I look around the kitchen a little more and I notice a testing kit on the table.
“Is this your wife’s?” I ask Walter.
He nods as he confirms, “The doc says she has bad sugars. That’s part of the reason I started reading all those health-food magazines. The organic stuff is good for her sugars. I don’t do any of that artificial sweetener stuff.”
“Does she test like she’s supposed to, Grandpa?” Jessica asks, trepidation clear in her voice.
“Sometimes, if she remembers or if she hasn’t been eatin’ right.”
I pick up the gauge and read the date and time. “The good news is that she apparently took a test about an hour ago, the bad news is her blood sugar was only forty.”
“What does that mean, Mitch?” Jessica asks as she starts to wipe up some milk off the counter.
“It means Wilma is likely not feeling real well right about now. Walter, does Wilma sleep in a nightgown?”
He understandably bristles at the question. “Do I need to remind you that you are in a God-fearing home, young man? That’s none of your cotton-pickin’ business.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t explained myself well. I’m not trying to be intrusive; I just need an article of clothing that your wife has worn for an extended period of time for Hope to use.”
“Well, why didn’t you say somethin’?” he asks as he turns to Jessica and instructs, “Buttercup, it’s under her pillow just like always. Run up and get it for him.”
“Thank you.” I cringe as I look down at my clothes. “Walter, I didn’t really come dressed for a search. The TSA even took my sunscreen. What has the weather been like?”
“Well, we’ve had a good stretch of rain as of late, fields are going to be pretty muddy. Need some boots? Wear about a ten, do you?”
I shrug as I respond, “I’m a little more comfortable in a ten and a half, but I can make tens work in a pinch, anything is better than trying to do it in these lightweight sneakers.”
“Wilma picked me up a pair of Danner’s at the church rummage sale with the price tag still on them. They’re big on me, they’ll probably be perfect for you. I’ll get you a hat too.”
Jessica runs into the living room where I’m sitting on the Ottoman changing my shoes. She hands me the phone as she breathlessly explains, “It’s Sheriff Foster. He wants to talk to you.”
After listening to him speak for a few minutes, I hear the same theme that I hear in every jurisdiction that my team goes into — big or small. I try to intercept him and address his concerns upfront to see if I can save some time. I look at Jessica and mouth the name Foster. When she confirms that I’m correct, I start to address the officer’s concerns.
“Sheriff Foster, if I were in your shoes, I’d be concerned too because I understand you don’t know me from Adam. I have had over seven years of international search and rescue experience, not only as a team member, but a team leader. I’m well aware of protocol and I know how not to disrupt a crime scene if it comes to that. I’m not here to usurp your authority or take any glory from your department. Actually, I’m just here on vacation. I brought Jessica home to see her grandparents. As far as the paperwork is concerned, I’m not even here. I’ll play it however you want me to. If you need me to be on the record, I will be. If you want me to disappear, I’m fine with that too. I just want to help Jessica find her grandmother. It’s critically important. If my hunch is correct, Wilma could be really, really ill. I can have my search dog in the field in approximately five and half to seven minutes. It’s up to you. All I need is your permission to go ahead.”
I can practically hear the gears in his head spinning as he thinks about what I just told him. Those beats of silence are about the longest I’ve ever heard. Finally, he asks me in a long southern drawl, “You’re not really spinnin’ some tall tale; you do know what the heck you’re talking about?”
“Yes, Sir. I do. I even have credentials from Quantico to back me up.”
The sheriff clears his throat as he instructs, “Then go do your stuff and do it well. Miss Wilma is my kids’ Bible school teacher and they would be devastated if something terrible happened to her,”
“I’ll do my best, Sir. I’m going to leave Jessica with her grandpa. While I’m out in the field, she can be the point of contact. We will have to use cell phones for now, because I didn’t bring all of my equipment with me since I wasn’t planning on launching a full-blown rescue while I was here. This trip was only supposed to be an evaluation of how well Hope does during air travel.”
“Do you have all of the equipment you need?”
“Yes, I think I can manage. Walter decked me out with all sorts of appropriate gear to face the elements in Kansas. I’ve got to go now, Sheriff. We’ll touch bases later,” I pledge, as I hang the phone up and hand it back to Mr. Walker.
“Jessica, I need to run back out to the SUV and grab that orange backpack from my suitcase. It’s got my rescue pack in it. The airlines wouldn’t let me put all my stuff in the carry-on bags, so I decided to check it.”
“Oh, I know exactly where I stashed that. I can go get it,” she offers, as she sprints out the door.
Right before we’re ready to go, Walter says a quick heartfelt and tearful prayer over me that I can find his wife. Hope holds statue still for the blessing.
Jessica pulls me into a tight hug and tugs my face down so that she can whisper, “Are you sure that you don’t want me to go with you? Wouldn’t it be safer to have two of us out there? I could help you look,” she offers quietly, trying to keep our conversation private.
“Jessica, right now I need you to keep your grandpa calm and man the telephone. In a town as small as this, word is going to soon get out that she’s missing and people are going to start calling. Some of those people might have an idea where to start looking for her. Since you’re familiar with the players, you can help me sort out which of those tips might be helpful and which of them are just gossip.”
Jessica nods as she kisses me lightly and then backs away. “You’re right. I’m just so scared. What if you don’t find her? What are we going to do then? I have no idea where she could be… What was I thinking, being gone for so long? This is all my fault. If I’d been around to watch her, maybe she wouldn’t be so sick—”
“Jess, please stop beating yourself up! Think about it this way. Because you found us, Hope is here. Does your police force have its own search and rescue dog?” I ask bluntly, hoping to snap her out of the panic that’s overtaking her.
She stops for a moment as she thinks. “No. In fact, Billy Foster is the Sheriff. He used to throw spitballs at me when the PE teacher wasn’t looking and he put a snake in my desk in the fourth grade and I got in trouble for it. I can’t believe he’s the Sheriff. I hope he has changed a bit. If not, things could get interesting.”
“Well, thank goodness I’m not the same person I was in the fourth grade. So, I think there is hope for recalcitrant little boys everywhere.”
I kiss her one more time before I say, “I need to get moving because I only have limited daylight left. I’m going to try to save my cell phone battery. So, I’ll only call if I have some really important news. The rest of the time I’ll update you in texts. I don’t know what the coverage is like out here. I’ll try to update you every half an hour by text. If I miss a check in, it probably means I have no service. Hope has a GPS device on her service vest. I’ve turned it on since we’re on an official rescue now. You can follow the progress if you’d like. It should show up on your tablet or cell phone. It works like those EPS locators you rent at the ski places.”
I’m not exactly sure when Walter became my cheerleader and ally but, he pats me on the shoulder and says, “Son, I have faith that God puts people in our lives for a reason. There is a reason my granddaughter found this poor bedraggled pup and brought her to you and God gave you the talent to train her the way you did. I have to believe that he didn’t bring all of you this far without a reason. Godspeed, So
n.”
Even though his thoughts echo what I had just mentioned to Jessica, hearing them come from him give them added weight. I’ve been downplaying my concerns about Wilma’s blood sugar because there isn’t anything any of us can do about that until we find her. Upsetting them wouldn’t serve any purpose — still, it adds a certain urgency to this situation. Hope is watching me with alert eyes as I pull out a Ziplock bag from my backpack. I present the garment to her and give her the command to seek. I don’t know if she can read the tension in my body language or if she just knows that this isn’t just a drill, but she takes a long time sniffing the sample before she circles around behind me and takes off across the backyard. Hope pauses for a while near a garden area. I notice that there is a pair of gardening gloves lying on the ground. I pick up one glove and see that there is a spot of blood near the fingertip — consistent with where Wilma might have poked herself to take the glucose test.
I send Jessica a text message and ask her to meet me in the garden. It doesn’t take her and Walter more than a few minutes to catch up to me. Walter is nearly breathless when he demands, “Did you find her? Is she here?”
“Unfortunately, no — not yet — but I think I’m on the right track. Are these her gloves?” I ask as I hold up the bright yellow gloves with purple ladybugs all over them.
Walter has to sit on a little gardening wagon when he sees what I’ve found. He wipes away tears with the back of his hand and nods as he explains, “Yes, those are her new gloves. I had to get her them new gloves because I ran hers over with the ride-on lawnmower. She was so unhappy with me. She had just broken in her old ones just the way she liked them and then I went and ruined them so she had to start over again.”
Jessica is studying the garden intently. “Mitch! Look, it looks like she was cutting chives for the mashed potatoes, but I don’t see them anywhere,” she exclaims.
I examine the neatly tended herb garden and realized that she has a point. “You’re right, Red. They don’t seem to be here, but the cuts are fresh and the potatoes were only scorched when we came in. She couldn’t have been gone long. Call the Sheriff and let them know that I think this should be the starting point of the search. I’m going to see where Hope wants to go next. Hang in there, Walter — I think we’re pretty close to bringing Wilma home.”
Before Walter and Jessica can even answer me, Hope is on another scent trail. Just like the other day in the busy public square, she is picking up speed rapidly. I have to run to keep up with her. At one point, she is able to zigzag through a cattle fence while I have to stop to unfasten a gate. She is standing in the middle of the yard, looking back over her shoulder as if to say, ‘What in the world is taking you so long? I thought we were in a time crunch here.’ After I refasten the gate, she takes off like a shot. Much to my surprise, over the rise I see another house which looks remarkably similar in style to Walter and Wilma’s except that it looks like the before version in some home makeover show. It is in need of a paint job and the shutters are about to fall off and the doors and windows are largely missing. It’s as if whoever was living here just up and left in the middle of the night.
Hope is frantically trying to push aside what’s left of the front door. Gingerly, I pull it open as the last hinges give way. I have to balance the weight of the door against my body weight as I push the door back against the side of the house and I carefully follow Hope inside trying to avoid dry rot as she bolts through the dark and dusty interior.
Hope barks sharply. This alarms me because it’s not her usual signal when she finds her bounty. Usually, she just sits calmly and waits for me to find her. It’s almost as if she’s telling me to hurry up. As quickly as I can, I make my way to the back of the house. I really wish I had my rescue gear on right now with my ultra light headlamp and my walkie-talkie radios. Even heat sensing lights would be good in this pitch black atmosphere. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face effectively. The silty atmosphere renders the air in the house nearly intolerable to breathe and makes navigation nearly impossible. Finally, as I almost reach the kitchen it appears that a portion of that roof has been peeled back like a lid on a sardine can. The kitchen is well lit but completely destroyed. Eerily, I can see that there are cereal bowls and boxes of Shredded Wheat and Raisin Bran sitting out on the table as if a family is expected to arrive at breakfast any moment.
Hope’s bark grows more urgent by the second. Stepping over some two by fours and roof tiles, I finally make it to where Hope is sitting. Oddly enough, there’s water running into a pan with raw potatoes in it. Reflexively, I turn the water off before I reach down to take Wilma Walker’s pulse. I know that to do a full set of vitals, I need to take my backpack off. For my own peace of mind, I need to do this cursory search to calm myself down. Intellectually, I know she’s got a pulse because I can see her chest moving — just barely — but it’s moving. Yet, I still grab her wrist and place my fingers just below her palm. Man! That’s weak.
I throw off my backpack and dig out my glucose tablets. As low as her blood sugar is, she’s gonna feel like she’s sucking on a mouth full of marbles, but she’s got to bring her blood sugar back up quickly. I kneel beside her and directly toward her face, “Mrs. Walker, Wilma? Can you hear me?”
“Tom?” she whispers weakly.
“No Ma’am, my name is Mitch. I’m a friend of Walter and Jessica’s, they sent me to find you. I have some medicine here and it will help you feel better. I need you to chew on these while I give Walter a call. If I don’t call him and tell him that I found you, he’s going to be pretty upset with me.”
I tuck the little orange glucose wafers into her mouth. Unfortunately in order to bring her blood sugar up where it needs to be, she has eat about five of them. After she’s chewed on a couple of them, she asks me, “Are you a doctor? These are the same kind my doctor’s office gives me.”
I shake my head as I answer, “No, I’m not a doctor. I’ve had some paramedic and EMT training though. It’s part of my work in search and rescue.”
She just blinks and mumbles “Oh… okay.”
I am busy trying to get a message to someone about Wilma. My phone isn’t working. There doesn’t seem to be any service even though the battery is charged. I send both Jess and the Sheriff’s Office text messages letting them know that although Wilma is conscious she could probably benefit from an evaluation at the hospital and to please send an ambulance as soon as they can. I have no idea whether my text messages are even getting through or whether they are getting gobbled up into cyberspace because I am receiving nothing back from anyone and my phone isn’t giving me the usual message confirmations or error messages.
I’m just about to give up on modern communication and just go outside to let off some emergency flares when Wilma rouses a little and asks, “Was there a tornado? Was that why I had to be rescued? Is Walt okay?”
I glanced up at the missing ceiling as I respond, “Well, I can’t speak to what happened to this house before, but there wasn’t a tornado today. I think that maybe you got a little confused because of your diabetes and you ended up at the wrong house after you went outside to pick some herbs from your garden. Your blood sugar was critically low and that can cause you to do some strange things.”
“You mean all this fuss and muss was caused because I ate too many goodies?”
I smile at her as I respond, “I suppose in a roundabout way. You need to keep closer tabs on that blood sugar, Wilma. You’ve got to keep it in the normal range, anything else is very dangerous and can get you in a world of hurt.”
Wilma frowns at me as she asserts, “What do you mean? Walter is always after me to eat healthier. I thought it was like my weight on a scale. Lower is better isn’t it?”
Before I have a chance to give Wilma the correct information, Jessica bursts in with Walter and the Sheriff is hot on her heels ready to take Wilma to the hospital.
WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BODY I’m trying to quell my internal drive to pace, but I�
�ve just about reached the end of my rope — both literally and figuratively. I’m having a weird sense of déjà vu. Nothing has changed and yet everything has changed in the blink of an eye. As I sit here, tying knots in the macramé rope and listening to my grandma counsel characters as if they have real life problems, I remember doing the same thing when I was ten years old, sitting in the middle of her cheery farmhouse with its pale yellow carpet and marigold drapes. If it weren’t for the beeping of the various machines, it would be easy to forget how much time has passed and the fact that we’re sitting in a hospital room waiting for the doctors to decide how they’re going to treat her worsening diabetes. For some reason, they can’t seem to stabilize her blood sugar. Sometimes it’s dangerously low and other times it’s frighteningly high. No one can seem to agree on what to do about it, although there’s been some talk about an insulin pump. My grandma and grandpa have met with an army of doctors, dietitians, nurses, specialists and occupational therapists to try to come up with plans to better manage her disease.
At first, Grandpa was on board with this proactive approach but, after they suggested that perhaps he meet with a marriage counselor to help reduce the stress in their relationship, Pastor Walker decided he had enough. My poor grandma looks like she’s been attacked by a porcupine. She’s got bruises everywhere from where they’ve taken blood samples. On top of that, she sprained her wrists pretty severely when she passed out. She’s pretty lucky that she didn’t have even more severe injuries.
The only thing that everyone universally agrees on is that Mitch’s quick action probably saved her life. My grandpa thinks he deserves some sort of commendation or medal of honor. Mitch, of course, doesn’t even want to take credit for the rescue; he just considers it part of what any decent human being would do.
After meeting with Sheriff Foster (who turned out to be a pretty decent guy), Mitch and Billy decided to make the rescue part of the public record because Sheriff Foster is trying to petition the county for a canine officer position and an official record of a dog being used in a rescue bolsters the need for the K-9 officer, especially if the dog is cross trained.
Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2) Page 13
