Wake the Dawn (20 page)

That’s what it was. Fulminating. He had had to learn the word for a high school English spelling test. When he missed it, scoring a ninety-six instead of one hundred, he protested that he would never ever use it, so why must he learn to spell it?

Well, he just used it. He owed his old English teacher, Mrs. McElhenny, an apology.

He wondered what had happened to the woman. Someone claimed she was widowed and remarried. He could not imagine that harpy finding one husband, let alone two.

The person he was most worried about in all this was Esther. In the last few weeks, she’d been slammed with lots of work, stress, sorrow. That would tip a stable person over, and she wasn’t stable. Barbara said it:
how
is she doing, not what is she is doing.

What kind of family did Esther come out of, he wondered. Someone who taught her good manners. She was a people pleaser, polite, gracious. Yearned to be liked. Sometimes too much so for her own good. Esther.

His mind was wandering. He must bring it back to the room here and keep tabs on what was happening.

Who was yelling now? Sounded like Burt. He turned and looked out across the room. Yep. Burt. The old guy was on his feet shaking a fist. He was hollering at Lars about not being permitted to have his say, and in the time it took him to complain, he could have just said it three times, at least. He marched up toward the head table. Might as well put a lid on this. Ben started toward him.

Burt shouted “jackanapes” or something and banged his fist on the table right in front of Lars. The whole resin table gave a little bounce and tipped a coffee mug.

Esther screamed and leaped to her feet. She stared a brief moment at Burt, wheeled, and bolted for the kitchen door.

How could Burt do that? Because
he
was the jackanapes! Ben rounded the end of the head table in hot pursuit of the woman who had just gotten one jolt too many. Would the scene behind him deteriorate into a free-for-all? He didn’t care. Let Perowsky worry about it, on a need-to-know basis. Instantly he squeezed one eye shut and kept it shut. He was going to need night vision in a moment.

She skirted the butcher block in the kitchen and darted out the back door without closing it. He ran out into the night thirty feet behind her and, even with one eye a few seconds closer to night vision, almost lost her. He saw movement at the far end of the parking lot and then a
whup
! With night vision no better than his, she had run into a car. He raced off in that direction, trying to keep in the middle of the lane between parking slots.

This was a fine time to realize that two years of hard drinking, feeling sorry for himself, and slacking off had pretty much wiped out his stamina. Border patrolmen were supposed to keep in great shape so they could run down the bad guys. He wasn’t in good enough shape to outrun a slip of a girl.

“Esther! Stop!”

“Go away!” In the glow of a streetlight she slowed and turned slightly to look his way, turned back and kept going.

Sheeze she was fast! He was keeping up, but he wasn’t closing the distance very quickly.

This was getting personal now; his pride was at stake here, and be dipped if he was going to let her outrun him! She crossed Maple against the light and Howard with the light. Was she going home or leaving town? She didn’t turn on Cherry, so she wasn’t going home.

Aha! That’s what she was doing, following the white fog line on the main route out of town. All he had to do was call for backup and—no. No, he couldn’t do that to her. Flashing lights, maybe even a siren if someone wanted to play road cowboy…no. This was a job he must do, the quieter the better. And right now he really, really needed Bo. Bo could outrun a horse, take down a person without breaking skin. Bo even had the delightful little trick of tripping the person he was chasing.

She was flagging. Without slowing much, she called over her shoulder, “Please! No!” And she was breathless. Good news!

Of course, so was he.

Whoa! She was headed toward the river! She wasn’t going to do something stupid, was she? Like jump in or something? In this darkness he’d never find her if she jumped.

The Corps of Engineers had their floating bridge in place already, a tidy two-lane creation with great, heavy cables laced along the pontoons to keep them in place. The bridge was apparently sturdy enough to support concrete Jersey barriers on each side.

She ran out onto the span, half stumbling, half walking. He wasn’t doing much better. The hero of the border patrol finally caught up to his quarry halfway across the bridge. He flung both arms forward, wrapped around her upper arms, dragged her aside against the barrier, and then let friction keep him pinned against the wall as he gulped air that was never enough.

She screamed; she struggled. She flung her head and tried to conk him with it. But the fight was gone. He could feel it leave her.

The shrieking dissolved into sobbing. Then she screamed, “Help me! Someone help me!”

He broke into a profuse sweat. “Yell your lungs. Out. I’m not. Letting go.”

“Someone. Will. Will hear me”—gasp—“and. Rescue me.”

He breathed heavily until he could get a full sentence out. “I’ll flash my badge. Tell them it’s a takedown. You can get arrested—” Pause. “—for interfering in an arrest.” He hung on.

“Please leave me alone. Just. Let me go.” Her voice was softening. “Please.”

“No. You’re too precious to lose.”

She was sobbing in earnest now. She covered her face with both hands.

“Esther, I understand what your problem is, and I—”

“No you don’t!”

He stayed wrapped around her. “Esther, I was in the marines six years! I know post-traumatic stress when I see it! I’ve dealt with it. In me.” He tried to take the harsh edge off his own voice. “Now are you ready to talk?”

“No. I don’t. I can’t…” She shuddered. “No.”

“Do you want to jump?”

“No. I’m not—that far gone.”

He loosened his hold and was surprised when she sagged against him. Surprised and delighted. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere with this. He asked, “Did you hear what Dr. Ho was saying tonight?” No answer. He continued, “They have real trouble finding doctors to man rural clinics.”

“So?”

“So you’re a shoo-in. Get your degree and come back to Pineville, run the clinic. You had your trial by fire and proved you’re capable. More than capable. Ho wants you here. He won’t leave you hanging out in the breeze.”

“I’d run up fifty thousand in student loans that I could never pay off if I worked in Pineville. Forget it.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll get the financial help you need.”

“Then I’d be obligated. I’d
have
to practice here. No.”

She lurched erect and started a slow walk back toward town, so he strolled beside her, poised to grab her if she made a break for it. “You work here now.”

That run had really wiped her. He was recovering somewhat, but she was still shaky. They left the bridge, followed the white fog line in silence awhile, walking in darkness through darkness beside silent darkness.

She shook her head. “No. Mom wouldn’t forgive me.”

“For what? Following your heart? You told me that was your dream, to get the full degree.”

“For not being a famous, expensive ob-gyn in the city. And by city she means Minneapolis, not Duluth, or even St. Paul. That’s what she thinks I should be, what she wants me to be. Not a podunk general practitioner.”

“Mm.” He thought about her finding that tiny vein in Dawn’s scalp, inserting that tiny line, saving the baby girl’s life. What would be so wrong with obstetrics? She’d be a natural. He kept his thoughts to himself for now. “And what do you want to be?”

“I don’t care anymore. Something, anything, that she’ll praise for once. Just once.” Another shudder. “It hasn’t happened yet.”

Chapter Twenty-One

S
ome days, dragging yourself out of bed was difficult; other days, like this one, standing on your feet was a miraculous feat.

Esther glared at the phone that rang at the same time as the fiftieth buzz of her alarm. One she could ignore, two—not. “Dr. Hanson.”

“You running late today or…?” Barbara’s voice sounded distant, as if even her ears weren’t awake yet.

“Do I have a choice on the
or
?”

Barbara snorted. “That kind of morning, eh?”

“Anything important, or can it wait until I get in?” Esther headed for the bathroom as they talked. While a cold shower sounded agonizing, warm or hot water might send her back into dreamland. Surely you could not drown in a shower.

“Oh, it’ll wait. I put the report on your desk.”

“What report?” She turned on the shower. The effort made her arm weigh twenty pounds.

“The autopsy from the drowning victims.”

“I’ll be there ASAP.” She clicked off her phone, clamped her hair up, and stepped into the shower to let out a bloodcurdling shriek. The cold water did the trick, or had the report of the autopsies already accomplished the jolt?

Within twenty minutes she had her full stainless-steel coffee mug in hand and was locking the door from the garage into the kitchen, while the garage door groaned open. “Hey, you even look like your socks match,” Barbara said as Esther strode through the front door.

“They better, I own all white.”

“Ever the practical.” She paused. “Are you all right?”

“After that meeting last night how can anyone be all right?” Esther inhaled a slug of coffee, no cream or sugar to dilute the effects this time.

“I heard you left the meeting in rather a hurry, Ben hot on your heels.”

“Is there no mercy in this town?”

“Care to tell me what happened?”

“One of these days we’ll have a heart-to-heart.”

“I could cancel your appointments for the day.”

“You could but you won’t. I’m better off here.”

Barbara gave her a long silent look, then heaved a sigh. “I’ll hold you to that. The report is on your desk.”

“You read it?”

“Yes.” Barbara picked up the phone. “Pineville Clinic. How can I help you?”

Esther strode down the hall and flipped on the office light as soon as she’d opened the door. In her nightmare last night the office had been full of dead bodies, stacked floor-to-ceiling, like lumber in a warehouse. The papers appeared to be waiting for her, those and the stack of pink notes of calls to return. Eyes on the report as if it had fangs like a rattler, Esther sank into her chair, dropping her purse on the floor.

After reading it once and then again, she looked up Ben’s cell number and stabbed in the numbers.

“You in town or out on patrol?”

“Good morning to you, too. On patrol. What’s up?”

“The autopsy report is here.”

“So, read it to me.” His voice went up a notch. Excitement. Concern. Understandable.

“No, you can read it when you get in.”

“Four thirty or so. Come on, Esther, don’t prolong the agony.” When she didn’t answer, he slid into his work voice. “Are you all right?”

She knew he was referring to the episode last night. “Bad night, but not surprising.”

“If Chief were here, I’d come right now, but with Perowsky, he’d tack my hide to the barn wall, all nice and proper of course.”

“I understand.” What had she expected? What was he supposed to do? She had far more questions than answers. “See you when you get here.” A memory intruded. The warmth of his arms last night when he held her close and she soaked his shoulder. Why all the tears lately? What had caused her wild exit last night? The people shouting to be heard, the pressure-cooker feel of the auditorium. They’d started at the city hall but as people kept streaming in, they’d moved to the auditorium at the high school. When that filled to standing room only, they opened the doors and put speakers out in the hall. Could sheer claustrophobia have kicked it off?

A knock at her door and Barbara stuck her head in. “Your first patients are in room one and I’ll be showing another to room two. You need some more time?”

A sigh and Esther shook her head. “Just another minute and I’ll be there.” She leaned back in her chair, sipped from her coffee mug, and ordered her mind to stop spinning.

I am here
, floated through the room like an apple pie fragrance. She held her breath, listening with every sense. Nothing else, but her shoulders had dropped back to their normal position and even without taking her pulse, she knew her heart rate had slowed. “Thanks. Don’t leave, okay?” She could swear she heard a heavenly chuckle.

When she walked into room one she had a smile on her face and a spring back in her step. Glancing at the file in her hands, she greeted the young woman with a toddler at her side because her belly had taken over her lap.

“Well, Lonnie, how are you feeling? You look marvelous.”

“Thanks, Esther. This baby can’t come soon enough for me.” The sturdy woman laid a hand on the mound she carried.

“Let’s see, three weeks to go. Can you get up on the table so we can give that baby a listen?”

“With help. Are you sure I’m not having twins?”

Esther assisted her and after checking her vitals, helped her lie back down.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Toddy.”

“Hungry.”

“There’s a Baggie in the front pocket of my purse.”

Esther glanced over while the towheaded little boy dug out the plastic bag with O’s of oats and sat down on the floor to open it.

“From all I’ve seen, you have one bright child there.”

“Keeping ahead of him keeps me on my toes. Are kids just smarter these days or what?” While she asked, she pulled up her top and pushed down her soft pants with the stretchy baby panel in front.

“I think they are.” Esther moved the bell of the stethoscope around on the woman’s belly, listening carefully. When she finished, she smiled. “Not two, one heartbeat, but all the sounds say healthy baby, healthy momma. How much have you gained now?”

“Twenty-eight pounds and I know where every one of them are.”

“A little high. And she’ll gain at least another five before your due date. I hate to induce her but…” Esther thought a minute. “I want to see you next week and we’ll do some tests. You have someone to take care of Toddy?”

When Lonnie nodded, Esther continued. “We’ll make a decision then. She’s not dropped down yet, so she’s in no hurry.” She gave Lonnie a hand to sit upright again.

“Remember, Toddy did the same thing and he came a week late.”

“True.” Esther picked up the chart and flipped pages. “But he wasn’t this big this soon. The larger the baby, the harder the birthing.”

“My sister calls me rubber bottom since that first one was so easy. Not that I thought it easy.” She huffed out a breath and stepped down. “Thanks.”

“You’re taking your supplements, too, right?”

“I am doing everything like you and that manual said. I might kill soon for a cup of coffee. Real coffee with every molecule of caffeine.”

“I hear you. But it won’t be long.”

Esther left the room grateful for the reprieve. Delivering babies was one of her chief joys. Especially healthy babies.

As she saw her other patients, her good mood stayed with her.
I am here
hovered in her head. Three people said they were so excited about the new clinic, one older man grumbled about that meeting lasting so long. When they closed for the lunch hour, she shut the door, took a salad out of her pack, and, after adding dressing, put her feet up on her desk with the chair tilting back. Again she reminded herself to relax as she ate her salad and nibbled the crackers she kept in the lower drawer. She could go into the break room, but then she’d be tempted by the goodies in the machine. The repairman had finally shown up last Friday. They now had functional vending machines again.

The phone rang, but she let it go to the answering service. Barbara had gone shopping and the front door was locked. When her cell sang, she checked the screen and let that go, too. Her mother. She would call her back later. Waves of weariness rolled over her, so she let her eyes close and actually fell asleep. At a tap at the door, she jolted awake and slammed her feet on the floor. “Yes!”

“Your next patients are here, but they’re early. We have a drop-in, so I’m putting her in one, okay? You want some coffee?” At the nod, Barbara headed for the door. “I’ll get it going. The patient is filling out the forms. She and her grandson are new to the clinic. She said they recently moved to a place south of town.”

“Thank you, Barbara.” Drop-ins were usually of three categories: old people with difficulty breathing, young people with asthma, and amateur carpenters who’d just smashed their thumbs. Which would this be?

She entered one with a smile. “Hello, I’m Dr. Hanson. Mostly I go by Dr. Esther.”

The older woman extended her left hand to shake. “Sorry, my right hand is the reason I am here. And to meet you. I am Clara Holmgren and this is my grandson, Jefferson.” She indicated the boy sitting in the wheelchair.

Esther held out her hand to the boy then, after a bit of a pause, she simply took his hand in hers. It was limp. “Hi, Jefferson. I’m Dr. Esther.”

He didn’t smile or flinch but simply stared back at her. No, stared beyond her. Dark curly hair, a face that needed more sun, and slim to the point of skinny. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a hoodie sweatshirt like 90 percent of the teens she knew.

“We need to find us a new doctor since we moved, and your clinic was the closest. Our daughter recommended it, said you did a wonderful job in that storm.”

“I hope I can be what you need.” Esther glanced down through the filled-in sheets. “Cognitive problems and spinal cord injury.” She watched the boy’s movement, what little there was. “Lumbar-sacral?”

“Yes.”

“Can you fill in some history to flesh out what’s on this form?”

“Jefferson is my grandson. He came to live with me when he was three. We lived on Eglund Road, it’s over by Bemidji but not real close.”

Eglund Road. So close to her family’s home. “What brought you up here?”

“My other daughter, my older daughter, lives here and wants us closer so she can help me more. As Jefferson has grown, I can no longer give him all the care he needs.”

“How long has Jefferson been in a wheelchair?”

“Since he was five. Car accident. I was driving one night and my car died. We were on our way home from visiting my daughter up here. I was just about to get out to flag down help when a car struck us from behind. The driver tried to miss us but we were right in the road lane. His car caught the passenger side rear. Jeffy’s spine was damaged and he’s never walked again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“The hardest part is that the driver never stopped. Just spun around and tore off into the night. Good thing for us a patrolman came along and called the ambulance. How could someone hit and run like that?”

“I—I…” Esther’s stomach tied itself in knots. “You said you need help with your arm?”
Work on something you perhaps can fix. Don’t think! Above all, don’t think.
“What happened?”

“I fell, and I thought sprained it, but the swelling won’t go away and the pain is getting worse. I have to be able to use both hands to take care of Jefferson.”

“So, you’ve not had this x-rayed yet?”

“No. We were right in the middle of the move, and I figured it would get better on its own. But it hasn’t.”

“We’ll get that x-rayed then. Do I need to check Jefferson for anything?”

“All we need is a renewal of his prescription for his medications.” She dug a worn piece of paper from her purse. “He takes these.”

“Let me listen to his lungs. When did he last have a checkup?” Esther glanced at Jefferson. Were there brain injuries, too? Why was he not tracking?

“Well, uh, not for a while. But I suppose we should.”

“Hey, Jefferson, what grade are you in?”

While he looked at her when she said his name, he didn’t answer. “Okay, I need to check your lungs. Will you lift up your shirt?” Surely he could hear. What was she dealing with here?

His grandmother pulled up his shirt and Esther listened to his lungs front and back. She checked his pulse, which was normal also. “How long has he been on those meds?”

“Years. Since he was three.”

“Any problems with them?”

“Not with his behavior. It’s like always, for him.”

“But he’s not been reevaluated since…?” Esther looked at the lady.

“Well, we know what’s wrong, so why spend money on doctors?”

“I’ll write you refills for these, but I want you to have him evaluated. Children’s physiology changes as they grow, especially their response to medications. Too, some children become sensitized, others become tolerant. Adjusting his medications may well bring marked improvement, but I’m not qualified to do that. You need a good pediatrician, ideally, one who specializes in special-needs children.”

“What kind of improvement?”

“More responsive, more alert. Possibly not—as I say, I’m not qualified—but it’s worth trying.”