold their roots in place. Houses gaped without windows, and roof shingles lay all over yards and streets. A big oak limb had plowed through the front window of that cute little house on the corner of Sayre Street. Had the river gone over the sandbags lining its banks out through Cherry Valley?

He’d been so tired last night, he’d not listened to the police scanner on the way home. He rather regretted that now. He had no idea what was happening in his world.

But today the skies were clearing, and the golden sun was rising as if the storm had never happened. Rising to remind him that God was still in charge and making sure life continued. Thoughts like that used to come to his mind, but not since the day Allie died. What had happened to him had to be a miracle. Well, that’s what his mother would have said. “At least in heaven you don’t endure storms like this,” he whispered. “You were spared.”