Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy

by Patricia Burroughs

  “You must be one heck of a climber,” he called.

  Wide-eyed, she gripped the thin branches.

  “Okay, Annie, you’re going to have to be a real monkey,” he began, groping for the words that would bring her to him. “Do you see that big branch by your left foot?”

  “Which... one is weft?” she asked weakly.

  “The one with Big Bird on it!” Peter shouted from the ground.

  “Oh, great,” Jeff groaned. “Annie, is a picture of Big Bird on one of your shoes?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s on the other one?”

  “C-Cookie Monster.”

  “Now listen to me,” Jeff tried again. “There’s a big limb by your left foot. The foot with Big Bird on it. Do you see it?”

  Anne-Elizabeth stretched her neck and looked. “It’s not big. It’s wittle.”

  “Well, it’s not really big,” Jeff agreed, “but it’s big enough.” Doubt filled the little girl’s eyes. “I want you to try to put your foot on that branch.”

  Anne-Elizabeth extended the toe of her shoe toward the branch. “It’s too far.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jeff urged gently. “You’ve got long legs. You can reach it.” His heart was in his throat as he watched her leg stretch again and finally settle onto the limb. She looked down expectantly at him.

  “Great,” he praised her. “Now I know you’re a strong kid, so this next part is easy. I want you to hold on to that top branch real tight.” Somewhere in the back reaches of his mind, he heard his grandfather’s admonition about climbing trees. He only hoped Anne-Elizabeth was a quicker learner than he’d been.

  “The most important part of tree climbing is your hands,” he lectured quietly, as though their situation were a simple learning experience. “As long as you hold on tight and don’t let go, you won’t fall, even if your feet slip. Do you understand that?”

  “I don’t know if my hands are that stwong,” Anne- Elizabeth said from her lofty perch.

  “Sure, they are,” Jeff countered with forced enthusiasm. “You can do it. Now hold on tight and slowly swing your right leg—”

  “Cookie Monster?” Anne-Elizabeth asked desperately.

  “That’s right. Swing it around until both your feet are on that branch.” He held his breath as she bravely did as he’d instructed. “Now I want you to ease your way over to the middle of the tree—the trunk. That’s the way. Hold on...easy now. That’s great. Just rest a minute and catch your breath.”

  He continued to talk her down, inch by inch, branch by branch, until she was within reach. When she finally came readily into his arms, he pressed her small body between his own and the tree trunk. His heart pounded, sweat poured off his forehead in sheer relief. Anne-Elizabeth hugged him, whimpered against him, and their heartbeats combined in a frantic rhythm.

  Gramps, he implored silently, you’re the expert. What comes next? But try as he might, he couldn’t remember how his gramps had gotten him out of that oak tree. He could only remember the nightmares. Falling... falling... waking up in a cold sweat.

  Anne-Elizabeth snuggled closer, calmer now. “I scwaped my elbow, but it doesn’t hurt... much.”

  “You’re a brave girl,” Jeff said, pressing his lips into her soft curls. “And strong. After we get down, why don’t we... why don’t we get a pizza?”

  “Peppewoni?”

  So much for fear.

  “Good. Now do you think you could put your arms around my neck?” Her short arms encircled his neck confidently, and he felt a quiver of emotion when she smiled at him. “Now hold on tight, and whatever happens don’t let go.”

  He carefully worked his way down the tree. His palms were raw and his arms ached, but he grabbed the rough bark with fierce strength.

  “Be careful!” Peter called from below.

  “I’m trying, I’m trying,” Jeff muttered.

  He strained for the next limb, found it, and felt a split- second’s relief before his foot slipped. Suddenly they were dangling, the bark biting into his hands. “Hold on, angel,” he said with a gasp and groped for footing. Then he heard a sickening crack. Wildly he clutched Anne-Elizabeth with one arm and thrust out the other to break their fall. Branches struck his back and arms, twigs tore at his skin, as they plummeted.

  ~o0o~

  “Jeff! Jeff!”

  He couldn’t breathe. The pain in his chest was so intense he felt as if he were being sliced in two. He opened his eyes but couldn’t see. Anne-Elizabeth, he thought frantically. He wanted to sit up, but couldn’t move.

  “Jeff! Wake up!”

  He raised an arm and brushed against someone’s wet face.

  Peter was crying?

  Surely not. Jeff rolled his head to one side, and tried to focus. “Annie?” he croaked, and heaved himself up on an elbow. His vision slowly cleared, and he could breathe more easily. “Annie...” She appeared before him, her face covered with blood. “God, no!” He grabbed her, dabbing at the blood with his torn shirttail. “Say something,” he begged.

  “You forgot to hold tight,” Anne-Elizabeth announced.

  “Yeah. I sure did. Where does it hurt? Where are you cut?”

  “Jeff, stop!” Peter tugged at his arm.

  “But your sister—my God, where is she bleeding?”

  “Jeff,” Peter said, "She’s not hurt—"

  “I’m okay,” Anne-Elizabeth said, stroking Jeff’s cheek. “Don’t cwy, Jeff. I’m okay.”

  His throat constricted and he could barely swallow. “It’s all my fault.” He cradled her against him and rocked, his shoulders shaking. Oh. Wow. He was crying.

  “Jeff, stop it!” Peter pleaded. “It wasn’t your fault! It wasn’t! Jeff, you’re hurt—that’s your blood!” He sprang to his feet, jerked his own shirt over his head and began dabbing at Jeff’s forehead. “You’re bleedin’ all over her. That’s your blood!”

  Slowly Jeff released Anne-Elizabeth and raised a hand to his head. His fingertips grazed a deep gash.

  “You’re hurt bad. You’ve got to go to the hospital,” Peter continued.

  The words sank in slowly. Jeff pulled his hand away and blinked at it.

  “You’re makin’ a mess,” Anne-Elizabeth said. “Does it hurt?” She reached to touch his wound, but he pulled away from her.

  “This is my blood?”

  “You’ve got to go to the hospital,” Peter insisted, trying to pull Anne-Elizabeth out of Jeff’s lap. “Come on, you need stitches.”

  “No stitches. I don’t need any stitches, buddy. No stitches, and no needles.” He felt queasy.

  “Good grief, Jeff, don’t be a wimp. You’ve got to do something. You’re bleeding everywhere.”

  Jeff stood up and wobbled to the porch. He stumbled and landed on the top step, grateful to lean against a post. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got lots of blood. We just need to make sure your... your sister’s all right.”

  “If I don’t make you go to the doctor, Mom’s gonna kill me. You can’t even sit up straight.”

  “I just got the wind knocked out of me. I’ll be all right.” Jeff took a deep breath, fighting the nausea. “You think, you think she’s gonna be mad at you? What about me?” He rubbed the back of his neck and groaned. “She’ll never forgive me for not watching... for letting Anne-Elizabeth fall.”

  “That’s right, jerk,” Peter said, suddenly at his side, tugging on his arm. “If you don’t take Annie to the hospital, Mom will never forgive you.”

  “I’m not—” Anne-Elizabeth’s words turned into a mumble as Peter slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Nothing made sense. If he dared close his eyes, the world spun and he felt the falling all over again. The angel covered with blood and the punk kid threatening him, and— “You’re right.” Jeff pulled himself up. “Come on, angel.” He took Anne-Elizabeth’s hand. “You’re a big girl, aren’t you? We’ll just go see what a... what a fancy hospital looks like, won’t we?”

  “Goody.” Annie beamed.


  “Wait. I’ll call 911,” Peter said. “You can’t drive!”

  “The hell I can’t. I’m fine,” Jeff growled. By the time Peter got to the car, Jeff was behind the wheel, with Anne-Elizabeth in his lap.

  Peter climbed in and pulled his sister beside him, buckling them both into the same belt.

  “Hold on to her,” Jeff said. “We can’t let anything happen to that kid.” He started the car, drove a couple of feet, then braked. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re headed in the right direction. Just keep going straight until I tell you to turn.” Peter pressed his shirt over Jeff’s cut as they drove away.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "DON’T TOUCH THAT leg.” Cecilia sat on the hard, molded plastic seat in the hospital examining room, anxiously jingling her car keys as she watched Brad inspect his makeshift bandage.

  “You should see it,” he said, picking at the knot of the bloody T-shirt wrapping his calf. “It’s real deep. Mikey thought I had a chunk gouged out, but Coach said it’s just pulled open and needs stitches.”

  Cecilia swallowed hard and gripped her keys until they cut into her fingers and palms. It was all she could do to muster another “Don’t touch it. Wait for a doctor.”

  “I’m tired of waitin’. If you’d just look at it, you’d see. You could patch it up at home.” His voice took on a whining, pleading edge, and she pulled him close and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly.

  “Then Coach would have brought you home, not here.” She truly knew the extent of his fear when he didn’t wriggle away.

  “I’ll bet Peter’s mad, havin’ to stay with Jeff.” He laughed nervously. “I’ll bet they’re fightin’ right this very minute. Do you think Peter called him a jerk?”

  “I’m sure Peter and Jeff are getting along just fine.” Cecilia dug in her purse with her free hand and found two quarters in the bottom. “Sit up, and I’ll get you a drink.”

  “But Mom, what if they have to operate? They don’t want you to eat or drink anything before an operation.”

  Cecilia said with a reassuring pat, “I’ve never heard of administering general anesthesia for a couple of stitches. Believe me, you can have a drink.”

  As she walked the short distance to the vending machine, her stomach twisted with apprehension. Brad was right. Peter and Jeff were probably at each other’s throats. She should have brought the kids with her. She should have...

  The can dropped to the bottom of the chute with a heavy kerplunk. She dug in the bottom of her purse again, but to no avail. She had only a collection of pennies and paper clips, with a couple of nickels and one dime thrown in for variety. She licked her dry lips. Why didn’t they hurry up and do something?

  Retracing her steps, she heard a commotion behind her and flattened herself against the wall as a nurse and an orderly dashed past with an empty gurney and wheelchair. “That must have been some wreck. Don’t look now, but we’ve got more victims coming in,” gasped the orderly.

  Cecilia ducked into the examining room with Brad, carefully averting her gaze from the “incoming wounded.” The last thing in the world she wanted to see right now was more blood.

  She’d already pivoted away from the door, when she heard a childish voice say, “I’m not hurt! I pwomise! I want my mama!”

  It couldn’t be.

  “That’s my sister!” Brad announced loudly, then sprang forward off the examining table.

  “Brad, stop! Your leg!” She whirled to face the corridor, only to catch a glimpse of Brad disappearing through the door.

  “Anne-Elizabeth!" Brad shouted. "Jeff! Peter! Where are you?” He waved impatiently at her. “Come on, Mom. It’s all of ’em!”

  Cecilia dashed into the hall. There’d been a wreck... more accident victims coming in... dear heaven, was that gurney and wheelchair for them?

  Brad limped ahead of her, sticking his head in each doorway along the way. Suddenly he shouted. “They’re here!” She followed him into an examining room three doors down.

  The scene before her—Jeff sitting on the edge of the examining table, Anne-Elizabeth in his lap, Peter standing beside them, and all covered with blood—barely had time to register in her numb mind.

  “It’s all right, honey,” a young man in a lab coat said as he lifted Anne-Elizabeth out of Jeff’s lap. “We’re going to get your mama. We just need to—” He broke off with an oath and jerked his hand away. “She bit me!”

  “Annie!” Cecilia sprang forward and scooped her daughter into her arms. “What—what’s going on? Oh, God. She’s bleeding!” She heaved her squirming daughter back onto the table. “Please,” she gasped. “Help me. I’m her mother.”

  “I’m Dr. Boyce,” the young man said. “We need to put her in a separate examining room, ma’am, and the boy, too, until we can determine—”

  “Peter?” Cecilia said, reaching for him with one hand, even as she clutched Anne-Elizabeth with the other. “What—what happened to you? The blood—”

  “Mom!” Peter grabbed her arm. “We’re not hurt. Make them look at Jeff! He’s the one who—”

  “I’m not hurt,” Jeff said, and for the first time she looked straight at him and gasped. His face was pasty white, with a deep gash running diagonally across his temple, already discoloring even as it continued to seep blood. “I’m not hurt,” he repeated. He seemed to have difficulty focusing, for he looked directly at Cecilia for several moments before suddenly straightening. “Uh-oh. It’s you,” he said. “It’s all my fault.”

  Peter blurted out, “It’s not, either!”

  Anne-Elizabeth scrambled back into Jeff’s lap. “It’s all wight,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I won’t wet Mama kill you.”

  “What?” Cecilia gasped. She spun from one bloody child to another. “What on earth is going on here?”

  Jeff muttered again, “My fault.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Mom,” Peter said quickly and loudly.

  Anne-Elizabeth huddled closer to Jeff. “I cwimbed too high, and Jeff forgot to hold on.”

  Brad glared down at his own wound. “I’ll bet y’all are gonna get stitched up before me, too.”

  “Stitches?” Jeff roused himself and gave his head an unsteady shake. “No stitches. No needles.”

  “Good grief,” Peter said. “What a baby.” But his face was pale, and his voice shaky as he turned to the doctor. “When he landed, he hit his head, and he—he seemed like he was knocked out for at least a minute, maybe longer. It seemed longer, anyway. And he said he was sick to his stomach.”

  Dr. Boyce frowned and made a notation on his chart. “We’ll need X-rays for him.” He glanced warily at Anne-Elizabeth. “Then we need to check her out.”

  “She’s okay,” Peter said.

  Anne-Elizabeth raised her arm. “My elbow hurts.” Cecilia reached for her, but Anne-Elizabeth pulled away, wrapping an arm around Jeff’s neck. “He’s afwaid. Don’t worry,” she said, snuggling against his torn shirt. “I won’t wet ’em hurt you.”

  “I think...” Jeff said, clutching Anne-Elizabeth to his chest, “I think that...” His eyes rolled backward and the doctor lunged forward to catch him as he slumped sideways.

  Cecilia reached for Annie, but the little girl clung with an iron grip. “He don’t want any needles,” she said from beneath her mop of fiery hair. Her green eyes narrowed and she showed her teeth. “Weave him awone!”

  “Anne-Elizabeth!” Cecilia stepped into the fray and grabbed her daughter. “Let go, this instant!”

  The little girl’s eyes filled with tears, and her arms went limp as Cecilia pulled her away. “He caught me,” she said. “He forgot to hold on to the twee, but he held on to me.”

  “Mrs. Evans, we’ll get this all cleared up. Why don’t you take your little girl into your son’s examining room so she can calm down.”

  “That figures,” Brad grumbled. “I’ve gotta wait. Again.”

  Holding her daughter close, Cecilia allowed the nurse to escort h
er to the door. She paused and met Peter’s uncertain gaze. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

  “I...I thought I’d better stay here.” He shrugged uneasily, his eyes going to Jeff and the doctor, who was peering into one of those big, brown eyes with a narrow beam of light. “He’s all alone. They... they might need to know something.”

  “Peter, you don’t have to—” Cecilia began.

  “I think we can handle it, buddy,” the doctor assured him.

  But Peter’s mind seemed set. He dropped into a plastic chair beside the examining table. “You’d better check his back, too,” he said to the intern. “He’s kind of cut up from failin’ out of the tree.”

  ~o0o~

  “That’s the way,” Cecilia panted. “Lean on me, Jeff.” She braced an arm against the wall and struggled down the hall to her bedroom. Peter whipped back the covers, and Anne-Elizabeth plumped the pillows with her small fist. “We’re weady,” she announced, patting the pillow into place. “You can wie down now.”

  “This really isn’t necessary,” Jeff gasped as he sank to the side of the bed. “I could have gone home.”

  “With nobody but that damned bird to take care of you? Grow up, Jeff.”

  “Don’t worry,” Peter said. “We’ll get Toulouse and bring him over here so he won’t be lonely.”

  “Over my dead—” Cecilia began, then cleared her throat. “We’ll think of something.”

  Jeff reached for his shoe, but Anne-Elizabeth got there first. In moments she had the laces untied. “You’ve got pwetty socks,” she said, rubbing the red argyles with her finger.

  “Thank you,” Jeff replied solemnly. He raised his eyes beseechingly to Cecilia. “If you really insist on my staying here... I think I’d better lie down.”

  She reached forward to help him, but he brushed her hands away. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt then shrugged it off, exposing the white bandages that wrapped much of his upper body. When he reached for his belt buckle, she grabbed the kids by the shoulders.