by Judy Clemens
Carla looked down at herself. “I just want to take a shower—I feel so disgusting. And wear my own clothes. And raid my own refrigerator…” Her voice took on a dreamy quality.
Lucy smiled. “When will you know?”
“When the doc makes his afternoon rounds. He has to okay it.”
“You won’t be able to go back to work right away, will you?” I thought of Wendy, and of the other guys in Carla’s practice whom I liked, but not as well as Carla.
“Nope. Lots of restrictions. No heavy lifting, no driving, no aerobic activities.”
“You need me to come stay with you tonight?”
Carla looked at me, and then at my foot. “Lotta help you’d be. But thanks, anyway. Bryan said he’ll stay. He’ll bring Concord back over and take care of both of us.”
I didn’t like that. “Carla—”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “I thought the doctor said no aerobic activities.”
Carla looked confused for a moment, then laughed when she saw the corners of Lucy’s mouth twitching upward. “Don’t worry. Bryan will be sleeping on the couch. Besides, he’s a gentleman.”
I snorted again.
“You have a problem?” Carla scowled at me.
“No. No problem.” Unless you count her brand new boyfriend that I didn’t trust farther than I could throw a lasso.
Lucy kicked my wheelchair, then said, “Any word from the detective today?”
Carla turned her frown toward Lucy. “Nope. Last I heard was yesterday. My truck’s totaled.”
I thought of my visit with Willard. “So no information about the guy who did it?”
“Nope. They don’t seem to know anything about him at all.”
“Except,” said Lucy, “that he is definitely not a gentleman.”
Neither Carla nor I argued with that.
Chapter Twelve
There were no irate men in Dr. Peterson’s waiting room this time, and we were immediately sent back to her office. Lucy wheeled me in, and stayed. I guess she was afraid I’d cry when I heard the results of the x-ray.
Dr. Peterson swiveled her computer monitor around so we could see it. “Straight metatarsal fracture.”
I looked at her, then back at the x-ray. “Huh?”
She smiled. “That’s good news. It’s a non-displaced break. Nothing is out of alignment. Just fractured. Which means it should heal easily and I can do a walking cast right here in the office.”
A cast. I must’ve looked upset, because she added, “You’ll be able to get back to work in a day or two. With some restrictions, of course.”
I didn’t say anything, because whatever came out wouldn’t be nice.
“So,” Dr. Peterson said to Lucy, “if you could please wheel her out and into exam room three. I think I have an old pair of sweats in my trunk she can use.”
She did, and I was soon wearing them, my jeans folded into a Landis’ Supermarket bag.
After I was situated on the exam table, Lucy looking anxious, like she might need to hold my hand, Dr. Peterson got to work rolling an elastic stocking type thing onto my foot, and then wrapping it in batting.
“I didn’t know you were a quilter,” I said. “With the batting and all. Can I pick the colors?”
It was supposed to be funny, but Dr. Peterson—now in full doctor mode—didn’t laugh. I watched as she finished up with the padding, then filled a bag of something with warm water. She mushed it around a bit, then emptied out some of the water before pulling out a roll of sticky material.
“This is the cast,” she said. “So hold still while I wrap it around.”
I wasn’t about to disobey. She was scary when she became “The Doctor.”
I watched the top of her head as she worked. “So what’s up with the angry patients in the waiting room?”
There was a hitch in her movements, but she didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”
I glanced at Lucy, and she gave a brief shake of her head. I chose to ignore it. “While we were waiting some guy came in. Threw a hissy fit because your dad’s not working today. Your receptionist said it wasn’t the first time.”
Dr. Peterson finished up the roll of material and added water to another bag. She squished it around, let out the water, and pulled out a new roll. “My dad’s retiring. He figures he’s put a good forty-five years into this practice, he deserves some time off. So he’s been weaning the patients off of him. He hardly has office hours anymore. Saturday mornings. Some Mondays, to help when it’s really busy.”
“And the patients?”
“Aren’t taking it well.” She bent back over my leg and began wrapping. “The men I guess I can understand. It’s embarrassing for them to come to me. They’re men, after all, and I’m a young woman.” She gave me a quick grin. “Relatively young, anyway. They feel strange talking to me about their physical problems. The women…I thought they’d be glad. You know, to have a female as their doctor. The younger women are fine. No problems with them. But the older ones? They’re almost as bad as the men. If not worse. They act like I’m a little girl and there’s no way I can know as much as my father.” She smacked the end of the roll onto my calf.
I jumped. “Hey!”
“Sorry. It gets to me.”
Lucy clicked her tongue. “I can see why.”
I held out a hand, palm out. “Just don’t take it out on me.”
“I said I was sorry.”
The cast material was already beginning to harden. Dr. Peterson got some hand soap from the sink and rinsed down my leg, wiping the cast. When she was done she took a few inches of the padding and stocking thing that were still sticking out of the top of the cast and rolled them over the highest part of the cast, which ended right below my knee.
I frowned at my toes, bare and sticking out of the cast. “If it’s my foot that’s broken, why’s the cast so huge?”
“To protect you. Keeps your leg from moving your ankle and foot around.”
“But how am I supposed to—”
“You can walk on it. Look.” She pulled a shoe-type thing out of a bag. “This will go over your foot. You strap the Velcro over the top. After a day or two you can use this to work again. Make sure you put a bag over the cast when you do get back to the barn—and tape it to your skin at the top so stuff doesn’t get in. You can wear an extra large boot over it if you want.”
“But I can’t walk on it today?”
“You like pain?”
I frowned at her.
“Give it a couple of days to heal, Stella. Take it easy. Pop some Tylenol and let other people do stuff for you.”
“She won’t let me, you know.” Lucy looked almost irritated.
“Well, then, I guess that’s her problem. If she wants to heal, she’ll take my advice.”
“She’s not always so good at that.”
“Hey,” I said. “Right here. Haven’t left the room.”
Dr. Peterson kept looking at Lucy. “Maybe you’ll need to take some Tylenol, too.”
Lucy nodded. “I just might.”
I wriggled off the table. “Will you two shut up?”
Dr. Peterson grabbed my elbow. “Fine. Now stay there for a minute.” She left, but was back moments later with a battered pair of crutches. “Use these. I’ll give you a prescription to get a better pair at the medical supply store, but these will do you till then.”
“A prescription?” I watched as she scribbled on her pad. “For crutches?”
“Insurance won’t let us sell them to you. They want to pay much less than they think we’d charge. So some patients kindly give us their old pair and we can loan them out. Just try to bring them back when you’re done with them.”
“Sure.”
Dr. Peterson stuck the crutches under my arms and adjusted them for my height. “These will do you fine until you get your new ones. Come here.” She opened the door and gestured to the hallway. “Try them ou
t. Let me make sure you can manage.”
I must’ve done fine, because she said good-bye and good luck and headed for another exam room.
“Dr. Peterson,” I said.
She looked back.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I grinned. “You did pretty good for a woman doctor.”
I almost fell over when I ducked the prescription pad she aimed at my head.
Chapter Thirteen
“One more stop,” I said.
Lucy slowed at the corner of Bethlehem Pike and Reliance Road and made a right. “Where? Grocery store?”
“Police station.”
She glanced at me. “What for?”
“I want to see if Willard got any answers yesterday when they finished with Carla’s truck. From the sound of the news this morning they still don’t have a suspect, and I want to know what’s going on.”
“Carla hadn’t heard anything.”
“Yeah, but maybe Willard didn’t want to bother her in the hospital.”
She considered that. “Okay. Your wish is my command.”
Right.
Lucy parked across the street from the station and helped me out of the passenger seat.
I took a deep breath. “I’m okay from here.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
She glanced across the tracks in the direction of Landis’ Supermarket. “Then I’m gonna run to the grocery store. Putting your jeans in that bag reminded me of some things I need.”
“Bring a donut back for me? Please?”
She smiled. “Just don’t tell Lenny, or he’ll feel left out.”
I zipped my lips with my fingers and almost fell over. Lucy got a good laugh.
My entrance into the police station was just as clumsy, and Gladys, the receptionist, regarded me with wide eyes. “What happened to you?”
I yanked my crutch from where it was stuck in the outside door and rested on it. “Short version? Big cow, broken foot.”
“Ouch. Gonna lay you up a while?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“But no more motorcycle.”
“Not for now.” I used a crutch to point toward the back. “Willard in?”
“Sure. Let me help you.” She buzzed the door, then got up to hold it open while I stumbled through. I managed to club her both in the ribs and the shin.
“Sorry.”
She held a hand to her side. “S’alright. I’ll survive. Just remember Willard does have a gun. And he’s not afraid to use it.”
I could hear Willard’s voice as I clumped down the hallway, and I stopped outside his office. When the receiver hit the cradle I poked my head in. “Busy?”
He looked up and froze, expressionless, at the sight of my crutches.
“Big cow, broken foot,” I said.
“Ah. Want to have a seat?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I somehow got myself into the chair without knocking anything over, and set the crutches across the arms of the chair. Willard and I both breathed a sigh of relief.
“Today?” Willard asked.
“Just now.”
“Bummer.”
“You could say that. So’d you hear anything from the requests on the radio the past two mornings?”
“You caught that, huh?” He drummed his pencil on the desk. “Nothing new. Got a couple of calls from people who think they saw the truck, but nothing concrete, and no further description of the driver.”
“What about the fingerprints from the rear view mirror? Anything from them?”
He sighed. “Got some pretty prints. Clear as day, no question. Ran the ones that didn’t match Dr. Beaumont through the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Not one match. Whoever left those prints has never been in the computer.”
My turn to say, “Bummer.”
“It is. Makes it even more unlikely that he was after the drugs, because most druggies and dealers have been caught multiple times and would certainly be in the database.” He tossed the pencil in the air and caught it. “But I guess there’s always a first time.”
“So you’re still checking the drug angle?”
“Have to. It’s the only thing we have going for us at this point. Whoever it was didn’t get seen by anyone who can help us. Or anyone who knows it, anyway.”
I leaned my elbows on the crutches, and put my chin in my hands. “So you really didn’t have anything to tell Carla.”
He looked puzzled. “No. Why?”
“I thought maybe you were just saving her feelings.”
“Nope. But it’s nice you think I’m one of those sensitive guys.”
“Yeah, right. Hey, did you hear about Kulpsville Mennonite?”
“The church? What about it?”
“It was vandalized last night. Somebody destroyed a bunch of the new minister’s personal property and painted graffiti in the building.”
“They must still be checking it out, or I’d have heard by now.”
“Will you let me know if you find out anything interesting about it?”
He bounced his pencil on its eraser. “Why? You have connections?”
“The new minister is a friend of the Grangers. I met her the other night.”
“Her?”
“Yup. It’s a woman.”
He nodded, curiosity lighting his face. “I guess those Mennonites might join the twenty-first century, after all.”
I thought about the discussion around Ma’s dinner table the other night, and the message painted on Katherine’s office wall. “I don’t know,” I told Willard. “But I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Queenie ran circles around the Civic when we pulled into the drive, and Lucy honked the horn at her, laughing. “What’s gotten into her?”
“Dunno.”
Zach loped out of the barn, followed by his friend Randy, and reached me as I clambered out of the car.
Randy stared at my cast. “What happened to you?”
“Stupid Wendy.”
His eyes widened, like he was trying to look concerned while keeping himself from laughing.
Zach did laugh.
I scowled at him. “What?”
“Stupid Wendy had a beautiful calf.”
I waited expectantly for the gender.
He grinned. “Heifer.”
I let out a breath of disbelief. At least the dumb cow had had the sense to produce a girl this time. I have nothing against boys in general, of course, Zach being one of my favorite people—not to mention Nick—but in the dairy business boys aren’t really a whole lot of help. Girls I can keep and add to my milking herd. Boys I sell to another farmer who raises beef, or to kids like Randy, who need a 4-H project.
“You have to do anything for her?” I asked.
“Nah. She pretty much took care of it.”
“It’s about time.” I slammed the car door and hitched the crutch under my arm. The boys backed out of the way as I lurched past them. They stood there, staring, as I made my way toward the barn. I turned on them. “Don’t you have something you should be doing?”
Zach opened his mouth, then shut it, his face a blank. “Sure. Sure we do.”
“Then go do it.”
He and Randy glanced at each other, then scootched past me toward the barn, skirting widely around, out of range of my crutches.
I looked at Lucy, whose eyes crinkled as she regarded me, her mouth twitching. She looked at the ground, then back at me, her expression under control. “Um, what are you planning to do for the rest of the day?”
“I’m going to my office. You have a problem with that?”
“Nope. No problem. You going to go see the new calf?”
“Maybe someday. When I don’t feel like sending her mother to the meat packer.” I turned to clump away as gracefully as I could.
L
ucy’s voice followed me. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I didn’t bother to respond.
Between my computer and a few doses of ibuprofen I made it through the afternoon. Lucy brought me a sandwich at one point, but other than that she pretty much left me alone, which was surprising. I expected her to be checking in every five minutes to make sure I wasn’t overdoing myself. Queenie hadn’t even stayed to give me company, preferring the activity of the farm.
Zach stuck around, helping Lucy with the work I should’ve been doing. Randy stayed, too, alternately helping and watching, seeing how he wasn’t being paid. When Mallory drove up to the house a little before five, I pushed myself up from the desk to go say hello. My muscles were stiff, and it took me a while to make it all the way outside.
Mallory and Brady Willard stood beside the car, staring at me.
“Cow stepped on me.” I was getting tired of saying it.
Mallory nodded, but Brady looked confused. “What?”
“Ever drop five hundred pounds on your foot?” I asked.
He shook his head, clearly impressed.
I looked at Mallory. “You here for Zach?”
“Yeah. He said he could take the night off.”
“Oh, really?”
She looked surprised. “He can’t?”
I glanced around and saw him coming from the barn with Randy. “I gave you the night off?”
He stopped beside me. “I asked last week. You said yes.”
“Oh. All right.”
“Didn’t know that broken foot would cause memory loss.”
I swung a crutch at him and lost my balance, falling onto Mallory, who staggered, but kept us both upright.
I righted myself. “Like I’m going to keep you here twenty-four seven. Where you off to tonight?”
“MYF,” Mallory said, meaning Mennonite Youth Fellowship, the church youth group. “We’re having a joint meeting with Kulpsville, to meet the new minister.”
“Are you going there?” I couldn’t imagine the church hosting an event when it had just been vandalized. But then, the MYF wouldn’t be partying in Katherine’s office.
