by Laura Acton
As she sat, a masculine scent wafted up to her, and Lily realized Scott wore this shirt most nights he rocked them. “You must be missing Daddy terribly. Well, to be honest, so is Mommy. If he calls today, I’ll put him on speaker for you.” Lily rocked gently as her infants drifted back to sleep.
Road to General Store – 11:55 a.m.
Not cognizant of how long he had been unconscious, Scott woke with his teeth chattering, covered in snow, and in excruciating pain. Pushing himself up, he peered down at his thigh, noting the blood which seeped out had frozen, forming a scab of sorts. At least I hurt. If I didn’t, I would be in worse condition. Freezing to death so close to my objective would be pitiful.
Though agonizing, using his other pole for leverage, Scott managed to stand and put a little weight on his leg. He didn’t dare pull out the broken shaft, understanding he might bleed out if it provided pressure on an artery. By sheer grit and notorious Broderick stubbornness, Scott clipped both boots back into the skis and pulled the partial pole from the snow.
It hurt like hell, but he developed an uneven rhythm, helped by the force of the wind pushing him forward. His destination now seemed like a hundred miles away as agony rippled through him with every glide. The motion caused fresh blood to flow, and he became light-headed.
The last book he read his babies before driving down to Toronto popped into his head. The little engine’s mantra as the train endeavored to chug up the mountain became his. I think I can, I think I can, repeated in his mind in time to each painful stride. He refused to come this far and fail.
General Store – 12:05 p.m.
Loud and persistent pounding on the store’s front door startled Landry Craig as he worked his crossword puzzle. Who in tarnation is out in this mess? Maybe Ron is here to ensure we’re alright.
He grabbed his cane and with effort, rose from his chair. His arthritic knee joints prevented him from moving fast these days. The cold weather made things worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to relocate to someplace warmer. For fifty-six terrific years, he and Maisie called this store home-sweet-home, and he expected they would live here many more years.
Maisie hurried down the stairs. “Landry, what is all that ruckus? You trying to wake the dead with all your loud thumping?”
“Ain’t me, Maisie. Some young fool … likely Ron … is out in this weather. I’m gettin’ meself to the door,” Landry groused.
Maisie pursed her lips as she peered at her dear husband. She loved the old coot, but his joints were not as fluid they used to be. He hated to be coddled, so she harrumphed then said, “Well, whoever it is will freeze to death before you toddle over there. I’ll answer, you sit.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Landry grinned at his spry wife, who still possessed the energy of a thirty-year-old even though she celebrated her seventy-third birthday last month. She never seemed to run low.
Maisie shook her head and started for the shop’s entry. She grabbed her coat and slipped into it on her way. As she approached, she could make out the figure of a man standing on the covered porch.
Landry installed the extended roof over the entrance eons ago to shelter their customers from the elements. It also cut down on shoveling snow since luckily, the wind tended to blow from the opposite direction and piled on the backside of the building. When she opened the door, a blast of frigid air swirled in along with a nearly frozen man.
Scott stumbled into the general store, leaving his skis on the porch, having used the last of his energy to unclip his boots. Taking five steps in, he dropped to his knees, shivering from cold and pain. The vision of an old lady swam into his view, and Scott mumbled, “Phone. Need help.” His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the floor.
As soon as the man moved inside, Maisie closed the door. She spotted the pole sticking out of his thigh before he fell. Maisie yelled, “Landry! Good lord, Landry, help!”
Landry shuffled as fast as he could to Maisie. He stared in shock a few moments. “Maisie, retrieve my kit. Quickly, please.”
Knees creaking as he lowed himself down, Landry laid his cane beside him. He reached out and pulled off the goggles and the full-face mask. “At least this poor man is equipped appropriately to be out in these conditions.”
After ensuring the man’s airway was clear, and he was breathing without difficulty, Landry took his pulse, finding the beat strong but a little too fast. He lifted the eyelids to check the pupils, and his fingers inspected the skull, searching for injuries. “No head trauma,” he muttered as his gaze moved to the partial ski pole impaling the mid-thigh. “That is certainly a problem. I’m going to need to cut away the material to determine just how big of one.”
Maisie rushed back with Landry’s black bag. She gasped when she spied the chiseled facial features and golden hair. “We know him! He is a lot older now. Used to come here with Wilson as a teenager. Now, what is his name?”
“Name’s not important now. Bring the dolly. I can’t stay on my knees long, and we must move him into better light to tend his wound.”
The two septuagenarians worked together to roll the man on to the trolley, which Landry constructed years ago for Maisie to haul heavy items around the store. Once they positioned the unconscious man on their improvised gurney, Landry worked his way up to his feet, every joint creaking.
With his cane in one hand and the rope attached to the rolling board in the other, Landry pulled the injured man toward the adjoining residence at the back of the structure. “I’ll need blankets, pillows, and several packets of sterile gauze. Also, please warm some chicken broth, and start a pot of water boiling,” Landry requested.
Maisie went to retrieve the items after she set his medical bag on the floor near their sofa.
Rousing, Scott blinked several times, disoriented by moving when his mind told him he should be stationary while lying on the ground. Struggling to make sense of his situation, Scott took in the sounds around him. A thump, thump, along with squeaking. Shifting his gaze, he found an old man holding a rope and using a cane as he pulled him on some contraption. Pain resurged as he moved his leg, and Scott groaned.
Landry turned at the sound of agony. “Hold still, young fella. Getting you to a place where I can properly examine the staff sticking out of your leg.” He stopped near the comfy overstuffed couch.
Maisie came with the blankets and noted the man awakened. “Landry, sofa, or floor?”
Peering down at his unexpected patient, Landry considered the options. “You think you can move to the couch? I no longer possess the strength to lift you. If not, we can make you comfortable on the floor, though it will be easier for me if you can manage the sofa.”
Taking in the old couple, still a wee bit foggy and his muscles fatigued, Scott eyed the softer choice. “Sofa,” came out breathier than he wanted, which conveyed his exhaustion.
Maisie covered her sofa with a piece of plastic and laid blankets on top. She placed the pillows on one end. “Okay, ready whenever you are.”
Using shaking arms, Scott sat up and wavered as he fought dizziness. “Give me a sec … head’s swimming.”
“Take your time.” Landry gripped the young man’s wrist and counted his pulse. “Still running a bit too fast. Rest a moment longer.”
Maisie moved forward. “While you’re upright, let me remove your wet jacket and gloves. Nothing more uncomfortable than lying on cold, damp blankets.” She efficiently removed the articles and sighed with relief when a check of his fingers revealed no signs of frostbite. She noted his outerwear to be top quality and designed for use in the Arctic.
As the blond started to pull his uninjured leg back to heft himself up to their couch, Landry instructed, “Take it slow.” Landry lowered himself to the long wooden coffee table and offered the cane to him. “Use this to help. If I were in my prime, I would’ve been able to lift you myself. Getting old sucks and is not for sissies.”
Pain rippled through Scott. He hissed and groaned with the slightest movement as
stars danced in his head, and blackness threatened to reclaim him, but he persevered and pushed himself upward, achieving his goal, barely. Perched on the edge, Scott panted through the overwhelming pain, much like he coached Lily through childbirth.
Maisie stepped forward again and with practiced movements helped the hurting man to scoot back, lifted his legs without jarring the pole, and pivoted him so he could lay down. She positioned the pillows behind his back and head, propping him up at a forty-five-degree angle, and covered his upper body with several warm blankets.
Taking his cane back, Landry stood. “Maisie, my dear, would you please bring my rolling chair?”
Off like a shot again, Maisie was back in moments pushing the chair. Landry sat and set the cane aside. Without being asked, Maisie moved the table closer and put Landry’s black bag on it before switching on all the lights making the room blazing bright.
She rushed away again, returning with a bowl and two mugs. After setting the items on the coffee table, she pivoted and left a third time, only to return carrying a steaming pot and a bag full of sterile gauze packages.
Scott watched all this activity slightly disjointed as fatigue washed over him.
Studying the young man, Landry noted pain and exhaustion written on his features. He detected signs of shock, too, but most surprisingly, given this weather, no symptoms of hypothermia. Picking up one of the mugs, Landry held it out to the fella. “I’m Landry Craig, and this is my wife, Maisie. We own the general store. Appears you’ve gone and got yourself shish-kabobbed.”
Scott gratefully accepted the mug and sipped warm broth. In a shaky voice, he asked, “Do you have a phone? I need to call for help.”
Landry shook his head. “Sorry, the phone is down. Power, too, but we have a generator. However, this is your lucky day, young fella. Help is already here. Maisie’s always run the store. After I retired, I started helping, but before, I was a general surgeon. If you allow me, I can treat you.”
“Do you have a way to contact emergency personnel?”
Maisie sat on the arm of the sofa. “Sorry, no. We had a CB radio, but it quit working several years ago, and we never bought a new one.”
Scott’s empty hand fisted in frustration. His face screwed up in anguish both from physical agony and from heartache because Dan’s life depended on him bringing help. No, this can’t be happening.
Landry peered at the distraught man. “I’ll have you set to rights in no time, sonny. No need to worry. I may be old, and the setting a bit rustic, but I possess the necessary items and skills. Don’t you fret.”
Staring at the upset young man, the name she had been searching for popped into Maisie’s mind. “Dan. You’re Danny Broderick. I would recognize your mop of golden-blond hair and those gorgeous sapphire eyes anywhere. I’m not certain if you remember us, but you and Wilson used to come in here when you were a teen. You stayed at Emmett’s place. I made you chicken soup when Landry treated you for pneumonia.”
Surprised this couple knew Dan, Scott turned to Maisie. “Sorry, Ma’am, I’m not Dan. I’m his cousin, Scott. People often mistake us for twins. Our mothers are identical twins, and they married brothers.”
Switching his gaze to Landry, Scott added, “My cousin, Dan, needs medical care urgently. A cut on his leg became infected and is showing signs of sepsis. Though I couldn’t measure his temp, he is feverish, and not in his right mind. He talked to a dead friend as if he were alive, and later, his responses became child-like. I must get him to a hospital, or Dan is going to die.”
Maisie’s face fell. “What can we do, Landry?”
After taking a deep breath, the old physician said, “First, I take care of you, Scott, or you might be in the same boat. Second, we put our heads together and figure out a solution for Dan.”
Begrudgingly recognizing the truth in the doctor’s words, he wouldn’t be of any use to Dan if he succumbed to an infection himself or bled out, Scott asked, “Do you own a snowmobile? If so, after you stitch me up, I can ride to the lodge, I’m sure they’ll have a way to contact someone in an emergency.”
Landry shook his head. “We do, but in your condition, you shouldn’t be going back out in the storm.”
Scott remembered the general store sold skis and poles. He firmly stated, “I’m going with or without your help. If you don’t allow me to borrow your snowmobile, I’ll buy a new pole and be on my way. I won’t let Danny die.”
Maisie put a hand on the agitated man’s shoulder, and spoke in a soft, gentle tone, “Rest easy. We’ll assist you. Allow Landry to tend your wound first. Then we’ll outfit you in new outerwear since this is damaged. Our 1960s Ski-Doo is in the shed out back and fully gassed up.”
Scott relaxed at the kind words of support. He would reach the ski lodge much faster, even riding an ancient snowmobile.
Landry shifted his chair closer. “As Maisie says, we’ll help. It is against my better judgment to allow you back out into the storm, but I understand your concern. This is going to be painful, but if you want, I do have morphine, which will ease your discomfort. That is if you aren’t allergic.”
“No, I’m not, but Dan doesn’t do well with the narcotic.”
Landry chuckled. “Hallucinations?”
“Yeah, big time. His system is sensitive to antibiotics, too,” Scott shared.
Landry set to work after injecting Scott with a small dose of morphine to take the edge off but not enough to hinder him riding to the lodge.
When Doctor Craig removed the pole, Scott’s stomach revolted, and he ended up spewing its remaining contents into the bowl Maisie held for him. As she wiped his face with a damp rag, Scott realized she had been prepared for his reaction. He vaguely wondered how often she assisted her husband. His eyes closed as he fought another wave of nausea.
Maisie wiped the beads of sweat off Scott’s brow and held his hand while Landry worked. Scott held very still clenching his jaw, and only a few groans escaped as Landry disinfected the wound, declaring Scott lucky because the shaft didn’t damage any major arteries and proceeded to suture his wound.
She kept up a flow of conversation with Scott to distract him from the procedure. She learned he, Dan, and their friend Loki were staying in Emmett Haley’s cabin, which Emmett rented out during the winter and sometimes in the summer if he visited his family in Regina. Every year, Emmett lived there until the weather turned cold before traveling to his winter home in Arizona.
Landry listened as Scott told Maisie about Dan’s wound. To his mind, an infection, as he described, would not set in by missing one or two doses with the extensive cleaning they did, so something else must be afoot. Finishing wrapping gauze around Scott’s thigh to hold the bandage in place, Landry sought clarification, “He only missed three doses of antibiotic?”
Scott nodded. “Well, he also missed this morning’s dose. So that makes four. Why?”
“You said he is sensitive to antibiotics. What did you mean?”
The light went on in Scott’s mind as he said softly, “Oh shit.” His gaze connected with the elderly surgeon’s. “Some work for him, and some don’t, plus he lost his spleen in an accident about nine years ago.”
Contemplating the info, Landry rubbed his chin. “Could be the doctor prescribed one which doesn’t work. Or his wound is infected with bacteria that are resistant to the antibiotic. Do you know where he got the gash?”
“He slipped and cut his shin on the corner of a wall in the TRF lockers near the shower stalls.”
Landry whistled. “Bathrooms and locker rooms harbor many nasty buggers like staph bacteria. When you arrive at the lodge, you need to tell the responders they might be dealing with methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. Known to the public as MRSA.”
“MRSA?” Scott’s worry spiked.
Nodding, Landry said, “From what you described and not examining him first-hand, that would be my best guess. They must be prepared. Now I want you to eat something and rest for at least an hour, if not two befo
re you go.”
“No, I gotta go now,” Scott retorted as he started to rise.
Maisie pushed him down and ordered in a stern grandmotherly voice, “How do you propose to help your cousin if you die? You are still shocky and need some warm and substantial food before setting out again.” Noting his stunned response and compliance, she turned and marched from the room.
Landry chuckled. “Better listen to Maisie. She’s got an iron will, and if you don’t heed her, she’s also got a cast-iron skillet. Wouldn’t be surprised if she whacked you upside the head to ensure you rest a moment and eat.”
Scott sighed. His pragmatic mind accepted reason, though he didn’t want to. He did need to recoup some energy, or even with the motorized transport, he would likely pass out on the way. Scott took a drink of the broth after Landry offered him the mug. “Okay, but I’m on my way in no more than one hour. That’s as long as I’m willing to wait.”
Landry nodded and set about cleaning up the tools and trash from the minor surgery. He wanted to start Scott on antibiotics, but he had none on hand. “Once you make contact with the medical team, they should reexamine your wound and begin a course of antibiotics too.”
“Okay … promise I will.”
When Maisie returned, she carried a plate with a large portion of meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans. Scott’s stomach roared. Maisie smiled, and her expression conveyed, ‘I told you so,’ but she remained quiet as she settled the plate in his lap and handed him a fork, knife, and napkin.
After enjoying his repast, Maisie brought over new ski pants, thermal underwear, and thick woolen socks for him. As Scott changed, he blushed, a little embarrassed dressing in front of Maisie, but he needed her assistance to stand. Afterward, she excused herself to rewarm what was left of the chicken broth Loki gave him.
While Scott rested and drank several bottles of water and two cups of coffee, he listened as Maisie regaled him with tales of Dan as a teen. He smiled, thinking his cousin touched so many lives and left a lasting, positive impression on them.
