by N. C. Reed
“Wow,” Abby didn't know what else to say. “I can't even remember the last time I saw him angry,” she told Sam. “He just . . . doesn't do it. He never really has. Whatever she said it must have hit a nerve.”
Sam merely nodded. She counted slowly to fifty before getting to her feet and heading for Gordy's room. She knocked softly on the door and when he acknowledged, she entered.
Gordy had stripped his gear off and was sitting at his desk, leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed.
“Hey,” Sam's voice was soft but carried easy enough.
“Hey yourself,” he grinned without opening his eyes.
“You okay?” she asked, walking to his side, unable to hide her concern.
“Peachy,” he nodded.
“Sounded mad,” she pointed out.
“Hell, I am mad,” Gordy replied, opening his eyes and looking up at her. “I'm sick and damn tired of hearing this kind of shit. No matter what we do, no matter how much we do, it's still the same old thing. Clay was right. We should have shut this place down the minute the sky lit up and just took care of ourselves.”
“That would have been bad for me,” Sam murmured.
“No,” he shook his head and encircled her with his arms, drawing her into his lap. “Abby would still have come after you and then we'd have come after her, and there's no way we would have left you. And I wasn't talking about that, anyway.”
“I know,” she leaned against him.
“Don't pay any attention to me, please,” he told her, kissing the top of her head lightly. “I'm just mad. And I shouldn't be. She's in the clinic now in shock. Didn't say a word on the way home that I heard. But some of the stuff she said . . . ”
“I know,” she placed an arm around his shoulders and then nuzzled his neck. “And you're kind to cut her some slack. Not everyone would.”
“I'm just so tired,” he admitted to her. “Tired of doing so much for people who don't appreciate it. Even my grandmother, always giving Clay hell even after all he's done since this started. She just won't stop. Granddad just enables her. Leon at least stands up to her.”
“And don't even get me started on John Webb,” he almost growled.
“Me either,” she nodded. “He's an ass. But he's been a lot better since Mitchell Nolan slapped him around.”
“I doubt it lasts,” Gordy snorted. “And it just makes me wonder who will be next to bitch and moan about the Sanders and how they owe the entire region something or other.”
“It won't be me,” she promised. “I got what I want from the Sanders,” she smiled at him.
“Did, huh?” he almost smiled back at her.
“Uh huh.”
***
After Sam had gone to see Gordy, Abby had wandered over to the clinic. While she had never been as close to Mattie Simmons as she was to Sam, Abby had still considered Mattie a friend. She was rethinking that now.
Abby didn't take offense to being blamed for the damage caused by a wildfire. It wouldn't be the first time and she had become accustomed to it. Blaming her family, however, was another thing altogether. Not to mention all the others who had worked so hard, several of whom were now dead.
She entered the clinic quietly, seeing her mother off to the side. Mattie was on the exam table furthest from the door, Kaitlin Caudell hovering over her. Patricia saw her and moved toward her at once.
“Maybe not the best time for you to be here, dear,” she said softly.
“So I heard,” Abby nodded. “How is she?”
“No change,” Patricia sighed. “There's not much we can do other than keep her hydrated and warm. She will have to come out of it herself. We're monitoring her blood pressure closely just in case, as shock can sometimes cause a stroke, but she's young and healthy so I don't think we need to worry about that. We do probably need to worry about her attitude, assuming it doesn't clear up when her condition improves.”
“I heard that too,” Abby nodded again. “Gordy is as mad as I think I've ever really seen him. And that's even with him apparently giving her the benefit of the doubt because he could see the distress she was in. I can't imagine what she said to him to get him that hot under the collar.”
“You mean other than blaming you and the rest of us for not dropping everything here and rushing to save her house instead?” Patricia raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That kind of thing is really getting old.”
“I agree, but I don't have the first clue how to prevent it,” her daughter replied. “I would have said that we can let Mattie stay with us, but all things considered, I don't think that's a good idea, anymore.”
“Nor do I,” Patricia replied at once. “After this she wasn't going to anyway. She can get a room here or try to find a place on the hill, but her welcome in my home is worn out after all this. And we should be talking about this later,” she added as Mattie stirred a bit.
“Okay,” Abby nodded. “I've got work to do anyway. See you later.” She stepped outside the clinic and ran right into Beverly Jackson. Abby froze for just a second before schooling her features.
“Ma'am,” she nodded in greeting.
“Checking on your friend?” Beverly sounded professional if not friendly.
“More on my mom, but yes,” Abby replied.
“Your mother?”
“Mattie-,” she started but stopped when Beverly raised a hand.
“Don't,” she was shaking her head. “Let me hear it from her, first, assuming she talks about it. It's better for my objectivity if I don't have it from another source before I talk to her. It allows me to listen without subconsciously checking her version against one I've already heard.”
“I actually never thought of that,” Abby admitted. “There's a lot to what you do, isn't there?”
“There can be, especially in cases like this,” Beverly agreed. “I wanted her to stay another day, but she wouldn't have it any other way but to go home today.”
“Well, she got it,” Abby sighed. “We warned her what to expect, Sam and I, but . . . I guess seeing is believing. In this case anyway.”
“Well, I need to see if she's speaking yet,” Beverly said. “It was nice to talk to you,” she smiled warmly and Abby thought she actually meant it.
“Thank you,” she smiled slightly. “You too.”
Maybe her mother was right. She usually was.
***
Things eased into a smoother road for a day or so as the new arrivals decompressed. They began to talk about their trip, about where they had come from, how they had managed to be part of the group to start with and many other things. Sharing what they knew and how they knew it, wondering aloud where they would fit in among the rest and on the farm in general.
There was one house on the hill remaining, a two bedroom loft, which was shared by Trudy Leighton and Gwen Paige in one room and Sienna Newell and Kandi Ledford in the other. While the two former Army officers were not a couple, they were longtime friends and accustomed to living together. They didn't mind sharing space and the small cabin was comfortable enough for no more possessions than they had remaining. A new, larger cabin, similar to the one that had been constructed for the orphanage, was started in the corner of the square opposite of the children's home. When finished it would provide a good deal more room for single inhabitants on the hill, primarily those who were part of the security forces. It had been christened “The Bunkhouse” before the first wall was in place.
The Thatchers were given two connecting rooms on the second floor of Building Two, making in essence a small efficiency apartment. That allowed the good doctor to be near the clinic and left her husband where he could be near the most likely work he would have as an equipment operator and possible farm hand. Moses Brown and Millie Long joined them in their own rooms, as did Stacey Pryor and Kevin Bodee.
Shane elected to stay in the motor home he had bought and Xavier decided to stay in the other that had been a joint purchase. Kurtis, after looking at the rooms on the second floor,
had decided to stay on the converted school bus for the time being. While not a true motor home, it was just as comfortable as most places he had stayed and it would be quiet, something he valued a great deal.
Cliff Laramie was assigned the last room in Building Two while Virgil Wilcox, after some discussion, moved into the large house shared by Kade, Corey, Titus and Heath. With Zach having moved when the Webbs departed, there was plenty of room for the older man and the boys were glad to have the presence of another experienced soldier on the hill. When the Bunkhouse was finished, all of them would relocate, leaving their house empty. There would now eight trained and experienced fighters living in the small square of houses, making it much safer all around.
An extra day was allowed for everyone to get settled in and their belongings unpacked, such as they were. Some had nothing more than what they had been wearing or carrying when they joined the convoy. These were provided for out of stored clothing, shoes and other necessities that had been laid in for that very occasion. It wasn't as good as new, but compared to the alternative it was completely acceptable.
Wilcox and Newell were folded into the security forces, with Newell also becoming Jake Sidell's assistant in the garage. It turned out the slender woman was a much better mechanic than she had implied and soon she and Jake were under hoods and under vehicles, talking happily about all things mechanical. Clay was pleased to see his friend enjoying himself. Wilcox would join the labor force around the farm when not occupied with security duties.
Ledford would join the Brain Trust in keeping the inventory going, which would be a full time job for at least two weeks as the equipment and supplies brought by the convoy were folded into the farm's standing inventory. She would also be familiarizing herself again with weapons and equipment that she hadn't seen much of since she'd left Infantry School. Once she was comfortable, she would also take her place with the security section. She lacked experience, but her training was solid.
Gwen Paige and Trudy Leighton were assigned to the orphanage three days per week and Gwen would begin offering sewing services to those in need. Eventually she would begin making new clothing, but for now would do mending and alterations. Leighton, much to her disgruntlement, was assigned to kitchen duty on a regular basis as well as janitorial duties in the bathhouse. Her lack of usable skills left her the menial labor and while she despised it, knew that she had nothing else to offer.
Cliff Laramie and Kurtis Montana would be added to the farm's labor pool, Laramie full time and Montana when he wasn't training for security duty. Both had good knowledge to share, Laramie in equipment operation and Montana in his work with cattle and horses.
Shane and the rest would work full time in security, strengthening the safety of the farm by a large margin, and do other work as it was needed, where it was needed.
Which left the Thatchers.
***
“I knew it was too good to last,” Clay sighed as he neared Building Two. Three precious days of nearly no problems, aside from Mattie Simmons meltdown and the revelations about Xavier and Byron had spoiled him.
A call from his sister-in-law had fixed that.
He could hear arguing, or at least loud voices as soon as he entered the building. He looked into the radio room and saw Janice Hardy with her head down, reading and seemingly oblivious, while JJ strained to hear what was happening while trying to appear as if he wasn't straining to hear what was happening. He shot Clay a grin as the older man shook his head. Clay reached the clinic door and took a deep breath before opening it and stepping inside.
“-isn't really the place or time for this, Doctor,” Patricia was saying. “We have patients in here and listening to us have this discussion isn't a good way to inspire their confidence.”
“I am not concerned with their confidence,” Thatcher shot back. “They will accept the care we give them and that does not require confidence, merely acquiescence. Now that I am in charge-,”
“And just who put you in charge?” Clay asked, causing Thatcher to jump as she hadn't seen or heard him enter.
“I'm a doctor and this is a clinic,” she recovered quickly. “Of course I'm in charge.”
“No, you're not,” Clay told her. “And as Patricia said, this is a discussion to have outside this area. Please take it outside or else shut it down. And the Old Man is the one who placed Patricia in charge, so he would be the one to change it, not you.”
“Does he know anything about medicine?” Thatcher challenged.
“He paid for this place, so that really is his only requirement,” Clay smirked. While he himself had paid for most of it, that didn't really matter in the short term. “And trust is important around here, Doctor Thatcher. This isn't the Army, and patients don't have to just take your abuse the way soldiers do or did. Now I’ll say it once more; take this out of here. Now.”
The steel in his voice seemed to do the trick as Thatcher folded her flag and literally marched out of the clinic.
“And to think I was so glad to hear we had a doctor,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Me too,” Patricia agreed. She had been looking forward to not having the lion's share of the burden for medial care rest on her.
Clay walked outside to find a fuming Thatcher pacing back and forth.
“How dare you come into-” she began but he shut her down.
“Shut up, Doctor,” the words were flat and the tone cold. Caught by surprise, unused to being spoken to in such a way, her mouth snapped shut.
“Thank you,” Clay didn't smile. “This is unacceptable. Completely so. No one put you in charge of anything. I'm sure Patricia hoped to see you take over as she has carried this burden alone for well over six months. She lost a man with her hand literally massaging his heart in an effort to remove shrapnel from his chest, has treated multiple gunshot wounds and farm injuries, had to care for a small child who had a broken arm that had to be re-broken in order for her to set it, a woman with a severe head injury that may or may not ever wake up, two women who suffered from a massive gang rape as well as the deaths of their husbands and other family members, another victim of sexual assault from a different attack, and the list could continue but hopefully you get the point. Do not assume that you are somehow superior to her just by virtue of having a sheepskin that says something different from hers. While she may not be a physician, she is a Nurse Practitioner and got her degree from Vanderbilt University Medical School.”
Thatcher's face had started with surprise. Followed by indignation, then anger, then slowly dawning comprehension as Clay continued to recite the plethora of situations that had been faced before her arrival, and finally shock when she heard 'Vanderbilt'.
“She treated all of these either in the field, or in that small room, right there,” he pointed to the clinic door. “You will show her the proper respect, Doctor, or you can join the labor line. Failing that you can feel free to pack up your ambulance and open your own clinic. The one Patricia used to operate in Jordan is probably available, assuming it hasn't been destroyed. Clear?”
Thatcher didn't reply, still reeling from a dressing down the likes of which she hadn't received in a long time.
“Do you read me, Doctor Thatcher?” Clay took a step forward and lowered his voice. “Communication is important, here,” he added, his tone bordering on condescending.
“I hear you,” she nodded, her voice much more polite. “I wasn't aware that . . . I will apologize,” she decided on saying.
“An excellent idea, Doctor,” Clay offered a second opinion. “If you stow that attitude, you will find Patricia to be rather easy to get along with and work with. You would have found her glad to have you here and willing to have you take the lead in patient care I'm sure. Now, that probably won't be the case, given your callous attitude toward the patients under her care. Expect resistance now where before you would have had acceptance. While we are beyond thrilled to have an actual doctor available, don't think that means we’ll tolerate that kind of at
titude or abuse. We won't. We've made it this far, we’ll keep on making it. It will be easier with your help, but with or without it, we’ll still keep going. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” Thatcher nodded.
“Then may I suggest that you try again to speak with Patricia, and do so out here, or better yet over a cup of coffee somewhere?”
***
Thatcher had just returned to the clinic with Clay to speak with Patricia when Mattie Simmons began having difficulty. One minute she was fine and the next she was trembling violently and trying to get up from her bed, fighting the tubes and lines attached to her.
“Her blood pressure is bottoming!” Kait called out from her side. “Ninety over sixty, respiration is thirty, shallow and labored, pulse is . . . one ten,” she finished.
“It's got to be psychological,” Patricia stayed calm, examining Mattie carefully. “She's experiencing something in her dream state and trying to wake up. We don't know if she's epileptic, do we,” she murmured to herself. “Clay!” she yelled, turning to the door and stopping as she saw him. “Oh. Clay, I need you to get hold of Abby and Sam for me. Find out if Mattie Simmons is epileptic. They might know.”
“On it,” Clay nodded, moving to the door and keying his radio. Thatcher moved to the table where Mattie was still shaking.
“Initial diagnosis?” she asked carefully.
“Acute Stress Reaction,” Patricia replied. “Did she exhibit any type of seizure behavior on the trip here?” she remembered that Thatcher had arrived on the same convoy after all.
“Not that I was made aware of,” Thatcher shook her head, moving the check Mattie's IV line. “Nor did she mention being epileptic. Has she been unresponsive since her return?”
“More or less,” Patricia nodded. “She walked in under her own power and we've managed to get her up to use the toilet and to bathe, but she hasn't spoken much at all. One word responses to questions has been about it. Not completely unresponsive but definitely not tracking.”
