The Best Medicine

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “Form of assistance or financial support,” James clarified. “I wonder how much we would have to raise to have a prayer of saving this hospital.” The momentary hope faded from his tone. “It must be astronomical.”

  “I don't know, but I’ll volunteer to find out,” Elena said. She grinned, shaking her head with a wry expression as she looked at James. “Subvention. Where on earth did you learn that word?”

  James cleared his throat, and the tips of his ears grew red. “Vocabulary is a sort of hobby of mine.”

  Anabelle, who had sunk onto the end of Candace's bench, rose as she said, “I actually have to get back to work right now. Since James mentioned prayer, I believe I’m going to take a moment to ask for divine intervention. Would any of you like to pray about this with me?”

  “I would,” Elena said promptly.

  Candace extended a hand to Anabelle. “Me too.”

  James reached out to Candace and Elena, and in a moment the four new friends had formed a circle.

  “Dear Lord,” Anabelle began, “Hope Haven is a special place. We try to treat our patients with Your spirit as well as with the best that modern medicine can offer. Help us find a way to keep our hospital open.”

  Each of them added something to the prayer, and finally, Elena closed by saying, “We pray for the future of this hospital, Father. Help us come up with ideas to raise the necessary funds. Give us the enthusiasm and perseverance to see this through. In Your name we pray. Amen.”

  Together, they repeated, “Amen.”

  As they released each others’ hands, Elena looked up. Her face was glowing. “I feel much more optimistic after that.”

  “I do too,” Anabelle said, “and when I stepped through that door, optimism was definitely not a part of my day.” The older woman looked less stressed than she had since she had burst into the courtyard yesterday.

  Candace said, “Perhaps we all could get together a day or so each week for a meal and prayer.”

  “I’m in,” James said immediately. “I can be here most days, barring emergencies and work issues that get in the way.”

  “What a great idea,” Elena said. Candace was beginning to see that Elena was quite the cheerleader, and she smiled at her new friend's enthusiastic tone as Elena added, “I’ll be here when I can.”

  “Me too,” Anabelle said.

  “We should exchange pager and cell phone numbers,” James said. “Then we can get in touch with each other and decide where to meet if it's raining.”

  “Another great idea!” said Elena. All of them pulled their various communication devices out and a flurry of exchanges ensued.

  Chapter Five

  LATE ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, ANABELLE HAD A temp nurse cover for her while she attended a meeting of the I’ve Got Bike Smarts! committee. The hospital presented the bicycle safety program to local fourth-grade classes every year just before the summer vacation began. The project was near and dear to Anabelle's heart. She had been involved in the program since its inception a dozen years ago and continued to serve as an adviser and presenter.

  When she entered the conference room, located at the end of the administrative-offices hallway on the first floor, the rest of the committee was already there. The committee chair was Winona Stouffer, a licensed practical nurse in Cardiac Care. In addition to the LPN, the other members included the CFO's assistant, Quintessa Smith, and the manager of the Community Health Office, Bobbi Quarles. The four had been on the committee for several years and routinely rotated chairman duties.

  “Hi, Anabelle,” Winona said. “You’re just in time. We haven't started yet.”

  “We’ve been talking about the letter,” added Bobbi. It was on everyone's mind—yesterday's news had the power to change the lives of every hospital employee.

  “What are people saying?” Anabelle asked. “I’ve been swamped this morning, and I haven't had time to talk about anything but cardiac issues.”

  Quintessa spoke up. “I can tell you that the community is up in arms from the article in today's paper. This morning I’ve already fielded a dozen phone calls from irate folks with a list of reasons why the hospital needs to stay open.” She grimaced. “I don't know why the switchboard is referring them to our office rather than the CEO's.”

  Bobbi snorted. “Probably because they know they can count on you to be polite.”

  Quintessa laughed, her bright smile lighting up her dark face. Quintessa, Anabelle often thought, had just about the prettiest skin of anyone she’d ever met, a warm, coppery brown that practically glowed at times.

  Doing her best to be diplomatic, Anabelle said, “Penny can be less than congenial at times.” The CEO's executive assistant, Penny Risser, was the dragon who guarded the executive's door. No one liked to get on her bad side, and it was well known that she had little patience.

  “‘Less than congenial,’” Quintessa repeated. She rolled her large, expressive brown eyes. “She's a…challenge,” she added with a grin.

  “Ladies, I have to get back to work as soon as possible, so why don't we get started?” Anabelle said, turning to Winona.

  “All right.” Winona assumed a professional tone as she consulted her notes.

  The group discussed visitation times, made minor adjustments to the presentation's content and double-checked the class numbers to be sure they had enough helmets in stock. The price of the helmets had gone up, and Bobbi shared some information about other suppliers. A decision on switching vendors was tabled, since they wouldn't be placing a new order for more than six months.

  During each point of discussion, Anabelle shared the benefit of her many years working with the program. She was a sort of historian, she decided, pleased at the thought. With her oversight, nothing could stray too much from the committee's original purpose.

  Before the meeting broke up, Winona passed around a sheet of paper. “First, let me know if you see any times here that are going to be problematic for you to go to your assigned schools.”

  Anabelle glanced over the sheet of paper. “I’d like to be scheduled for Rishell,” she said.

  Winona glanced at her with her eyebrows raised. “Because?”

  “My daughter teaches at Rishell.” Anabelle tried to ignore the irritation she felt at the chairwoman's exasperated tone.

  “Last year, we voted to not choose favorite schools,” Winona reminded Anabelle. “You said it might become too complicated trying to accommodate personal requests. It was a unanimous vote.” Winona frowned at Anabelle.

  “Yes, and normally I agree. But it's just this one time—”

  “I don't think we should start making exceptions,” Winona insisted in an unyielding tone.

  “It's not a big deal,” Bobbi said. “I’m at Rishell. I can switch with you.”

  Anabelle smiled at the health-office manager, careful not to seem victorious. “Thank you, Bobbi. I appreciate that.” Kirstie would be delighted to see her at the school. “Kirstie just moved into her first apartment, and I don't see her nearly as much as when she lived with us.”

  “That's exciting,” Quintessa said. “I bet she's thrilled to be in her own place.”

  Anabelle bristled. “She was perfectly happy at home. I don't know why she feels the need to move out to prove a point. Her father and I are happy to help her with anything she needs.”

  “I doubt she's moving out to prove a point,” Bobbi said gently. “It's just a normal progression in the growing up process, Anabelle.”

  “But she's not normal!” Anabelle blurted.

  There was silence in the room. Anabelle wasn't sure who was more shocked, her peers or herself. “I mean, of course she's normal. But she has physical challenges that—”

  “That she has to learn to deal with sooner or later,” Winona said briskly. “You can't control everything, Anabelle.”

  The pointed words stung.

  Anabelle glanced at the others. As they all busied themselves gathering their things, each of them studiously avoided making e
ye contact with her.

  “I’ve got to get back to my office,” Bobbi said. “Are we done?”

  Winona nodded, and before the words “I believe so” were out of her mouth, Bobbi and Quintessa both were out the door with hasty farewells. Winona smiled briefly at Anabelle before she also departed, and Anabelle got the impression it was meant as a peace offering. “See you at the next meeting.”

  Alone in the conference room, Anabelle went over the meeting in her mind. What had she done? True, the others were thirty or more years younger than she was, but that didn't matter. She felt that she was forward thinking and that she understood young people. Her own children were in the same age range. If these three had had something to say, she wished they would have just spoken up. After all, she was a good listener.

  Of course she was.

  One of Elena's new patients in the Intensive Care Unit had had a stroke the previous day, and the poor soul was severely affected. The patient, Barbara, was a grandmother; and Elena tried to talk to her as much as possible, hoping to stimulate speech. As she methodically checked her patient's vitals, Elena told Barbara about Isabel's brick project for school.

  Barbara's eyes followed Elena's face as she moved around. “As it turned out,” Elena went on, “she was talking about paper bricks. Each child got several to color and then the teacher would help the class build the façade of a house with them. Pretty cute idea, don't you think?”

  Barbara closed her eyes and with great effort managed to get out a single syllable. “Yes.”

  “Yes, I thought so too,” Elena said, knowing progress was made in encouraging small steps like the utterance of a syllable.

  Suddenly her hands froze. She stood still, arrested by a thought. Bricks! Yes, of course! That might be the answer.

  “Barbara, I just had an idea!” Elena was so excited she could barely stand still. As the words spilled out, she paced back and forth at the foot of the hospital bed. “What if the hospital conducted a fund-raiser where people bought bricks to raise money for Hope Haven?” She recounted a magazine article she had read in which a school had done it to raise money for a new stadium. As one approached, there was a lovely plaza with all the donated bricks, many engraved in honor or in memory of loved ones.

  “But the hospital doesn't need a plaza,” she went on. “It has lovely landscaped gardens out in the front with concrete sidewalks and paths, which are practical for wheelchairs. I’m sure you’ve seen them.”

  However, she thought with mounting excitement, the hospital does need a more attractive lunch area for the staff.

  “Have you ever been in the little courtyard behind the chapel?” she asked Barbara.

  The woman's eyes blinked, and Elena took it as a positive response. “Well, then you know how ugly it is.” She made a grimace of distaste as she recalled the dismal little picnic area in which she gathered with the other nurses. “What if,” she said with rising excitement, “what if it was possible to tear up that courtyard and get rid of those shrubs? The size of the eating area could be doubled. It could be bordered by a brick wall—with donated bricks, of course.”

  If they could get enough bricks to do the whole project, that would be a start on a fund-raising campaign. And maybe they could follow it up with some additional fund-raising activities.

  So how much would they charge for the bricks? She didn't know anything about those aspects of such a project. Then again, why set a price? Elena suspected that people would give more generously if there wasn't a price attached. The bricks could be “free” anytime a donation was made to a Save Hope Haven campaign. Even a certain amount of engraving in honor or in memory of someone could be part of the service.

  As she made notes on Barbara's chart and said good-bye to her patient, a bubble of enthusiasm swelled within her. Hurrying back to the ICU nursing station to punch out for her lunch break, Elena thought, This could work. This could really work! She considered the congenial group with whom she had met at lunch. They were the kind of people she’d like to run this idea by.

  And if they agreed that it could work, she had to figure out whom to talk to in order to make the dream a reality.

  Candace stepped into the little courtyard where she’d shared a prayer with her three fellow employees the previous day. She had received a text from Anabelle earlier inviting them to join her for lunch, and Candace couldn't help feeling that God had some purpose in mind when He gathered these particular four people together. They were quite different, yet there was something that simply clicked when they were together.

  It was another lovely sunny day, with little humidity and the slightest breeze. Even the bare-bones look of the eating area was softened by the warm light that bathed everything. Candace caught a glimpse of the gorgeous cardinal she had spotted before in the paperbark maple.

  Anabelle was already there, seated at one of the picnic tables. Her salt-and-pepper hair was parted on the side and brushed back away from her face with a few bangs that feathered across her forehead. The breeze had caught a few strands and teased them out of the smooth style. She had the daily paper spread out on the table before her, and she glanced up over the top of the reading glasses she wore. “Hello, Candace.”

  “Hi, Anabelle.” Candace took a seat across from her. “What are you reading?”

  Anabelle smiled with a certain amount of satisfaction. “I finally got my hands on a copy of yesterday's Dispatch. I was interviewed on Monday by a reporter who had heard about the hospital closing. She talked with a number of hospital employees and even looked at Nellie's copy of the letter. There appears to be a shock wave rippling through the community already.”

  “Good.” Candace began to pull her lunch items from the bag, prompting Anabelle to set aside the paper and open her own lunch. “The more publicity the closing gets, the more likely it is that something can be done to prevent it. I’d like to read that after I eat.”

  “Candace?” Anabelle's voice was uncharacteristically diffident. “Do you think I’m pushy and controlling?”

  Candace couldn't prevent a surprised ripple of laughter, but she quickly sobered as she saw Anabelle's stricken face. Her friend thought she was laughing at her, Candace realized.

  “Of course I don’t,” she assured Anabelle. “I wasn't laughing at you. I just wasn't expecting a question like that.” She regarded her friend closely. “Why do you ask?”

  Anabelle sighed. “I was in a meeting this morning with three young women; and by the time it ended, I felt like a relic from the age of dinosaurs who just didn't understand how to deal with young people today.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Anabelle sent her a wry smile. “Me too.”

  The door swung open again then, and James and Elena stepped into the courtyard.

  “Ah-h-h. It's beautiful out here again today,” Elena said, her dark eyes sparkling. “I love spring.”

  Candace nodded. “Me too.” The breeze blew a strand of her gleaming, copper-brown hair across her face, and she hooked it back behind one ear.

  Elena spied the newspaper Anabelle had laid to one side. “I saw your comments, Anabelle. Excellent job.”

  “Thank you.” Anabelle nodded modestly, as James picked up the paper and skimmed the article.

  “Who's Frederick Innisk?” he asked.

  Anabelle made a face. “He's on the board of directors of the hospital.”

  James indicated the article. “He's the only negative voice in the whole piece. He's quoted here as saying that the closing probably is unavoidable.”

  “He's quite an unpleasant man,” Anabelle said. “Unfortunately, he usually has a pretty good finger on the pulse of this town. If he thinks Hope Haven is closing, then we really have an uphill battle ahead of us.”

  Elena took a seat across from Candace, while James finished reading the article. “Way to go, Anabelle,” he said, folding the paper. “Succinct and candid.”

  “Succinct?” Elena repeated, her tone teasing even though Candace was cert
ain the word wasn't totally unfamiliar. “There you go again with the big words.”

  “It's not that big—only eight letters. It means concise, without wasted words.” He grinned as he folded his tall frame onto the bench opposite Anabelle. “So the closing is public information now,” he said. “I wonder what will happen next. Do you think people in the community are as concerned about this as we are?”

  “I suspect they are,” Candace spoke up. “We’ll know soon. I heard that tomorrow's paper will carry local residents’ reactions to the possible closing.”

  “Expletives deleted,” Anabelle said, chuckling. “This morning I was in a meeting with Quintessa Smith. She's gotten quite a few phone calls already. People are beginning to get more than a little hot under the collar.”

  “But will that translate into any beneficial action?” James asked before he took a bite of his sandwich.

  Candace sighed. “I guess time will tell.”

  “Speaking of beneficial action,” Elena said, “I had an idea.”

  James lifted his eyes heavenward. “Why do I have a feeling that those words are an oft-used part of your repertoire?”

  Elena grinned. “I refuse to respond on the grounds that anything I say might be incriminating.”

  They all chuckled, and then James said, “All right. Hit us with this idea.”

  “Okay.” The dark-haired nurse put down her sandwich. Her face was animated and her dark eyes snapped with excitement. “Monday night, my granddaughter was working on a school project that involved bricks; and this morning, I got to thinking: What if the hospital creates some kind of memorial at Hope Haven with engraved bricks? Community members could have a brick personally engraved by making a donation to a fund to save the hospital.”

  “But what kind of memorial could be created with bricks?” Anabelle asked.

  “That's the good part,” Elena said. “It could be a Wall of Hope. And it could be right here!” She stood and walked to where the privet hedge divided their small space from the parking lot.

  James raised one eyebrow as he considered the plan. “I like it.”