Authors: Bonnie Leon
“He won't. He promised. In fact, we're planning on getting a tractor so we can grow more. The government is still helping out farmers by giving loans like they did for you and Daddy.”
“Yes, well, our debt is still rising. I'm not so sure the tractor was a good idea.” She looked squarely at her daughter. “Laurel, what if living here makes Adam miserable? Can you ignore that?”
Laurel didn't answer right away. “I don't know what we would do. If it happens, we'll work through it together.” She scooted her chair away from the table, straightened her legs, and crossed them at the ankle. “Tell me about your wedding. Was it beautiful?”
“It was a wonderful day. We didn't have much money, and the only flowers were in my bouquet. They were just wildflowers, daisies mostly. My dress was simple and made of cotton, but I remember how your father's eyes lit up when he saw me.”
Jean paused. “He was so handsome. I wondered how such a man could love me.” Jean smiled softly. “He's still handsome.”
“You were younger than me when you got married.”
“We didn't want to wait to begin our lives together.” She chuckled. “Twelve months after our wedding, you were born, and life got busy.”
“Adam and I want children—as many as God gives.”
“I thank God for every one of mine.” Jean's eyes misted. “I just wish Justin…” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sometimes it's still hard to believe he's gone.”
“I think we all feel that way. I'll never stop missing him. He was a sweet boy.”
“He was. I never knew a child who loved to read as much as he did.” Jean leaned her arms on the table. “In spite of the sorrows, your father and I have a wonderful life. I can't imagine living without him.”
“I feel the same about Adam, and I know we'll have a good marriage.” Laurel carried her empty cup to the sink. “Laurel Dunnavant.” Turning to look at her mother, she said, “I like the sound of that, don't you?”
“It's perfect,” Jean said with a wink. More seriously she added, “I know you two will be happy.”
“Help! Someone help!” Luke's cries carried in from outside. A moment later the back door flew open and he ran into the kitchen.
“What's wrong?” Jean asked. “Where's Brian? Where's your father?”
Luke struggled to catch his breath. “Dad's hurt.”
“What happened? Where is he?”
“The tractor. It tipped and …”
“Laurel, stay with Susie,” Jean called and raced out the door. Luke followed. Glancing at him, she asked, “Where's Brian?”
“He stayed with Dad.”
She headed for the far field where Luke and Will had been working. Her heart pummeled her chest. “How bad is it?” she gasped.
“I don't know for sure. He's alive. I checked him, then ran for the house.”
“He was alive when you left?”
“Yes, but he looked bad. He was unconscious.”
Lord, keep him here with me. Please God, let him be all right,
Jean prayed as she ran, her feet sinking into muddy earth. The freshly turned loam threatened to trip her as clumps clung to her shoes. The tractor lay on its side. She couldn't see Will. Although it had been a warm spring, she'd warned him not to start plowing so early.
Jean approached the machine, and then she saw him. Will sat with his back resting against a wheel. Brian stood beside him, his hand on his father's shoulder. Relief flooded the boy's face when he saw his mother.
“Will,” Jean cried, dropping to her knees beside her husband. “Are you all right?”
He managed a nod.
She did a quick inspection. He looked pale. Blood dribbled from a gash on his head. Gently, she touched the wound where a lump had already formed. “Thank God you're alive,” she said, fighting tears. She ripped off a section of her apron and pressed it to the injury. “Luke, keep pressure on that for me.”
Luke laid his hand over the makeshift bandage and his father winced. “Take it easy,” Will said, managing a smile. He looked at Brian and added, “It probably looks worse than it is. You know how head wounds can be. They bleed like a stuck pig.”
“What do you mean?” Brian asked, his voice higher than usual. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Brian, he's fine,” Jean answered, then asked, “Where else are you hurting?”
“My hip's screamin' at me, but I don't think it's much. This is the biggest problem.” Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he barely lifted a broken, twisted hand. Two fingers were splayed at odd angles; another was badly bent. Bone showed through a knuckle, and his palm was already bruised and swollen so badly that it resembled a bloated dumpling.
Jean sucked in her breath. “Dear Lord.” For a moment she stared at the mangled appendage, then said resolutely, “We best wrap that up.” She tore off another section of apron, tied it around his neck, and gently lifted his arm so it rested in the sling.
Will squeezed his eyes closed and sucked air through his teeth.
“I'm sorry, but we've got to hold it steady until we can get you to the doctor,” Jean said. She ripped another piece of apron and wrapped it around his trunk and over the injured arm, bracing the limb so he couldn't move it. “Can you stand?”
Will nodded but cringed at the movement. “My head's pounding, but I think I can make it.” His face bathed in sweat, he leaned against Luke as Jean and the young man helped him to his feet. For several moments he stood between the two, swaying.
“Dad, lean on me,” Luke said, moving his shoulder beneath his father's good arm.
Will rested against his son. “The world's spinning. Give me a minute.”
Brian stood close to his father. “You can rest your hand on me if you want.”
Will managed to nod but didn't answer. His pale skin blanched more, and fresh beads of sweat merged with those already on his face. He compressed his lips.
The gash started to bleed more heavily, so Jean reached up and pressed down on the cloth. “Can you make it back to the house?”
“I'll try,” Will said, his voice weak.
“We can bring the truck out here,” Luke said.
“No. You'll end up stuck. I can do it.”
Taking small, slow steps, they headed for the house. Jean didn't like Will's color. He'd gone gray and was shaking. He needed the doctor soon.
Laurel met them at the driveway.
Her eyes swimming in tears, Susie followed, dragging a dilapidated blanket in the dirt. “Daddy, are you all right?”
“He's gonna' be fine,” Jean said. She looked at Laurel. “We've got to get him to the clinic. His hand is broken, and the gash on his head is going to need stitching. You stay with the little ones. Luke will drive us.”
They guided Will toward the pickup and helped him in. Jean slid onto the seat beside him. With Will leaning against her, they headed for town.
“Darndest thing,” Will said. “I didn't see that hole. I pulled out a stump last week and just plain forgot about it.”
“What happened?” Jean asked.
“My right back tire dropped into the hole, and over I went. I tried to jump clear.”
“Praise the Lord you're alive. It could have been worse.”
Shivering, Will lay under a wool blanket on an examination table. His feet were elevated, and an IV with fluids dripped into his arm. Jean caressed his forehead and cheek. His skin felt cool and clammy. “I'm sure the doctor will be here any minute,” she said, glancing at Will's misshapen hand.
A nurse stepped into the room and placed a thermometer in Will's mouth. “The doctor's treating another emergency, but he'll be here soon and have you fixed up in no time.” She felt Will's face, took his pulse, then checked the reading on the thermometer. After shaking it down and replacing it in a container of alcohol, she headed for the door. “I'm sure it will only be a few more minutes,” she said and stepped out.
Jean stood beside Will, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Not so good, but I don't think I'll be dying anytime soon.”
The door opened, and Dr. Donovan walked in. His graying hair needed the attention of a barber, but he was clean-shaven. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he peered over small square glasses. “Afternoon,
Jean. Will.” He crossed to the table. “So, you were out playing on that new tractor of yours, huh? Looks like the tractor won.”
“I'll say,” Will tried to move his leg and winced.
“That leg hurting you?”
“It's my hip.”
The doctor pulled down the blanket and placed a stethoscope on Will's chest. He listened, then examined the head wound. “This'll need stitches but should heal fine. You'll probably have a doozie of a headache,” he added with a grin. He ran his hands over Will's shoulders. “Any pain here?”
“Nope.”
He felt Will's arms, then gently released the hand from its bindings. Turning it carefully, he studied the swollen, bloodied appendage. “We've got some real work to do here.” He continued to probe. Will gritted his teeth and groaned as the doctor manipulated the fingers. “This'll need more than setting. It'll take surgery. You have a compound fracture in that one finger. We'll have to take it off.”
Jean felt as if the floor had dropped out from under her. She gripped the table to steady herself.
“You mean amputate?” Will asked. The doctor nodded. “Why?”
“Danger of infection. You could lose your whole hand, or even your life. I don't want to take that risk.”
“All right. Do what you have to do.”
Gently placing the hand on Will's stomach, the doctor rolled him onto his side and palpated the hip joint. “Nothing feels broken here. More than likely it's just bruised with some muscle strain.” He examined Will's legs and feet, and finding no further injuries, he said, “My nurse will stitch that head wound, then I'll see you in surgery.”
“Doc … is it going to be all right? My hand, I mean. Will I be able to use it?”
“It's in bad shape, Will. I'll do my best.” He turned as if to go, then stopped. “I've seen worse.” He placed an arm around Jean's shoulders and guided her out of the room.
Out in the hall, Jean fought tears. “Do you have to amputate?”
“It's too risky. The bone is open to the air, and the chance of an infection is high.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
Dr. Donovan massaged his chin. “I wish I could tell you he's going to be good as new, but I just don't know. That hand's a mess.” He folded his arms over his chest. “My best guess is he'll get back function, but I can't promise the hand will be like it was. He'll learn to live with one less finger.” He smiled. “He'll have to lay off for a while. I expect he'll hate that. I know how he loves his work.”
“I'm not sure how we're going to pay you, doctor. Money's tight.”
“Now's not the time to be worrying about that. We'll work out something.” He rested a hand on Jean's back. “Well, I've got an appointment in surgery. I better get to it.”
“ANYTHING I CAN GET YOU FROM TOWN?” WILL ASKED, CAREFULLY CRADLING his injured hand against his body.
Brian dumped an armload of kindling into a wood bin. “Can I go?”
“Not today,” Jean said, setting a coffeepot on the stove. “I need your help here.” She looked at Will. “I can't think of anything I need. Are you sure you're feeling up to going?”
“Yeah. I'm all right.” He glanced into the front room. “Where's that Luke? He knew we were leaving first thing.”
“I haven't seen him.”
“He's probably out in the barn.” Will kissed Jean, wincing when his injured hand touched her arm. He looked at the swathe of dressings. “I never would have believed I'd say this, but I'll be happy to get a cast on this thing.”
“Try to be patient. The doctor just wants to make sure there's no infection. And it's looking good; well, as good as it can look.” Jean grinned.
“I'd sure like to get back to work.”
Jean kissed Will's cheek. “I'm just thankful all you lost was a finger. It could have been worse.”
“True.” Will offered his wife a sidewise grin. “I'm not sure my hand knows how to function with only three fingers and a thumb, but I'll be glad to start using it again.”
Jean felt a flicker of apprehension. Will had been acting as if his hand would be good as new, except for the missing finger. “Remember, Dr. Donovan said your hand could be stiff and might not work the way it did.”
“I know, but he also said he did a pretty good job of fixing it. And
he thinks it'll be functional.” He shook his head. “I hate that word
functional—sounds
like I'm talking about a piece of farm equipment.”
Jean smiled. “In a way it is. Where would we be without your two hands?”
He held out the bound appendage. The end of two fingers twitched and he grimaced. “I can't even move my fingers.”
“Will! Don't! You know you're not supposed to do anything yet.”
“I know. But I need to get back to work. As much as I appreciate Adam's help, he's got a lot to learn.” He chuckled. “I don't think he's cut out for farming.”
Luke walked into the room. “Can I drive you into town later? I was planning on going over to Alex's. He's actually going to test me on some of the native tracking techniques he's been teaching me. I'm getting pretty good.”
“It'll have to wait. We need to get some shoes for the wedding, and we might have to order them.”
“I don't see why I need new shoes.”
Jean eyed his tattered boots. “You can't very well wear those.”
“They clean up all right.”
“Luke, you're going to be the best man. You can't stand up in …” Jean searched for the right words. “Well, those awful things.” She studied her seventeen-year-old son. He'd shot up recently and now stood a good inch taller than his father. He hadn't yet filled out. It would be a while before his body adjusted to his six-foot-two-inch frame.
“I want some shoes,” Brian said.
Two-year-old Susie held out a foot. “Me too.”
“Brian, the ones you have are good enough,” Jean said. “We just bought them a couple of months ago.”
Brian frowned. “Yeah, but they're not new, and I want black ones like Adam's.”
“They'll do,” Will said. “Help your mama.” He looked at Jean. “We ought to be back before lunch.” Giving Luke a playful shove toward the door, Will followed him out.
Jean cleared away the breakfast dishes and stacked them in the sink. A cow's bawling came from the barn. “These will have to wait,” she said with a sigh. “The milking needs to be done.”