janet dailey- the healing touch

by Janet Dailey

  For a moment Rebecca thought she was going to receive a hug, but at the last moment, shyness seemed to intervene. Katie stopped abruptly a few feet away and stood with her hands behind her back, awkward but happy.

  "Hi, Katie. It's nice to see you again."

  Katie blushed and shuffled her scuffed lavender and pink sneakers. Then a look of horror crossed her face. "Oh, no, you're not here because of Rosie, are you? Is she okay? Are Hilda and Pepe all right?"

  "The goats are just fine," she said. Reaching out, she placed her hand on the girl's shoulder. "I came to see you."

  "Really?" She looked relieved and happy, but a tad dubious.

  "Really, really." Rebecca waited as the hint of a frown melted. "But who's Pepe?"

  "He's Hilda's other baby...the boy. You know, Rosebud's brother. He's a lot bigger than Rosie. Mr. Neil won't let me play with him. He says Pepe's too rough."

  "I'm sure he's right." Rebecca donned a businesslike face. "What I'd like to know is this—do you have plans for the next couple of hours? Because if you don't..."

  "Wow, this is really neat!"

  Rebecca could tell by the glow on Katie's face and the enthusiasm in her voice that the secret swimming hole was a success.

  "The Flores girls and I spent hours here," Rebecca said as she led Katie through the narrow gap between two rocky cliffs toward the natural pool that lay nestled in the tiny arroyo. "On a hot afternoon, it's the perfect place to cool off."

  Large smooth rocks surrounded the basin, which collected the meager runoff from nearby hills. In recent drought years, the water level had dropped considerably, but the pool still contained enough clear, clean water to splash around. Old oak trees spread their gnarled limbs over the far end, shading the deepest part of the water.

  Various species of water bugs danced along the surface, causing tiny, rippling rings. A dragonfly buzzed among some reeds, its wings nature's most delicate filigree, its body teal blue luminance in the sunshine.

  In the distance they could hear the cawing of a crow and nearby the rustling of other smaller birds in the surrounding scrub brush. The air smelled of dust and earth and growing things, a scent that evoked a hundred fond memories for Rebecca.

  "We used to bring along a picnic lunch," she told Katie. "Usually peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that we made ourselves...or some of Bridget's queen cakes, like today." She held up the brown paper sack that Bridget had packed for their little excursion. Fortunately for them, the Irishwoman lived in constant dread that someone, somewhere might faint from lack of nourishment. And she believed it was her mission in life to make certain that such an awful thing never happened to anyone she knew.

  "Are there fish or creepy things in there?" Katie asked as she climbed up onto one of the rocks and peered down into the water.

  "One great white shark, two Loch Ness monsters, three electric eels and four stingrays," Rebecca answered promptly. "That's all."

  Katie gave her a dubious look. "No partridge in a pear tree?"

  "Nope, afraid not."

  They both giggled. Rebecca set the sack of goodies on top of one of the boulders and slipped off her socks and sneakers, then removed her denim shirt. Wearing only her T-shirt and shorts, she slid down the rock and into the water with a clumsy splash.

  "That was a lot easier when I was your age," she called up to Katie as she shook the water from her hair. Droplets flew, bits of glittering crystal in the sunshine. The pool was fairly shallow, just deep enough for her to tread water.

  Katie laughed as she watched her. "Is it cold?"

  "Of course it's cold. This is no sissy, heated whirlpool, kiddo. This here is the real thing. So, the question is, are you woman enough to jump in here, too?"

  Katie's smile faded and she fumbled with one of her shoelaces. "I... uh... I can't."

  "You can't what?"

  "I can't swim."

  Rebecca was shocked. She had never known anyone who couldn't swim. The child lived in Southern California, for heaven's sake.

  "Didn't one of your parents teach you?" she asked.

  "My mom was going to, that summer, but she got sick. And after she... left us... my dad was afraid for me to go near the water. I think he was scared that I'd die, too."

  Rebecca bit back the sarcastic comments that rushed to her tongue. She found it terribly sad that Michael Stafford was so consumed by fear, but it was even worse that he had passed that anxiety on to his daughter. In Katie's eyes, Rebecca could see the uncertainty, the lack of self-confidence as she stood on the edge of the rock and stared down into the water.

  "I can understand why your dad might have been worried about you learning to swim," Rebecca said, choosing her words carefully. The last thing this child needed was to have someone speak ill of her father. "Water is something we have to respect. It can be wonderful, but it can be very dangerous if we aren't careful."

  Katie crept a bit closer to the edge. "I wish I knew how to swim...just a little...so that the kids at school wouldn't laugh at me."

  "They laugh at you? How do they know that you don't swim?"

  "I was invited to a beach party. One of my friends was having her birthday there. My dad wouldn't let me go, 'cause he was afraid I'd try to go in the water and drown. He said, 'The water near the beach has a severe undertow.' I didn't know what that meant, but it sounded awful. It's okay." She shrugged. "I didn't really want to go anyway."

  One look at that slightly protruding lower lip and the moisture welling up in those beautiful blue eyes told Rebecca that Katie wasn't being honest with herself. Being excluded for any reason from a friend's birthday party was an emotional trauma for a girl her age.

  "Well, you don't have to worry about undertows here in the swimming hole," she said, trying to change the subject. "I can absolutely guarantee you that there's never been a single undertow in this pond."

  "Since the beginning of time?" Katie asked with a grin.

  "Since before the beginning of time."

  The girl mulled that information over for a while, looking wistfully down at the water.

  "Katie, do you really want to learn how to swim?" Rebecca asked gently.

  "Well, yes, but...I don't think my dad would let me."

  Good point, she thought. She certainly didn't want to go against any parent's wishes where their child was concerned. Especially Michael Stafford. But, on the other hand, the girl really needed to know how to swim and was still young enough to learn quickly.

  "Did your father ever tell you that you couldn't take lessons or try to learn in any way?" she asked.

  "Umm-m-m-m... I don't think he said I couldn't learn. He just said he didn't want to teach me and he wouldn't let me go to the beach party."

  Rebecca decided to take the chance. The child had enough to fear in her life, without having to be afraid of water.

  "Then, why don't I give you a little, bitty swimming lesson. This pool isn't very deep at all, and it's nice and still. I promise I won't let you drown, no matter what."

  For several long moments, Rebecca watched as the girl tried to decide. Her pretty face registered her internal battle: her nervousness versus her trust in the woman who had saved Rosebud's life.

  Finally, the trusting side of her nature won, and she reached down to remove her sneakers.

  "So, it's pretty cold, huh?" she asked as she neatly folded her socks and tucked them into her shoes. "Do you suppose there are any polar bears around?"

  "Nope, no polar bears," Rebecca replied, reaching her arms up to ease the child off the rock and into the shallowest part of the pool.

  "Are you sure?" As Katie slipped into the water she shivered with excitement.

  "Absolutely positive." Rebecca tried to remember back to those days at the YWCA where she had learned. What came first? "Relax, kiddo, there are no polar bears in Southern California. I guarantee it. They all hang out up in the San Francisco Bay area."

  When Michael turned his Jaguar XJ12 down the gravel driveway to his home and saw th
e battered and distinctive pickup parked in front of his house, he felt a flash of pleasure, quickly eclipsed by a bigger rush of irritation. What now? Why was she here?

  For a second, he entertained the dark thought that something might have happened to one of the goats. But as he drove around the side of the house and into the garage he could see all three of them, romping around in their pen, the picture of health and exuberance.

  So, she had better have a darned good reason for coming around uninvited and unannounced. That was the problem with a small town, people took liberties with your privacy, just dropping by for no good reason any time of the day or night.

  As he crawled out of the car, he quickly checked his reflection in the window. His hair looked like hell. Great. He ran his fingers through the unruly mess but, as always, it had a mind of its own and refused to lie in any sort of order.

  She could have at least waited until he had jumped into the shower and changed clothes to inflict her presence on him.

  "Where is she?" he demanded as he trudged through the back door and into the kitchen.

  Bridget stood at the sink, peeling potatoes for the evening meal. She turned to him with too wide, too innocent eyes. "And whoever might you be speaking of?" she asked.

  "You know who." He walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed himself a beer. "That pesky vet."

  "Oh, it's Rebecca you mean." Bridget tossed the peeled potatoes into a colander and rinsed them at the faucet. "She offered to entertain your Katie for me, while I got some extra work done around here."

  "Entertain Katie?" He didn't really like the sound of that. "What are you talking about? How is she entertaining ho-?"

  "Took her out on a hike, she did. Meant to show her a bit of your property that she hasn't seen before."

  "You mean they're just roaming around, God knows where?" His irritation and anxiety levels were rising by the minute. Not only had she dropped by uninvited, but she had absconded with his kid, too. The nerve of that woman!

  "Ah... I wouldn't be worry in' if I were you, Mr. Michael," Bridget said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, embroidered with violets and daisies. "Rebecca used to come here all the time when she was a wee lass. Knows the place like the back of her own hand, she does. I'm sure they won't lose their way."

  "Did you give your permission for this.. .excursion?" he asked.

  She turned and flashed him one of her famous smiles. "I did, indeed. Thought it was the very thing for the little miss. She needs a friend or two, she does, to do things with."

  "Well... I..." He didn't know exactly what to say, so he tilted his beer bottle and chugalugged the first third. Common sense told him that he was overreacting. Bridget was right. Katie did need a friend. And Rebecca was a responsible adult; at least, she appeared to be. So he probably had nothing at all to worry about.

  He just wasn't comfortable not knowing exactly where his child was and what she was doing. Anything could happen to her, and he wouldn't know.

  "In the future," he said, "I'd like for Katie to stay at home when I'm away, unless I've given my permission."

  Bridget looked surprised and a bit hurt, but she nodded agreeably. "I beg your forgiveness, Mr. Michael," she said. "But I thought, as long as she was here on your property, with Rebecca to watch over her, it would be-"

  "Yes, yes," he said, holding up one hand. "I understand. I'm not angry with you. I just wanted to make my wishes clear."

  "Oh, they are, sir. Very clear, indeed."

  Michael heard halting footsteps on the back porch and the sound of voices. Katie's and Rebecca's.

  "See there," Bridget said. "Back, safe and sound, the both of them."

  Michael crossed the kitchen to open the door for them. But when he looked outside, he saw something that made his heart nearly stop.

  His Katie wasn't safe and sound after all. Rebecca was carrying the girl in her arms, and there was blood all over them both.

  He threw open the door, rushed out onto the porch and grabbed Katie away from Rebecca. "What the hell did you do to her?" he shouted as he searched his daughter for the source of the blood. She felt cold and her clothing was wet, but she wasn't crying and didn't appear to be particularly upset.

  "She's all right, Mr. Stafford," Rebecca replied. "It looks much worse than it is. She has a small cut on her foot, and it bled quite a bit at first. But if s stopped now and it isn't serious."

  "Where my daughter is concerned, I'll be the judge of what's serious or not." Michael didn't like the woman's nonchalance. So everything was fine, huh? Easy for her to say; it wasn't her kid who had blood smeared all over her.

  "I'm okay, Daddy," Katie said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I stepped on a sharp rock and cut myself, but Dr. Rebecca wrapped my socks around it and carried me all the way back so that I wouldn't get dirt in the ow-wwie."

  Michael looked down at the bloody sock wrapped around his daughter's foot and felt a sick, dizzying sensation of being out of control. Good God, anything could have happened and he wouldn't have been there.

  Turning around, he carried Katie into the house, nearly colliding with Bridget, who looked equally distressed.

  "Poor little lass," she murmured. "Lay her on the sofa, Mr. Michael, and I'll fetch a cold compress right away."

  "No, we're not going to waste time with that," he snapped. "I'll take her straight to the hospital."

  Rebecca caught up with him at the front door. "Mr. Stafford, if you want to take her to a doctor, that's certainly your choice. But I assure you that the wound isn't that serious. It isn't even big enough to require a stitch. I had intended to bring her back, clean the cut and close it with a butterfly bandage. I'd still be glad to do that, if you like."

  "Let her do it, Daddy," Katie said, holding her foot up to Rebecca. "Please, let Dr. Rebecca take care of me. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't like hospitals."

  Michael didn't have to ask his daughter why. They had both spent too many heartbreaking hours in hospitals. He decided it wasn't fair to force her to return if it wasn't necessary.

  "All right. If that's what you want." He turned to Rebecca, reluctant to ask her for assistance. Just on principle, he was still angry with her for taking off with his daughter without permission. And, even worse, getting her hurt. "Go ahead, Dr. Barclay," he said, his voice sounding brusque even to his own ears.

  "Thank you," she replied with a softness that made him feel like a bigger jerk than ever.

  "Bridget, if you would, please, my bag is in my truck cab...."

  "I'll fetch it straightaway," she said, heading for the door.

  Rebecca sat on the end of the sofa at Katie's feet and pulled the injured foot onto her lap. "Let's see what we have here," she said as she carefully unwound the bloody sock. "Ah.. .just as I thought... you're developing a pretty serious case of creeping cruditis."

  Katie's eyebrows pulled together over her pert nose. "The creeping what? What's that? It sounds awful."

  ' 'Oh, it is. That's why we have to use some very special treatments to make sure it doesn't turn into acute creeping cruditis."

  "What kind of treatments?"

  Michael could tell by the half grin on Katie's face that she knew she was being teased. He also noticed that Rebecca's chatter was keeping Katie's mind off the fact that she was examining the cut. Okay, so she was good with kids. So what?

  "The special treatment," Rebecca said thoughtfully. "Well, let me see.... Oh, yes, I remember now. We have to make a poultice for it. Do you know what that is?"

  "Isn't it a name for chickens and turkeys and geese and stuff like that?"

  Rebecca laughed, and so did Michael, in spite of himself.

  "No," she said, "that's poultry, not poultice. A poultice is a mixture of stuff that you make and spread it on a wound to help it heal."

  "What kind of stuff?"

  At that moment Bridget entered the living room, Rebecca's medical bag in hand. "Here you go, dear," she said, handing it to Rebecca.

 
"Tell me, Bridget—" Rebecca reached into the bag and pulled out cotton, antiseptic, gauze and tape "—do you have onions in the kitchen?"

  Bridget looked puzzled. "Yes, of course I do, but-"

  "And hot mustard?"

  Again Bridget nodded. "Why do you—"

  "We need to throw this stuff in the blender and then smear it on Katie's foot. How about garlic and chili peppers?"

  Bridget grinned. "Aye, we've got lots of those."

  "How about raw liver?"

  Katie's self-control reached the end of its tether. "No! Yuck, no liver! I don't want slippery, slimy liver on my foot!"

  "And, of course, you have to wear it to school, every day for a month."

  By the time Katie had recovered from the shock of wearing such a disgusting and smelly poultice to school, Rebecca had disinfected and bandaged the small cut.

  "There you go, kiddo," she said, gently patting the child's foot. "Good as new. Almost."

  Michael felt a stab of jealousy when he saw the look of adoration in his daughter's eyes as she gazed at the vet, spellbound and brimming with affection. Besides, he was the only one who called her "kiddo."

  In a small corner of his brain, he knew he was being petty, but the rest of him didn't care. This woman was trying to usurp his position with his daughter and he didn't like it one bit.

  Rebecca looked up and their eyes met. He could tell that she was angry with him, too. But, probably out of consideration for the child, she wasn't saying so.

  She was pretty, in a down-homey sort of way. No makeup, but then she didn't really need it. She wore her chestnut hair in a simple, no-nonsense cut—shoulder length and blunt. Her slightly damp T-shirt and shorts were covered by a plain denim shirt. Not exactly a fashion plate, but then, businesslike attire wouldn't have been practical for her line of work.

  Too bad she wasn't more pleasant.

  "Thank you, Dr. Barclay," he said, rising from his chair. "I appreciate what you did. May I see you out now?"