by Bonnie Leon
“You’re going to have to . . . or we can’t be friends. Sorry, but I’ve got mail to deliver.” Kate walked to her plane. She knew Mike was watching her, but she didn’t dare glance back.
Once in the air, Kate replayed the scene with Mike. What was she going to do about him? He’d helped her get started up here. But he couldn’t keep acting this way.
Her mind turned to Paul and excitement prickled through her at the thought of seeing him. Everything between them was probably fine. Most likely he’d just been tired or moody. But the two of them had gotten serious about each other awfully fast. Maybe too fast for him.
There was a time when she’d believed Richard was the man of her dreams and then Mike. Could she trust her feelings? Even as she wondered about her emotions, her mind returned to Paul. Just the thought of him made her feel flushed. She loved him. She was certain of it.
Kate allowed her imagination to consider what life would be like as his wife. It wouldn’t all be bliss. She knew better than that. They were very different from one another. There’d be skirmishes and her being a pilot would cut into wifely responsibilities. Plus his being a doctor would keep him away a lot of the time. She wasn’t sure how they’d manage a family. Would he want her to stop flying? And was she willing to do that? Kate couldn’t imagine life without it.
When she set down on the sandbar, Paul was already on his way in the boat. Patrick dropped him off, waved, and then headed back up Bear Creek. Paul climbed in and pulled the door shut.
“Where we headed?” he asked, dropping a quick, almost impersonal kiss on her cheek before sliding into his seat. He smiled and briefly touched her hand.
Kate had expected more. “Ninilchik,” she said, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice. “Someone radioed in that there’ve been some cases of measles.”
“How many?”
“At least three. One’s a child in the village and he’s recovered. The other two are in the same family—the Gladwells. They’re nice people. They actually live outside town. They have an airstrip, so getting in and out will be easy.” She wished he’d reach over and give her a real kiss or at least clasp her hand.
Paul nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept his eyes focused outside. Silence wedged itself between them. Something was wrong.
When she approached the village nestled on the shore of Cook Inlet, Mount Redoubt and Mount Iliamna stood on the opposite shore, making for a stunning skyline. She flew over a dark sandy beach. “One of these days we’ll have to go clamming again. I heard there are lots of them to be had here.”
“Sounds like fun,” Paul said, keeping his eyes on the town of Ninilchik.
Most of the trip, he’d been quiet. What had happened to their usual friendly banter? Kate wanted to ask him if he was upset about something, but didn’t dare, afraid of what he’d say.
Dropping above the treetops, Kate searched for the Gladwells’ place. When she spotted their cabin perched on the edge of a clearing, she circled the runway to make sure it was clear of debris, then landed on the grassy airstrip and shut down the engine.
She let Angel out for a short run, then closed the dog inside the plane. She and Paul headed toward the cabin. On the west side of the house stood a good-sized barn. A mare grazed in a pasture while her foal trotted around her, its tail in the air. Beyond the barn a large garden sprawled toward the forest.
“Nice place,” Paul said.
A tall, lanky man with a heavy beard and wearing a red flannel shirt stepped out of the barn. “Hello,” he called.
“Hi, Carl,” Kate said. “Good to see you.”
Taking long strides, he approached Kate and Paul.
“Carl, this is Paul Anderson, the doctor. Paul, this is Carl Gladwell.”
The two shook hands. “Thanks for coming,” Carl said, then turned toward the house and headed across the field. “My oldest boy Nate’s not too bad. He’s miserable, but nothing like Gordon.” His brow creased. “Gordon’s been real sick.”
“Everyone else all right?”
“Yeah. Me and my wife and little girl are fine so far. I’m worried about Annie, though. She’s just two.”
“I’ll check on her while I’m here.” Paul glanced at two dogs woofing and pulling on their leads. “You hear of any other cases in town aside from the one?”
“No. But since the boys got sick, we’ve been keeping to ourselves, so there might be some I haven’t heard about.” When they reached the house, Carl opened the door and stood aside while Paul and Kate stepped indoors. “You sure you wouldn’t rather wait outside?” Carl asked Kate. “Hate to see you get sick.”
“I had the measles when I was six. Worried my mother silly.”
Carl looked at Paul. “How about you? You have them?”
“I did, right along with my brothers and sisters.”
A woman with her hair twisted into a bun at the base of her neck closed an oven door, then straightened and faced her guests. “Hello,” she said, her voice hushed. Her face looked drawn and the skin beneath her eyes appeared bruised, revealing her lack of sleep.
“Hi, Emily,” Kate said. “Sorry to hear your boys are sick.”
She tucked a loose hair into place. “I’m so thankful you’ve come. I’m sure now that the doctor’s here everything will be fine.”
Carl introduced Emily to Paul. “I’ve been so afraid, Gordon’s been really sick,” she said and headed toward a doorway off the main room. “He’s back here.”
Paul and Kate followed her into a small bedroom. It was sparsely furnished with two single beds and one chest of drawers. A small window allowed in the morning sunlight. The boys were bundled beneath heavy quilts. The room felt stifling.
“This is Gordon,” Emily said, hovering over her son.
Paul moved to the boy’s bedside. “How you doing, Gordon?”
“Not so good,” the youngster mumbled.
Kate almost gasped at the sight of him. His face was swollen and blanketed with a red rash. He peered up at Paul through puffy eyes.
Paul sat on the edge of the bed and took a thermometer out of his bag and placed it under the boy’s tongue. “Keep your mouth closed.” Looking as miserable as any human being could, Gordon did as he was told. Paul took his pulse. His brow furrowed. “Let me have a look at you,” he said, his tone cheerful. He studied the youngster’s face more closely, then asked, “Can you sit up?”
Gordon pushed himself upright and rested against the wall. The effort seemed almost too much for him.
“That’s a good boy.” Paul lifted his pajama top, exposing more of the fiery rash. “You’ve got a good case, all right.” He gently lowered the boy’s pajama top, took the thermometer out of his mouth, and studied it briefly. “Running a pretty good temp there, champ.”
“What is it?” Emily asked.
“A hundred and five.”
Emily pressed a hand to her mouth. “I knew it was bad.”
Concern showed in his eyes, but using a casual tone, he said, “It’s not unusual for children to run high fevers, especially with the measles. We’ll get his temperature down and he’ll be fine.” He placed a stethoscope to Gordon’s chest and listened. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Gordon tried to breathe deeply, but a cough rumbled inside his chest. Paul left the stethoscope where it was and said, “Can you try again?” Gordon complied and this time managed without coughing. Paul moved the stethoscope. “Again.” He listened closely, then straightened. “I don’t hear any sounds of pneumonia.”
“Thank the Lord,” Emily said.
“Can you get a bowl of tepid water and a washcloth for me?” Paul removed the bedclothes.
“I’m cold,” Gordon whimpered.
“I know,” Paul said kindly. “It’s the fever.” He moved to the other bed and gave Nate the same exam as his brother. “You’re doing well.” He looked at Carl. “He the first to get sick?”
“Yeah. He’d been sick about four days when Gordon came down wi
th it.”
“I’m feeling a lot better,” Nate said.
“I can see that.” Paul stood. “But I want you to stay in bed a few more days, all right?”
“A few more days?” Nate groaned.
“Sorry.” Paul grinned.
Emily returned with the water and washcloth. While explaining that bundling up the children when they are running a fever only increases their temperatures, Paul showed her how to give Gordon a sponge bath. “The water will cool his skin and bring down his fever.”
Gordon shivered, his skin prickling with gooseflesh.
“Once that temp’s down, you’ll feel a whole lot better,” Paul said. “Do you have aspirin?” he asked Emily.
“No.”
Paul took a small bottle out of his bag and gave it to her. “Give him one or two every four to six hours. It will help with his discomfort and to control the fever. Make sure he rests, even when he’s feeling better. If that cough gets worse, radio the airfield and I’ll come out and have another look.” Paul glanced at the window. “It’s best to keep the room dark. Too much light is hard on the eyes.”
Emily nodded. “I’ll cover it right away.”
“He ought to start feeling better in a few days.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Emily smiled shyly at Paul.
He closed his bag and headed to the front room.
“What do we do if Annie gets sick?” Carl asked. “She’s just two.”
Paul set the little girl on the kitchen table and gave her a quick exam. She smiled at him and tried to grab ahold of the stethoscope. “She seems fine.” Paul set her on the floor.
“And if she gets sick?” Carl watched her toddle out the door and onto the porch.
“The treatment’s the same, only decrease the aspirin to half a tablet. You can crush it in some jam to get her to take it. And watch the fever. If it spikes too high, it could cause a seizure.”
“A seizure?” Emily’s voice sounded panicked.
“It’s rare. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
Carl walked to a cupboard and took down a tin can. He removed the lid and fished out a couple of dollar bills. He handed them to Paul. “It’s not much—”
Paul pushed the money back at him. “I’m glad to come—no charge.”
Carl stuffed the money into Paul’s shirt pocket. “I pay my way.” He walked back into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to eat or drink before you head out?”
Paul rested his hand over his pocket. “I could use a glass of water.”
“Sure.” Carl looked at Kate. “You like some?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Carl filled a glass from a hand pump in the sink. “How about we go out on the porch and sit?”
Kate lowered herself onto a chair made of hewn lumber and gratefully breathed in fresh air. She was glad to be free of the stuffy house.
Paul took a drink. “Measles are highly contagious. Likely there’ll be others in town who’ll get sick. I’d like to know if there are any more cases. Hate to have a measles epidemic out here.” Paul took another drink of water.
“Folks are keeping to themselves,” Carl said, watching his daughter totter down the path in front of the house.
“Good.” Paul eased onto a chair and looked around. “It’s real pretty out here.”
“We like it. Moved onto this place five years ago.”
Kate let her gaze roam over the farm. “I’d love to have a place like this one day.”
“Might want to look into homesteading,” Carl said.
“I’m not ready for that yet. Right now a small house in town would be nice, though. And one day maybe a homestead.” Kate glanced at Paul. She couldn’t keep up a farm on her own, but if she were married . . .
Carl looked out over the property. “Figure in another couple of years I’ll have everything fenced off and then I’ll get us a few cows. I’m building a pen for pigs right now. I’ll need it soon too. Made a deal with a man in town who has a pregnant sow.”
Paul drained his glass. “Good luck to you. Heard pigs are hard to keep in an enclosure.”
“That’s true.” He chuckled. “I’ll be making my pen good and strong. Don’t figure on chasing pigs over hill and dale.”
Paul handed him the empty glass. “Thanks for the water.” He looked at Kate. “We better get moving.”
Carl walked with them to the plane. He clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Thanks again, Doc. We really appreciate your coming out.”
“My pleasure.”
Paul cranked the plane while Kate settled behind the control wheel. She was checking the gauges when Paul dropped into his seat. “Ready?” She turned over the engine and glanced up, catching a flash of red just before hearing a sickening ka-thunk. She shut down the plane and sprang out of her seat.
“What happened?” Paul asked.
“The prop hit something!” Kate pushed open the door and leaped out, afraid at what she would find. Carl lay on the ground in front of the plane. His little girl sat beside him. She was crying.
“No!” The word exploded from Kate.
Paul sprinted past her and knelt beside Carl. He leaned over the injured man.
“Annie . . . I was trying to get Annie.”
“Don’t talk,” Paul said, then he yelled at Kate, “Get my bag!”
She ran back to the plane, snatched up Paul’s medical bag, and hurried back to him. Blood was everywhere, all over Carl, on Paul, and on the ground. She picked up the crying little girl and watched helplessly while Paul yanked open his bag and pulled out wads of gauze.
Kate couldn’t stand to watch, but she couldn’t wrench her eyes away either. “I didn’t see him.” A sob escaped Kate. “I didn’t see him.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.
Emily ran toward the plane, terror written on her face. When she saw Carl, she smothered a scream behind her hands and sank to her knees beside her husband. “Is he all right? Will he be all right?”
Paul glanced at her, his eyes somber. He didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced at Kate. “I need your help.”
“Carl. Carl.” Emily rested a shaking hand on his forehead. “Please, don’t leave me.”
Paul had stripped off the man’s shirt. His right arm was nearly severed and a ghastly wound ran from his shoulder up his neck and disappeared into his scalp. Blood gushed. Carl’s face had turned pasty white. His eyes were closed and it didn’t look like he was breathing.
Paul grabbed more cloth from his bag. “Kate!”
As if being awakened from a trance, she handed Annie to her mother and knelt beside Paul. He took her hand and pressed it on a spot in Carl’s neck. “The artery isn’t completely severed, but it’s gashed, and if we don’t stop the bleeding . . .” He let the sentence hang. “I need you to keep it pinched together.”
Kate could feel warm blood and a weak pulse. At least he was still alive. This is my fault. I should have been watching. If he dies . . . She couldn’t even allow her thoughts to go there.
“Don’t let off the pressure.” Paul dug in his bag.
No matter how tightly Kate squeezed, Carl’s artery pumped blood. The pulse grew weaker. He’s dying. He’s going to die right here in my hands.
Paul threaded a needle, his hands miraculously steady. “Okay. I’m ready.” He swabbed blood. “I’ve got to get it clear so I can see well enough to stitch the laceration.” His voice revealed neither hesitancy nor fear. He handed Kate gauze. “Mop up the blood so I can see.” He looked at her for a moment, his eyes gentle. “You can do it.”
Paul took the tattered artery and squeezed it closed and began suturing. Blood seeped out—not so much now though.
Kate did her best to keep the area clear. The blood didn’t seem to be pumping any longer, but there was still so much of it. She looked at Carl’s face. His skin was ashen. Did he have any blood left? Oh Carl, please live.
“Is he still breathing?” Emily asked, her voice quaking. “I don’t think he’s breathing.”
Her voice strident, she bent over her husband. “Carl? Carl!”
Kate knew it was too late. He’d lost too much blood.
Paul kept working on him.
“Paul. He’s gone,” Kate said quietly.
Paul acted as if he hadn’t heard her.
She rested a bloodied hand on his arm. “He’s dead. Paul, he’s gone.” Kate couldn’t believe she was even saying the words.
He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, then he sat back, his hands and forearms covered with blood, his expression morose.
Kate wiped her hands on her pants. They were sticky.
Emily threw herself over her husband’s body. “Noooo.” She sobbed. “Noooo. Lord, not my Carl. Please, not Carl.”
Kate stood on shaky legs. She felt sick. She looked away, tasting salty tears.
“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I tried. I really tried. The injuries were too severe.” He stood and gazed down at Carl. It had only been minutes earlier that they’d been chatting.
Kate took his hand and leaned against him. “You did everything you could. This is my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Paul turned tormented eyes on her. “Tell me why. Why would God do something like this? He could have stopped it. Why didn’t he?”
Kate didn’t have an answer. Life was filled with sorrows she had no explanation for. The verse “There is a time to be born and a time to die” rolled through her mind. “It was his time,” she said softly. Alison’s face flashed into her mind. Sweet Alison had died too young. Had it been her time or was it Kate’s carelessness? If only she hadn’t taken the plane out that day. Alison would still be alive. Even in her own state of confusion and guilt, Kate heard herself say, “God is here. He sees—”
“Yeah, well, does he see Emily?” He swung around and pointed at the house. “Does he see those children?” His eyes brimming with tears, Paul looked at little Annie, stained with her father’s blood, and he said bitterly, “Does he see her?”
