Silent Pledge

Lukas thought about the peanut butter sandwich he’d thrown away. “What kinds of practical jokes?”

“They let the air out of Dr. Moss’s tires and unscrewed the back of his chair so it would fall off when he sat down. They covered his suede jacket with tape, which ruined the material when he pulled it off.”

Lukas nodded. He wasn’t surprised.

“Dr. Moss was nice about it,” she said. “If they’d done that to me, I’d’ve hung ’em out to dry.”

Lukas signed the chart he was working on, added it to the small stack and reached into the desk for his keys. It was Sunday morning, and tired as he was, he wanted to attend a worship service somewhere. He just hoped he could stay awake long enough not to snore through the sermon.

“Where are the churches around here?”

There was no answer.

He turned his head and ran straight into Tex’s hard stare.

“Tex?” What was wrong with her? “Any churches in Herald?”

“Why would you want one of those?” Her voice had suddenly cooled several degrees.

Lukas frowned and glanced at his watch. Yes, this was Sunday morning. “I thought I might pray for Jerod Moore, among other things.”

She shook her head in a slow, sad rhythm. “You’d be better off doing that at home by your bedside.” She got up from the chair and rolled it back where she’d gotten it. “While you’re at it, you might pray for the kid that disappeared from the park last week, and the ones who disappeared in Sedalia and Columbia. Nobody’s prayers have been answered for them yet. See you next shift.”

Clarence woke himself with a loud snore, his head lolling back against the headrest in Buck’s truck. He raised his head and caught sight of the Knolls city limit sign. Wow. He must’ve slept the past twenty miles. He glanced over at Buck. “Sorry, pal, I guess I snoozed a little. I was hoping to help you stay awake.” He stretched his heavy arms and reached up to rub his cramping neck. “You doin’ okay?”

Buck nodded, his eyes bloodshot and drooping from fatigue. “I’m used to it.”

Clarence knew that was right. Since Buck was a firefighter and first responder who worked twenty-four-hour shifts, he had to do this a lot, but not right after his wife had tried to kill herself. Besides, he’d just finished a long shift a few hours before all this happened.

“Guess you’re gonna go home and get some rest now,” Clarence said.

Buck turned at the first stop sign and headed toward Ivy Richmond’s house. “I don’t know.” He took one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed it across his beard-stubbled face. “I keep hoping I’m really already asleep and that this is just a bad nightmare.”

“I hear you there. Been lots of times I wished the same thing. There’s something Ivy keeps telling me, though, and I’m about decided it’s true.” Clarence looked out the window at the opalescent morning light. “She says this life isn’t what counts. What you do counts, and what you believe counts, but not what happens to you here.”

Buck leveled him a sideways glance and turned onto the street where Ivy lived. “Sounds kind of rough to me. Is that how I’m supposed to get through this thing with Kendra? Just tell myself it doesn’t matter?”

Clarence frowned. That didn’t come out right. “I don’t think that’s what Ivy meant. What she’s been telling me all these months, while I’ve been starving on this diet and Darlene’s been trying to take better care of her asthma, is that God—you know, Jesus and all—cares a lot about us. It’s like He’s the big boss, and He knows what’s going to happen, even though we don’t. You know, like He’s got His own plans for us, and sometimes we just need to kind of ride along and see what happens.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about all that yet, but Ivy’s harping was starting to soak in. Somehow a little of what she said made sense to him.

Buck turned into Ivy’s driveway and pushed the buttons to unlock the doors so Clarence could get out. “I don’t know.”

“Me neither, but I’m starting to think there’s something to this prayer stuff. When we prayed up there in Springfield, didn’t our prayer make things better for a while? Didn’t Kendra stop crying?”

Buck thought about the question so long that the front door of Ivy’s house opened and Ivy stepped out onto the porch. Her long salt-and-pepper hair was drawn back in a braid, and she wore a red wool sweater pulled down over a long matching skirt. Ivy Richmond cleaned up good for a sixty-six-year-old woman. Actually, she cleaned up good for any age.

“But it didn’t last, Clarence,” Buck said finally.

Clarence looked across the seat at his friend. “Then maybe we’ve just got to keep praying.” He opened the door and heaved his heavy body out onto the concrete drive.

“Don’t guess it could hurt,” Buck said. “Lauren McCaffrey used to tell me she was praying for me, back when Kendra kicked me out and I was suspended from the department. Afterward I sometimes wondered if everything turned out okay because of those prayers. But look what’s happened now.” He spread his hands, then dropped them back onto the steering wheel. “Kendra wants to die.”

“But she’s not dead. Think about that, Buck.” Clarence closed the door and waved his friend off, then turned to face Ivy.

Mercy entered the room where Crystal Hollis and her great-grandmother, Odira Bagby, had been brought the night before. And then she smiled. Since all the rooms here at Knolls Community were private, Mercy had been afraid Odira would have to sleep on one of those chairs that folded out into a sleeper—not a comfortable situation for a woman who had weighed in at two hundred seventy pounds on her last medical visit. Some sweet soul had moved another hospital bed into the room and set it up beside Crystal’s so Odira could be close to the little seven-year-old during the night. Probably the night charge nurse, Vickie. She was one of the best additions they had made in this hospital in the past few months—except for Lukas Bower.

Two empty food trays waited for pickup on the tray table, and Crystal lay on her bed with her head propped up, her soft brown hair combed and hanging straight to her shoulders. She didn’t have the television on, but her water-blue eyes were open and alert, and they fixed on Mercy as soon as she walked in.

Mercy saw a children’s book lying facedown on the rumpled blankets of the other bed. Most likely Odira had been reading aloud.

“Good morning, Crystal. Where’s Gramma?”

Crystal pointed toward the hallway. “She went to ask the nurse when you were coming.” Her serious gaze did not leave Mercy’s face. “She wants to see if you’ll let us go home today.”

“Okay, I’ll get the preliminaries over and talk to her when she comes back.” Mercy pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and warmed the instrument in her palm for a few seconds. “How have you been feeling this morning?”

“I feel better, Dr. Mercy.” Crystal took a deep breath and exhaled to demonstrate. She didn’t cough. Her face was back to its normal pale color.

“Good.” Mercy glanced at the empty food trays. “Did you eat all your own food?”

“Yes, and some of Gramma’s.”

Mercy smiled. That would have been a loving sacrifice for Odira. “Then I see your appetite is back to normal.” She checked the nurse report on the clipboard at the end of the bed. Crystal had been given another breathing treatment this morning, her coughing had slowed considerably, and her temperature was 99.4.

Mercy was just finishing with Crystal when Odira came in huffing, her face damp with perspiration, clumps of gray-brown hair clinging to her forehead. “Hi, Dr. Mercy! I was just tellin’ Crystal you’d probably be here anytime.” Her voice, as always, was strong, but her breathing was louder and more labored than usual. Her face was flushed, and she moved more slowly. “I think she’s feelin’ better today, don’t you?” Odira patted her great-granddaughter on the arm and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I always did say, in spite of it all, she’s a fast healer. How’s those lungs sound to you this morning?”

“Much better.” Mercy replaced the clipboard and adjusted Crystal’s blanket.

“Think we’ll get to go home today?” Odira picked up the open storybook and lowered herself slowly onto the hospital bed beside Crystal’s.

Mercy watched the woman’s movements in silence for a moment. Twice last night, while Mercy had been giving Crystal her treatments in the clinic, Odira had quietly pressed her hand against her chest and winced. Her face was puffy, and her feet bulged out over the tops of her loafers.

And Crystal—observant child that she was—watched with worried eyes. Something was going on here.

“I’d like to keep you here at least another night,” Mercy said, patting Crystal’s arm.

Odira’s expression drooped. “Oh.” She huffed a couple more times. “Can’t tell you how much I appreciate you, Dr. Mercy, but you know how dangerous it is for Crystal to be in here with all the germs floating around. I’ve been told hospitals are the worst place to pick up pneumonia. She picks up any little bug so easy, what with her cystic fibrosis.”

Mercy nodded. “I’m sorry. I understand your concern. Our staff is always careful to prevent the spread of germs, but where you have illness, you will have contagion. It may help you to know that our hospital is well below the national average for hospital-acquired illnesses.” She stepped over to Odira’s bed, pulling a small bottle out of her lab coat. “Here, I brought this for you.” She handed the plastic container to Odira. “It’s hand purifier. I want you and Crystal both to rub it on your hands several times a day while you’re here, and then when Crystal goes back to school I want her to take it with her and use it. There are also dispensers on the hallway walls.”

She watched Odira open the bottle and pour a little glob into her hands, then reach over and give some to Crystal.

That simple act could be a potential lifesaver for someone with CF. People didn’t realize how dangerous a cold could be to this child. Even Mercy had to remember, when Crystal came to see her at the office, not to take the chance of spreading germs that might linger on her clothing from other patients. She always put on a fresh lab coat when Crystal came in because the little girl needed a loving touch.

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