Mrs. Engle looked deceptively small and weak in the hospital bed, but her eyes lit with delight as Willow entered the room and sat in the chair next to the bed.
“Rehab,” the lady said. “They’re taking me to the sniff unit on Monday if I keep doing as well as I have been, and then they’ll start rehab. I plan to make the most of it. Mind telling me what a sniff unit is?”
Willow grinned at her. Visiting the lady this past week had been a joy, and Willow felt as if she had made a friend. “Skilled nursing facility. Congratulations. It sounds as if you’ve made a lot of progress this week.”
“I plan to make a lot more.” At eighty-two, Esther Engle had the drive and determination of a woman half her age.
“Ever thought of nursing in a rehab center?” Esther asked.
“No, but I plan to visit you there, so I’ll learn something about it.”
The lady nodded, obviously pleased. “You’re a good nurse. You’ve spent enough time in here with me this week, so I can tell.”
“I enjoy spending time with you.”
“So if you enjoy it, why not get paid for it?”
“That’s a long story. Maybe I’ll get back into it someday.”
Esther shrugged. “Don’t suppose they found the arsonist yet?”
“Not yet.”
“They might not, then. Fella’s probably in another state by now. Ever figure out why he did what he did?”
Willow shook her head. “He obviously targeted Preston’s cabin. I was told that the other fires that night were started in the same way. Not high-tech or anything.”
“Maybe just a couple of delinquents out for a good time?” Esther asked.
Willow thought about the items placed in the cargo hold of her car. She shook her head. “I think it was more than that, but I have no idea what it could be.”
“Did Graham also tell you most of the renters are moving back into their apartments today? That there’s a man who knows how to get what he wants.”
Willow nodded. “There was no reason to keep them away any longer. The cabin sustained the majority of the damage. All the lodge suffered were some broken windows from the explosion, some places on the roof where burning material landed and did a minimum of damage.” She was actually surprised they’d kept the renters out of their homes as long as they had.
“Guess Graham’s pretty relieved,” Esther said. “Can’t be comfortable, waiting to see if his livelihood will continue to pay off.”
“I doubt he needs the income from those rentals for his livelihood. From what I’ve seen, he has a thriving practice.”
Esther gave Willow a quick look over the top of her glasses. “I thought you told me you’d been helping out in his office.”
“Yes, but—”
“And all that time you didn’t realize his patients don’t pay?”
Willow sat back in her chair. “How could they not pay? What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t get paid.” Esther raised a hand of honor. “Hasn’t for a while. You didn’t know that?”
“I only worked in the treatment rooms with the patients, and I didn’t see any charge sheets. I’ve always worked in ICU, so I’m not well acquainted with the business side of clinic work. I suppose I just figured insurance—”
“Insurance, my foot. The people Graham takes don’t get insurance. That’s why they’re seeing him—other than the fact he’s a good doctor. One of the best general surgeons in southwest Missouri.”
“He works free?” How could she not have known that? Preston had never mentioned it, though. Neither had Graham or Ginger.
“Free as sunshine,” Esther said. “Why do you think he’s got all the rental properties?”
Willow shrugged. “Investment for retirement?”
Esther smiled and shook her head as she laid her head back against her pillow. Day by day her complexion had grown healthier, and Willow had come to realize how strong this lady really was.
“Does he receive some kind of federal or state money to help him?” Willow asked.
“Not a penny that I know of. Granted, he earned good money when he worked with the surgical group at the clinic across the street, and I guess he always knew how to save and invest. Still, when he left the group and decided to start the free clinic, he sure got the opposition.” She shook her head and tsked. “Man took a beating in divorce court.”
Willow glanced at Esther. “How do you know all this stuff?”
“Honey, this is Branson, not L.A. or New York City. It might look like we’ve got a huge population, what with all the tourists we get each year, but really, we’re just a small town.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Willow said dryly.
“Well, you should’ve. Folks here vary from high-priced entertainers to retirees to cooks and food-service people. And then we’ve got lots of medical personnel taking care of the retirees, and there are some big-time investors sticking their noses into everything.”
“The population definitely runs the spectrum,” Willow said.
“Even so, we’re probably closer to each other than folks in some other towns, because we have to support each other when we deal with all the outsiders coming in and interrupting our lives.”
“So that means I’m probably the last person in Branson to know Graham’s clinic is a free one?”
“Probably. Especially since that poor, misguided, insecure wife of his filed for divorce, hoping to force him to reconsider.”
“Ouch!”
Esther nodded. “Pretty nasty. He refused, and she fought him.”
Willow raised a silencing hand. “Is this something I need to know?”
“Only if you want to know what everyone else already knows around these parts. Eighteen months after Dena filed for divorce, she ended up with the house, car and half the savings. He used his half of the savings to purchase rental property, plus he ended up with a great house near Hideaway when a resort developer was forced to sell due to bankruptcy.”
Already, this early in the morning, Willow was tired. With Esther Engle, she felt as if she were always just a few days behind the rest of the world. Being a native definitely had its advantages.
Esther nodded, as if to emphasize her words. “That clinic’s his baby, start to finish.”
“Okay, so the guy qualifies for sainthood.”
“Except for the chip on his shoulder that’s been there since the divorce,” Esther said softly. “I’ve not been divorced, but if anything would make me bitter, I think that would.”
Willow thought of her own recent experiences, and realized why Graham had so kindly supported her. He’d had his life placed under a microscope, had been subjected to anger and rejection from the one person who should have loved and accepted him the most.
The ordeal might have made him a more compassionate person, but he was obviously that kind of person to begin with. It seemed to run in the family.
How she appreciated that compassion right now.
Friday afternoon Graham sat behind his desk in his clinic office, sorry he’d ever gotten up this morning. His best nurse was quitting.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Vaughn.” The tall, rawboned woman with short salt-and-pepper hair sat across from him, elbows on the desk. “I never thought this would happen, but Wilburn has this job offer he just can’t turn down. We need the money. I can’t drive all the way from Knolls for a shift.”
“I wish I could pay you, Till.” Graham sat back in his chair and tried hard to look happy for her.
Wilburn and Till Fellows, both nurses who worked full-time at St. John’s in Springfield, had always been supportive of Graham’s dream to start this clinic. Though Wilburn hadn’t volunteered as often in the past few months, he had been a godsend for Graham when he needed help the most.
“How about getting your sister to help out for a while?” Till suggested. “The patients will love Ginger.”
“She’s a PA, so I’d still need a nurse. Besides, she’s helping out at the clinic in Hide
away right now.”
“I’ll talk to some friends of mine at St. John’s,” Till said, “but most of those who would be interested in volunteer work are doing it in Springfield.”
“Thanks, Till.” It would be impossible to find someone as willing to help out as Till had been. Without pay.
And yet God was in the business of doing the impossible. Prayer would be in order.
One person came to mind quickly. But first, prayer.
Chapter Eleven
Friday evening found Willow back at the lodge where fire had raged the first of the week. All the other renters except Preston and Willow had been able to return. Graham was still trying to decide whether to rebuild the cabin. If he didn’t, he might be able to take the money from the loss and, with help from the bank, build a fourplex on the site.
For the third time this week, Willow saw Sandi out the front door, then settled onto the sofa with the two little girls. This time, however, it was later in the evening, and instead of being lively and talkative, Lucy and Brittany were subdued and sleepy.
One girl cuddled up on either side of Willow, and she sat quietly for several moments, treasuring the feel of the warm little bodies snuggled close. It was times like these that she felt such a powerful ache to hold her own child in her arms, she nearly wept with longing.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the soft sofa, picturing Travis in her mind—the square jaw, heavy with evening shadow; eyes of darkest brown that were always a little too serious; shoulders that looked as if they could always carry any burdens she needed to lay on them.
She’d been thirty-one when she and Travis had married—the first time for both of them. Travis had waited because of a painful childhood spent shuffling back and forth between feuding, divorced parents.
Willow’s reasons for avoiding marriage for so long were all about her mother. Sometimes it seemed as if too much of her life had been lived because of her mother.
It had taken her and Travis two years of friendship, dancing around both their work schedules to find time to date, then convincing each other that marriage wouldn’t have to be patterned after the failures they’d experienced.
And marriage had been wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Travis had even convinced her that they shouldn’t delay starting a family simply because she wanted to be sure she wouldn’t develop her mother’s mental illness.
As he’d pointed out, she was a perfectly rational, happy woman. If she was worried about passing on the family traits, they could adopt, but that didn’t guarantee healthy children, either.
With Travis, she felt safe. She had wanted children for many years, and so she had become pregnant.
And then life fell apart.
Tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. She sniffed and wiped a trickle of moisture from her cheek. Would the sense of loss never fade? Would she ever have a normal life again?
Or maybe she’d never had a normal life in the first place. How would she know anything about normal?
Brittany stirred next to her, yawned deeply. “Mama?”
Willow tightened her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “She’ll be home later. Do you feel okay? You girls seem awfully lethargic tonight.” She pressed the backs of her fingers against the side of Brittany’s face. Not overly warm.
“You and Mama made us get up late last night,” Brittany said.
“No, they didn’t,” Lucy said. “We just woke up.”
“Last night?” Willow asked. She had been here until two o’clock in the morning. “How did your mother and I wake you up? We’re always careful not to wake you.” Not that they needed to take much care; these children were both deep sleepers.
“Mama was yelling at you,” Brittany said.
“Your mother never yelled at me.”
“Yes, she did, she yelled your name. I heard it,” Lucy said.
“Why are you crying?” Brittany asked.
“I’m fine, sweetie,” Willow said, mystified about last night. Had Sandi been arguing with someone else?
“Sissy, you’re not supposed to talk about people crying,” Lucy said.
“Why not? Mama cries sometimes,” Brittany said softly to Willow. “She cried last night. I think she misses our old house. And I think she has a boyfriend who makes her cry.”
“Brittany!” Lucy said. “That gross man isn’t her boyfriend.”
Intrigued, Willow asked, “Your mother’s been spending time with a man?”
“He’s not her boyfriend,” Lucy said. “They just talk sometimes. We hear them from the bedroom when we’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“And shout,” Brittany said. “A lot.”
“Maybe that was who shouted last night,” Willow said. “Maybe my name just came up in the conversation.”
“He’s her boyfriend,” Brittany insisted. “Mama says that’s what boyfriends do—they’re mean and they fight.”
“It isn’t like they kiss or anything.” Lucy’s voice betrayed the deep disgust she felt at the idea.
“Maybe they do. We don’t see them.”
“We don’t even know his name,” Lucy explained to Willow. “Mama doesn’t bring him inside when we’re up.”
“I know it’s different when the man isn’t your own father,” Willow said.
“We don’t have a father,” Brittany said. “He died. Mama says we don’t need no man to tell us how to live our lives.”
Willow suppressed a smile. The comment was so typically Sandi—at least, what she knew of Sandi. “What about your grandparents?”
Lucy shook her head. “Don’t have any of those, either. Mama says we’re the only family we’ve got, and that’s all we need.”
Brittany yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. “Can I go to bed? I’m really sleepy.”
“Me, too,” Lucy said.
Unaccustomed to their eagerness for bedtime, when they ordinarily found multiple, creative excuses to stay up later, Willow saw them to their bedroom, tucked them in and left them snoozing.
Only moments after she left them in their room, the telephone rang. She answered.
“Willow? This is Carl Mackey down in Two B.” A panicked male voice came over the line. “I heard you were a nurse.”
She hesitated, frowning. “Yes, but how did you know—”
“Sandi said you were keeping an eye on the kids for her, and I saw your car. You need to get down to Four B. Mary Ruth Blevins has something bad wrong with her, and she’s down there moaning in pain.”
“Then you need to call for an ambulance.”
“She doesn’t want an ambulance, and I’m not calling for one or they’ll make me pay if she refuses. She needs medical care.”
Willow hesitated. “But I can’t leave the girls—”
“I’ll come straight upstairs and keep an eye on them while you’re out, so leave the door unlocked.”
“No, I won’t do that.”
“Well, then, I can just stand guard at the front door. Just get down here fast! Mary Ruth could croak on us.”
Willow closed her eyes and sighed. “I’ll be down.”
She checked on the children quickly, then rushed through the apartment and out the front door, locking it securely behind her.
She reached Mary Ruth Blevins’s apartment without encountering Carl Mackey, but took for granted they had merely taken different routes to their destinations.
When she reached Mary Ruth’s door, she was surprised to see no lights coming through the window. She knocked and rang the doorbell. “Mary Ruth? It’s Willow. Are you okay in there?”
She peered through the window in the door, and finally saw a light come on inside. When a blurry-eyed Mary Ruth Blevins answered the door, she didn’t seem relieved to see Willow, and she wasn’t grim-faced with pain. She looked sleepy.
“Carl Mackey called me,” Willow said, noting that Mary Ruth’s color looked good. “Are you okay?”
Mary Ruth scowled at her. “Why wouldn’t I be
?”
“He said you were sick and moaning in pain. He said you didn’t want an ambulance, but you needed medical attention.”
Mary Ruth’s scowl remained. “Carl said all that?”
“He called me just now.”
“I haven’t even seen that man since yesterday. Why would he call you?”
Willow deflated. Then she frowned. “You’re not having any kind of pain right now?”
“Not me. I had gas a couple of days ago, but that happens when I eat too many onions with my beans for dinner. Thanks for checking, Willow, but tell Carl he’s hallucinating.”
Willow excused herself and returned to the apartment. She did not find Carl Mackey diligently watching the girls. No one was there.
When Willow checked the bedroom, she cried out in horror. The girls weren’t there, either.
Graham raced through the darkness toward the complex with the echo of Willow’s panicked voice still ringing in his ears—“I can’t find the girls! Someone took the girls! Graham, help!”
Once again he saw the emergency lights flashing through the darkness, reflecting from the treetops. Multiple lights. Two little children were missing, and the police and other emergency workers would be out in force.
Because this had been the site of another emergency less than a week ago, and because that emergency was thought to be connected to two other arsons in the city of Branson, the Branson police would be here, even though this wouldn’t ordinarily be their jurisdiction.
He turned onto the property drive, going slowly to avoid the inevitable pedestrians out to see the excitement, and as he drove he endured flashbacks of Monday’s fire. Emergency vehicles lined the drive, and flashlight beams dotted the woods like giant fireflies.
Could Monday morning’s fire be connected in any way to tonight’s emergency?
Since the arsonist hadn’t used particularly complicated methods to start the fire, the captain felt he probably wasn’t an expert, but just wanted to get at Preston for some reason.
But why? Preston was in the hospital now. Those little girls had nothing to do with him. The only connection was…Willow.
Fair Warning Page 11
