She hoped Brooke’s worry about money had been resolved and she wouldn’t need more therapy sessions with Tony, her counselor.
At least Candace could hope that was the case.
Chapter Seventeen
WEDNESDAY MORNING ARRIVED COLD AND blustery.
At the hospital, anxiety tightened James’s neck muscles and bunched his shoulders together. Gazing out a window that overlooked the front of Hope Haven, he massaged his neck to ease the strain. It didn’t help.
He checked his watch again. Almost ten thirty, nearly time to begin the demonstration. The whole morning had crept by like someone had drugged his watch and its hands couldn’t move. He flicked his fingernail against the watch face. Maybe the battery was running down.
Nelson had wanted to come march with the employees, since the whole idea had been his. But it was a school day and the last rehearsal of the play was scheduled before tonight’s performance.
Would the employees who’d promised to join in the march show up? In this freezing cold weather? He didn’t want to be the only one with his neck stuck out a mile.
How about the TV station and the newspapers he’d contacted? A story about a small-town hospital wasn’t exactly earth shattering. In this weather, reporters might want to cover an indoor event and stay warm. Without news coverage of the demonstration, it wouldn’t have any impact on public officials. The pay cuts would already be effective without any objection except from the employees, and there’d be no way to reverse the decision.
Lorraine Wilder, the day-shift nurse supervisor for General Medicine, joined James at the window. A tall, angular woman with dark hair and a prominent nose, she was in her fifties with nearly thirty years’ experience as a nurse.
“You must have checked your watch ten times in the past fifteen minutes,” she said.
Guilty heat flooded James’s face. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous. Any number of things could go wrong—”
“It’s going to be fine, James. You’ve organized the event beautifully. The employees are excited. We’ll make a big splash that the public and board of directors will hear. They’ll be on our side.”
“I hope you’re right.” James eyed a red cedar tree across the street, its branches waving wildly in the wind. The protesters would be lucky to hang onto their signs.
Even if the public got behind the employees, that didn’t guarantee any additional funds would be forthcoming.
Their pay could still be cut.
“Since you’re uncharacteristically useless on the floor this morning,” Lorraine said, her tone kind and supportive, “why don’t you go on downstairs and make sure everything is ready?”
He snapped his head around. “Really? I don’t want to leave you in a bind.”
“Go, James. The floor’s quiet. I’ll handle things for you and take the late shift on the picket line when you get back.”
He gave her a big smile. “Thanks, Lorraine. You’re a champ.”
“Probably more like a champion sucker.” She jerked her head toward the stairs. “Get outta here. And don’t let anybody get frostbite. We don’t want the staff out on disability if we can help it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tendered her a casual salute, then hurried upstairs to get his heavy parka and his cap with earflaps from his locker.
Back downstairs, he walked smartly toward the exit and stepped outside. The cold air struck him in the face with an icy slap.
Wincing, he vowed to schedule the next outdoor event he organized during summer.
He retrieved his picket sign from his van along with several signs with generic messages that said things like Honk If You Support the Hospital. The wind nearly turned the signs into kites. Or lethal missiles.
As he walked toward the sidewalk, several employees joined him, all of them bundled against the cold.
“Hey, man,” one young fellow said, “sure hope you’ve got a bunch of radiant heaters lined up waiting for us. This is some arctic blast we got going on.”
“Sorry,” James responded. “I forgot to put them on special order.”
“Oh well, there’s a cute chick in admissions I’ve been trying to cozy up to. Maybe we can keep each other warm.”
Good luck with that, James thought.
As employees arrived, James reminded them to picket between the two entrances to the parking lot and the ambulance entrance. No one was to block traffic. Keep moving around in a loop and stay on the sidewalk. Wave to the passing cars.
Excitement replaced James’s anxiety when a TV truck from a local station arrived. The TV crew raised a dish antenna on the truck and set up to take video of the protest.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bell?”
James turned at the sound of a female voice and found a young woman with bright red hair and a notepad in her hand. “Yes?”
“I’m Valera Kincaid, reporter for the Deerford Dispatch. I’d like to speak to you for a moment, if I can.”
Yes! James nearly pumped his fist in the air. Despite the weather, the Dispatch and Ms. Kincaid were going to cover the demonstration as she’d promised earlier. So was the local television station. Maybe the tape would reach a wider audience in Springfield, or even nationally.
“Of course,” he said. “I’d be happy to talk with you.”
“First, tell me what this is all about.”
James began explaining the situation to the reporter. Minutes later a pretty blonde TV reporter, who should have been wearing a lot warmer clothes in this weather, stuck a microphone in his face. James kept talking, answering Valera’s questions and those of the TV reporter. But he didn’t once look at the camera.
The thought of speaking directly to a television audience, even if it was an unseen audience, made his mouth go dry and the palms of his hands sweat inside his gloves.
Traffic on the street began to slow; drivers honked their horns. The picketers began to sing, thoroughly enjoying themselves. Or maybe they were just trying to stay warm.
A reporter from Springfield showed up and started peppering James with questions. He fielded them as best he could and referred other questions to Albert Varner, who was now walking the picket line with his employees. He’d earned their loyalty today by being on their side.
From the corner of his eye, James spotted two long, ten-passenger vans pull into the hospital parking lot and stop. Each van had the name of a local senior citizen retirement home painted on the side, Peaceful Valley Retirement Community.
Bundled up against the cold, the passengers exited at a snail’s pace, some with canes, some with walkers and all of them with picket signs.
What in the world—
The phalanx of seniors shuffled over to the sidewalk and fell in line with the employees, who cheered as the oldsters raised their signs: Save Our Hospital.
The reporters and TV personnel hustled over to interview the new arrivals and get more photos and video shots.
James chuckled. God works in mystenious ways. This could be the best PR ever!
He strolled over to one of the van drivers, a middle-aged man wearing a red, white and blue knit cap. “How did those folks hear about our protest?”
“A resident’s granddaughter works here at the hospital. The ol’ gal got all riled up about the hospital cutting her granddaughter’s pay. She stirred everybody else up, and here we are. A couple of letters to the editor got them going too.” The man shrugged. “I mean, you really don’t want to mess with a bunch of old folks. They got time on their hands and like nothing better than to mix it up with those in authority. You wouldn’t believe what they do when they’re served something in the dining room that they don’t like. We’re talkin’ a hundred angry little old ladies. You don’t want to mess with them, I’m telling you.”
Smiling, James glanced around. The next shift of employees was making its way to the picket line so the first batch could go back to work or lunch. Everything seemed to be running smoothly except for the traffic trying to get into the hospital parking lot.
>
“If you and your buddy can drive your vans to the far end of the lot, there’s parking there, and you’ll be out of the traffic pattern.”
“Will do.”
James wandered back over to the picket line. A police patrol car was parked across the street, apparently driven by Cesar Rodriguez. But Elena had dragged her protesting husband into the picket line to march along with her.
Farther back in line, Cameron marched beside Anabelle, who had Sarge on a tight leash. The puppy wore a red knitted sweater and little booties on his feet, which Sarge kept trying to bite off.
A wave of regret caught James by surprise. Fern wasn’t here, couldn’t be here, to walk beside him. The tight grip of multiple sclerosis was sucking the life out of her. And him.
Please, Lord, don’t desert us in our hour of need.
Chapter Eighteen
JAMES’S MOOD WAS RESTRAINED WHEN HE arrived home. The protest had been a grand success when measured by participation and the publicity they’d been getting.
But no buckets full of hundred dollar bills had fallen out of the sky to solve Hope Haven’s financial problems. Or to keep the ax from falling on the employee 10 percent cut in pay.
He was barely inside the door when the phone rang. He hurried to pick up the kitchen phone before it woke Fern, who was napping on the couch.
“I’m calling from Mayor Donald Armstrong’s office for Mr. James Bell,” said a female voice. “Is he in?”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’m James Bell.”
“Mr. Bell, His Honor would like you to make a presentation at the next city council meeting regarding the proposed pay cut for Hope Haven Hospital employees and the potential impact on employees.”
A moment of panic closed James’s throat. “I…I think Albert Varner, the hospital CEO, would be b–better than me,” he stammered.
“Yes, I’ve already contacted his office.”
“I’d rather he spoke.” Sweat beaded James’s forehead and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“If you don’t feel comfortable speaking at a city council meeting, perhaps you could present the employees’ position in a letter that the mayor could read.”
“Uh, yes, I could do that.” Writing his words down had always been much easier than saying them aloud.
When the conversation with the secretary ended, James hung up and rubbed the back of his neck. Things were moving fast now. The plan had a chance of succeeding.
If they could keep the ball rolling.
Nelson came in the back door reciting his lines out loud. “‘If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended.’” He made a big sweep with his arm. “‘That you have but slumbered here, While these visions did appear.’ And this idle theme.” He grimaced. “No, that’s not right.”
“Having trouble with your lines?” James asked.
“Did you know I’ve got the last lines in the whole play? If I blow them—”
“You won’t, son. You’ll be fine.” Proud of his son for accepting a part in the play, James hooked his arm around Nelson in a mock neck hold. “Relax. Don’t let your nerves get to you.”
Nelson ducked out from under James’s grasp. “Easy for you to say.” He made a beeline for the refrigerator and poured himself a tall glass of milk. “Mrs. Murphy wants us at school by six thirty. Can you take me?”
“Of course. We’ll have an early dinner and get there in plenty of time.”
“Great.” He headed upstairs. “‘And this weak and idle theme…’”
A couple of butterflies made their presence known in James’s stomach. He might have told Nelson not to be nervous, but that didn’t stop James from having his own case of the jitters on Nelson’s behalf. He had to admire his son’s courage when it came to speaking before an audience. Nelson sure hadn’t gotten that gene from him.
James had dinner ready by five o’clock: burgers and a hot potato salad Marilee had brought by and he reheated.
He called upstairs to the boys. “Dinner’s on the table!”
In the living room, he knelt beside Fern, who was still on the couch. Circles of fatigue underscored her eyes.
Fear for Fern’s health mushroomed in James’s chest like an atomic cloud. “Dr. Chopra told you to double your meds. Have you been doing that?”
“Yes.” Her voice hoarse, she nodded. “James, I can’t go tonight. To Nelson’s play. I’m so sorry.” Tears of disappointment and pain glistened in her eyes.
Dear God…“We can use the wheelchair. I can carry you.” For her not to attend Nelson’s play, or any event where the boys were involved, was unheard of. Fern always went to cheer them on. The play, the whole Shakespeare thing, had created such a special connection between Fern and her younger son.
“My whole body is like a wet noodle. I can barely sit up.”
“Did your mother take you to physical therapy today?”
“Yes. Not good day. Tired.”
“Okay, maybe dinner will help. Let me get you to the table.”
He stood and found that Gideon and Nelson were standing nearby, their expressions drawn and tormented with concern.
James helped Fern to her feet. She wobbled like a toddler just learning to walk.
Taking most of her weight and walking backward, James eased Fern toward the kitchen table. Her legs lacked coordination, her feet flopped as though they were no longer connected to her ankles.
This was by far the worst James had ever seen Fern.
One of the boys pulled out Fern’s chair. James guided her down and made sure she was comfortable.
Dinner was an agony of indecision for James. He couldn’t leave his wife like this. He hated not being there to see Nelson’s performance. But there was no choice—
“Nelson, I’ll drive you and Gideon to school but I won’t be able to stay for the show. I don’t want to leave your mom alone. You can call me when you’re ready to come home.”
Nelson looked stricken.
“I’ll stay home with Mom,” Gideon said quickly. “Shakespeare isn’t really my thing. I’ve got homework to do anyway.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Fern protested.
“It’s no big deal, Mom,” Gideon assured her. “I was looking for an excuse not to go anyway.”
James knew that wasn’t true. Despite their occasional bickering, both boys supported each other as best they could, attending everything from each other’s swim meets and track meets to spelling bees.
“You’re sure you’re okay staying home?” he asked Gideon.
“Yeah. I’m cool.” He helped himself to another big spoonful of potatoes making sure he got plenty of the bits of bacon on top.
“Okay. I’ll leave my cell on vibrate. If you need me, don’t hesitate to call. Or text me. I’ll come right home.”
Fern tried to protest again but her efforts weren’t convincing. Which troubled James all the more.
If only he could transport Fern Star Trek style to the school to see the play. That would surely give her a lift. But Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock weren’t around, and twenty-first-century engineers hadn’t yet invented a device to do the job.
After dinner, James slipped upstairs to call Dr. Chopra. She sounded concerned that Fern wasn’t responding better to the new medication but remained optimistic that the increased dosage would improve her condition.
The all-purpose cafetorium was set up with risers for a stage and folding chairs for the audience. A couple of plywood trees that the kids had painted and a wooden bench provided what little scenery the actors needed.
The costumes were more contemporary than medieval. Nelson as Puck wore Levi’s, a shirt with red and yellow patches sewn on, and a court jester’s triple-pointed hat.
Theseus—a duke, according to the printed program—wore a dark suit a size or two too large for him. Queen Hippolyta had borrowed her sister’s prom dress, carefully pinned in back to fit her better.
James joined Marilee and Frank Driscoll in the audience
.
Frowning, Marilee asked, “Fern and Gideon aren’t coming?”
“No, she was too tired. I didn’t want to leave her home alone.”
“This afternoon’s physical therapy session absolutely exhausted her. I’ve been so worried.”
“I know. So have I.” Worried deep down in his gut.
James looked up as Duke Theseus strode onto the stage from one side and Queen Hippolyta with her attendants appeared from the other. The play was under way.
“‘Now fair Hippolyta,’” the Duke began in a strong voice, “‘our nuptial hour draws on apace. Four happy days and you will be mine.’”
Mrs. Murphy had apparently modernized some of Shakespeare’s language to make the performance easier and more understandable for the students—and the audience.
As the play progressed, some of the kids forgot their lines and were prompted by Mrs. Murphy. Others stumbled along, gathering giggles from their classmates as well as from the audience.
At the end of the play, Nelson stood center stage to speak Puck’s final lines. “‘So good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore all as it should be.’”
The cast bowed in unison, and the audience applauded enthusiastically. In that moment, James regretted Fern had missed the play even more now than he had earlier.
Cast and audience mingled, giving and accepting congratulations, gathering up students to take them home.
Marilee gave Nelson a hug, and Frank shook the boy’s hand. When it was James’s turn, he lifted his hand for a high five, then hugged his son.
“You were really great,” he told Nelson.
“I messed up a couple of lines,” he admitted, “but I think it went okay overall.”
“Better than okay! I was very proud of you. And your friends,” James added.
Frank said, “We’d better be on our way home. The roads are pretty icy.”
“Thanks for coming, Grandpa. You too, Grandma.” Nelson watched his grandparents make their way through the dwindling crowd, then turned to James. “I wish Mom could’ve been here.”
Strength in Numbers Page 15
