Bossy Bridegroom

by Mary Connealy

  “We’ll talk to Pastor Bert tomorrow. Maybe we can have a wedding tomorrow night.”

  Jeanie smiled at his usual push to get things done his way and fast.

  Jeanie remembered that feeling of power she’d had earlier and wanted to have some say in this decision. She didn’t want to be rushed. “How about Saturday instead? Give me one more week, Michael. One more week to be ready to truly be your wife again.”

  He nodded. “Saturday it is.”

  He pulled her close and sealed their promise with a kiss.

  eighteen

  Michael had two more cabins framed by the end of the week.

  He was so happy with his life that energy poured out of him and he worked like a hyperactive dynamo. He prayed with every rip of the circular saw, praising God for the rebirth of his marriage. He’d been elated the first time Jeanie had told him she loved him. Now his feet barely touched the ground.

  Saturday. Pastor Bert had agreed. Michael had spread the word around town, and a few plans were quietly being made for a simple reception for anyone who wanted to attend. He was counting the minutes.

  God, thank You, praise You. I love You. Thank You for giving my wife back to me.

  The visitors in his cabins were an added pleasure. He’d been trying to ask less of his volunteers, grateful to Jeanie for pointing out his insensitivity. He liked doing it himself anyway. He ordered the supplies for the footbridge and was so excited about the project he had them overnighted at a ridiculous expense.

  The supplies came in, and Michael threw himself into the project. He wanted the bridge up and available for the renters now vacationing in the finished cabins. It was a pretty thing—three-inch-thick synthetic rope that looked like jungle vine and the walking surface made of treated redwood planks.

  The charm of it would be a draw, and the word of mouth would bring in repeat customers. Plus, he needed to start erecting cabins across the creek, and this bridge was an essential part of that, because it was a long way to the nearest bridge a car could cross to reach cabins on the other side. But his vacationers could easily roll luggage across the footbridge.

  He’d ordered a kit containing all the material, so the heavy ropes, including solid rope sides more than waist high on an adult, were easy to hang. Jake helped Michael pour a cement foundation on both sides of the creek.

  Jake’s help was invaluable, and Michael liked the guy, but Jake was so gaga over his new baby that it reminded Michael of all he’d given up when he’d abandoned Sally. He’d been working so hard that he’d let things slide with the adoption papers. He’d never intended to sign them, but he hadn’t dared to make that clear until things were settled with him and Jeanie. He needed to get this wedding over with; then he’d deal with the legalities of regaining custody. He wanted to do it right. Give Sally a chance to get to know him and Jeanie well before they brought her permanently home.

  A twinge of guilt made him wonder how Sally would handle it. Buffy was the only mother Sally had ever known, from what Jeanie had said. And Sally was five now; that was pretty old to be moved out of someone’s house. But it had to be done. Sally was his. He couldn’t give up his daughter.

  Jeanie was threading the heavy ropes through the predrilled redwood planks as Michael had instructed her. She was always right at hand, helping wherever she could.

  Michael liked having her close a lot more than Jake. And she liked being close; Michael could tell. She was as eager for Saturday’s recommitment ceremony as he.

  God, I was such a fool not to enjoy her as she was before. Forgive me for the way I treated her. Help me be a better person.

  Michael sat side by side on the ground with his wife. “We just need to tie each plank in place. Then we pull these ropes through the holes on those pylons across the creek.” He pointed to the wooden posts, nearly a foot in diameter and eight feet tall. They came predrilled with steel reinforced holes for the top and bottom of the footbridge. “Then we tighten the rope, tie it off, and we’re done.”

  She smiled at him as she worked, threading the rope like a pro. He marveled at what a great team they made.

  “You’re sure this will be safe?”

  Michael nodded. “I’ve talked to a guy who put up a suspension bridge in five different places, including one near Mount Rushmore. In fact, he’s going to mail me some pamphlets on his bridges that we can give out to our tourists, to tie Cold Creek more closely to Mount Rushmore. And the State Game and Parks Department is sending out an inspector as soon as the bridge is done, so before we let a single person walk across it, we can have an expert test it for safety. Our insurance company reduced our rates when I promised we’d do that.”

  “I’ve got my last plank tied down. I’m ready.”

  Michael turned and grinned at her. They were sitting cross-legged on the rough, grassy ground by the edge of the chuckling creek. Towering trees shaded them. Dappled sunlight winked through on the warm July day. Birds sang and the breeze made its own music as he counted his blessings.

  He leaned over and kissed her. “I’m so glad I can do that. I’m so glad we’re together again.”

  Jeanie reached up and laid a hand on his cheek. “I thank God for you every day, every hour. He’s given me a miracle.”

  “He’s given us a miracle, you mean.” Michael’s contentment was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He marveled at the blessings of a Christian life as he quickly finished his side of the bridge.

  The tied-together wood weighed a lot. He had already moved his pickup to the other side of the creek. Once he threaded the rope to the anchors on the far side of the rippling water, he’d hitch the ropes to the pickup. He’d drive slowly forward, dragging the heavy bridge across the expanse.

  “Great. I’ll attach the four ropes here.” Michael quickly secured the near side of the bridge. “Now I’ll wade across with it and thread it through the eye of the brace on the far side.”

  Jeanie giggled as he pulled on hip waders.

  “Hey, you think these are funny-looking, but they beat being soaked to the knee.”

  “I’m sure they do.” She fought the laughter and lost.

  Her laughter sent sunshine along as he worked down the steep banks of Cold Creek, across the gently murmuring rivulet of the shallow stream, and up the far side. He’d tied narrow ropes to the heavy ones, so he didn’t have to deal with all the weight as he crossed.

  Climbing up the other side, he scrambled to hold all four ropes and not lose his footing. The anchoring pylon was as solid as Michael’s construction experience and Jake’s engineering skills could make it, which amounted to it being very solid indeed.

  Michael pulled the bottom two ropes through their appointed holes easily. The top ones were just a bit over his head, but he slid one into place and secured it then started for the other. Standing on his tiptoes, he held the pylon with one hand and the rope with the other. When he got the rope threaded, he released the wooden stake to grab the rope and felt his boots slip on the dampened concrete.

  “Jeanie!” Michael flailed, grabbing to stop his fall. He caught the unsecured rope and pulled it over the edge of the creek with him.

  As he fell, head-over-heels down the rocky slope, he heard Jeanie scream.

  Jeanie was running before he hit the ground.

  “Michael!” She splashed through the water toward his still form sprawled at the bottom of the bank. She skidded to her knees as she approached him, to hear a soft groan. He was alive!

  His face was covered in blood, his right arm twisted under him.

  “Michael, can you hear me?”

  His eyes flickered open then fell shut.

  She hated leaving him, but after a frantic moment of indecision, she got up and ran back across the creek. She screamed the whole time.

  Glynna emerged from the café before Jeanie got all the way up the side. “What is it? What happened?”

  “Call 911! Michael has fallen. He’s unconscious. He’s on the far side of the creek.” She whirl
ed and ran back. Dropping to his side, she pulled off the overshirt she wore. Wadding it, she gently but firmly pressed it to the ugly gash on Michael’s temple. Thinking of spinal injuries, she kept his neck from moving. What else? His arm was bent at an awful angle, but she didn’t dare touch it.

  She prayed. “Please, God, don’t take him from me when I’ve just found him again.”

  Tears nearly blinded her.

  Michael whispered, “Jeanie?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” She dashed her tears away, barely noticing her hands soaked in blood. She leaned close to his barely moving lips. “The ambulance is coming.”

  Even as she spoke the siren fired up only a few blocks away. “Help will be here in a few seconds.”

  He didn’t respond.

  An ambulance and a police car—Cold Creek only had one of each—pulled up as close to the far side of the creek as they could get.

  Tim Russo, her boss from the mini-mart, was fire chief. He ran to the bank across from her and headed straight down. “We’re bringing a stretcher across instead of going around.” Tim approached her. “It will save a lot of time.”

  More people came dashing through the water, the first two carrying a stretcher. Behind them came someone with an armload of supplies.

  Tim got there first and crouched beside Michael. “Did he fall from the top?”

  “Yes.” Jeanie looked up; the pylon towered overhead. It was probably twenty or thirty feet, but it seemed like hundreds from where she knelt. How bad could his internal injuries be? His spine?

  “Has he been conscious?”

  “He moaned, said my name.” Her voice broke. “H–he opened his eyes once for a second.”

  The rest of the team arrived, and Jeanie was gently but firmly moved aside. The rescue squad was well trained, and Jeanie watched, crying quietly as they stabilized Michael’s neck and lifted him with skilled precision onto the stretcher. Someone put arms around Jeanie’s shoulders, and she was barely aware of being guided along behind the paramedics.

  When she settled into a car, she realized it was the mayor’s wife, Carolyn, driving. “I’ll follow the ambulance to the hospital. You shouldn’t drive when you’re so distraught.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re going to stop and get you some dry clothes, too.”

  Jeanie registered only vaguely that she was soaked nearly to the waist and shivering, though mostly from fear rather than cold. “No, I want to be with him.”

  “Hush, honey. We’ll still be there long before they let you see him. You know how emergency wards are. They’re taking him to the Hot Springs hospital, and if they’re even the least bit worried about severe injuries, they’ll life-flight him. If you end up in Rapid City in wet clothes, you’ll be miserable.”

  “Life-flight?” Jeanie started crying harder.

  They pulled up to the house, and Carolyn didn’t even ask whether Jeanie wanted to help pick out clothes. She ran and was back with a small pile clutched in her arms within seconds. Her tires screeched as she pulled away from the curb and headed south out of town. In grim silence, broken only by Jeanie’s sobs, they raced down the road. A siren sounded behind them before they’d gone a mile.

  Jeanie looked up, afraid the police would pull them over, but Carolyn, in a move that would have made a NASCAR driver proud, had somehow arranged for a police escort. The police car pulled ahead of them, and Jeanie recognized Bucky driving. He wasn’t on the police force. But he was mayor, and Cold Creek’s police force, one full-time chief and two part-time deputies, were probably all on the rescue squad, so there’d been no one to drive along with Jeanie and clear the road.

  As they tore down the winding highway, weaving and twisting through the rugged hills and forests, Jeanie prayed silently until Carolyn began praying aloud. They recited the Twenty-third Psalm together. Jeanie prayed her courage verses; she’d never needed them more.

  A few of the turns were nearly hairpin, and Jeanie closed her eyes, but she didn’t ask Carolyn to slow down.

  They pulled up to the Hot Springs hospital just as a roar overhead told them that indeed a helicopter was coming to take Michael to Rapid City.

  “What did they find? What did the rescue squad learn on the drive in?” Jeanie leaped out of the car.

  Carolyn was beside her, hustling her toward the helipad.

  The Cold Creek ambulance sat, siren still screaming, lights strobing, near the concrete pad.

  “Thank you so much,” Jeanie murmured through her fog of terror. “Thank you for getting me here.”

  She got to the ambulance as the helicopter settled in place. Tim swung open the doors, and two other men rounded the ambulance to help ease the gurney out onto the ground. An IV bottle held aloft was carried along.

  “Can she ride along, Tim?” Bucky yelled over the roar of the helicopter blade, his hand blocking the bruising wind.

  Two people leaped out of the helicopter and came to meet them.

  Tim stepped away from the gurney as the helicopter EMTs took over carrying it. “Yes, you ride with him. We’ve been on the radio to them. They know you’re coming along, Jeanie.”

  Jeanie couldn’t get close to Michael, but she caught a glimpse of his blood-soaked face, his eyes closed, his body strapped down.

  Her knees buckled, and Tim and Bucky caught her before she collapsed and nearly carried her along.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  The gurney wheels folded as they slid Michael, still unconscious, into the helicopter. Jeanie’s arms were steadied as she was boosted in beside him. A formidable-looking black woman, with a name tag that said Shayla, towed her to a flight seat and clicked her into a seat belt. A bundle that Jeanie thought were the clothes Carolyn had fetched was settled near Jeanie’s feet. There was barely room for Jeanie in this small helicopter. The little seat she occupied was probably for one of the rescue workers.

  “Stay there. Don’t make me sorry we let you ride along.” Shayla’s compassionate eyes didn’t match her no-nonsense words and brusque movements.

  Jeanie decided Michael was safe in this woman’s hands.

  The door slammed. Shayla left Jeanie and turned to her patient before Jeanie had a chance to promise to be good.

  The helicopter took off. Jeanie felt her stomach stay behind as they lifted.

  Please, Lord, don’t take Michael from me. We’ve just found each other again. We could make a life pleasing to You. Heal him, protect him, bless him.

  She focused on Michael to keep her mind off the swooping of the chopper.

  Two people worked over him in the cramped space. The woman talked steadily. The other emergency worker, a dark-haired man with a ponytail, leaned over Michael’s head. Both of them moved constantly.

  A pilot talked into his radio. Little of it made sense to Jeanie, but she was sure information was forwarded to the hospital so they’d know what to prepare for when the helicopter landed.

  The part of Jeanie’s mind that wasn’t occupied with praying marveled at the well-oiled machine of the paramedic team.

  The two people working over Michael mostly blocked him from her sight, but once in a while she’d catch a glimpse of Michael’s ashen face, streaked with blood. She wanted to ask them to wipe the blood away but kept her mouth shut.

  Once she saw Michael’s eyes flicker open. They seemed to be clear. Shayla asked him questions, too quietly for Jeanie to hear them over the steady throb of the helicopter’s rotors. Michael’s deep voice added to the hum of sound and activity.

  She did hear Michael say, “Jeanie,” once.

  The female EMT turned and smiled. “She’s here. She’s worried sick about you.”

  Michael’s eyes fluttered, and Jeanie could tell he tried to turn. But his head was held steady.

  “Just lie still. I told her to stay put in her seat, too. We’ll be landing in a few minutes.”

  Shayla turned to Jeanie. “I’m feeling pretty good about spinal injuries. His fingers and toes are moving
fine. We’ll do a thorough exam, of course, and we won’t remove his neck-stabilizing gear until we’re sure. And we have to examine him for internal injuries. If he has any, that could mean surgery.”

  Jeanie felt tears burn her eyes at the hopeful news.

  “He’s definitely got a broken arm, and since he was unconscious, he’s likely got a concussion. Plus the cut on his head is nasty.”

  The woman’s voice started to sound like it was far away. The little roaring cabin seemed to get darker and her vision tunneled.

  Shayla suddenly knelt at Jeanie’s side, adjusting her seat belt and shoving Jeanie’s head down between her waterlogged knees. Jeanie didn’t know why the woman attacked her, but she was too shaky to care.

  The next thing Jeanie knew, she was being helped off the air ambulance by Shayla and a stranger, and Michael was rolling away from her with two other attendants.

  “What happened?”

  “You fainted.” Shayla kept an arm around Jeanie’s waist, even though Jeanie felt much steadier now, with the helicopter on the ground and hope that Michael would be okay. “We’ll leave your clothes with you. Your hands are covered in blood, so once you’re steady, you’ll need to wash up and change your clothes. The hospital might let you use a shower if you’re going to have a long wait.”

  Jeanie looked and saw crimson fingers. Shayla was right. Dried blood filled every crease and crevice on the front and back of both hands.

  Jeanie couldn’t think clearly enough to wash up right now, so she found herself settled in a chair in the emergency ward waiting room with a clipboard in her lap and orders to fill out forms. Doing the mundane paperwork kept her from losing her mind while she sat there.

  Praying steadily, an hour passed. Then another. Then she found a Bible tucked in a magazine rack. She started reading her strength verses, groping for courage.

  Buffy showed up and charged her way across the waiting room to Jeanie’s side. Jeanie rose to meet her, and Buffy pulled her into a hug. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No, he’s with the doctor now.”