“I’ll keep you updated.” Tyrell sat in the car and kept the line open, listening as she accepted the reality of this horror in her own way. Nobody was going to fix this for her.
Chapter Nineteen
For the first time all day, the phone was quiet. The next influx of patients had not yet arrived. Jama sat in her director’s office as Ruth perused the top résumé of a small stack.
“Do you know Chelsea Franklin?” Ruth asked.
“Yes.”
Ruth flipped the page, then frowned. “Who writes a résumé on both sides?”
“Somebody who has to conserve paper. Chelsea is Etta Franklin’s girl, and the family doesn’t have a lot, especially now that Mr. Franklin decided he couldn’t care for a wife with early onset Alzheimer’s.”
Ruth read the sheet for a few seconds, then looked up at Jama. “What else do you know about this applicant?”
“Graduated about ten years ago from River Dance High, graduated from college, worked a few years as a medical technician to save money for med school, then returned home recently.”
“That doesn’t tell me any more than her résumé does. What can you tell me about her character?”
“She was a sweet child. I used to babysit her sometimes. I don’t think that’ll help you much.”
“Zelda implied today that the two of you could help me significantly. Let’s test that theory.”
“Maybe you should ask Zelda, then, since it was her idea. I haven’t been around, myself, for a long time.”
“You’re here, Zelda is not, and I want to make some decisions right away.” Ruth swiveled in her chair and leaned toward Jama. “You grew up here. I know you’ve got old friends who keep you apprised of local news…friends such as the Mercers, Zelda. I need you to help me decide whether or not this candidate would be a good addition to the mix we already have here.”
“Which is?”
“Which is three very opinionated, strong-willed women, who will have to figure out a way to learn to get along.”
“If you think that, why did you hire Zelda, and why didn’t you fire me?”
“Zelda’s experience is invaluable, and Eric wouldn’t let me fire you even if I tried. It would be a huge financial loss to the community to replace you.”
“Thanks,” Jama muttered.
“Tell me about the applicant,” Ruth said.
“Chelsea’s quiet. She doesn’t push her opinions on others.”
“So she could either be nervous working with us, or could serve as a buffer between us,” Ruth said.
“She’s probably anxious about coming back to town, concerned she may not find a job nearby. She needs to be able to spend time with her mother.”
“Our need for the right employee is what we have to focus on. Can she do the job?”
“I’m sure she can.”
“It appears to me that Chelsea’s commitment to her mother shows some character.”
“It’s heartbreaking,” Jama said.
Ruth laid the résumé aside, as if she’d made her decision. “She’s probably no happier about returning to River Dance than you are.”
“I can’t speak for her. It would just take a few days for her to prove herself,” Jama said.
“Since she’s due to arrive in about ten minutes, we may be able to put her to the test during her interview, depending on the incoming casualties.”
The waiting-room door opened, and Jama got up to peer along the hallway. Tyrell stepped inside. He gave her a halfhearted wave.
“Our help is here,” she told Ruth.
“It may be a few minutes before the rest of the winery workers get here. It sounded to me as if they were more interested in dousing the fire than seeking medical attention.”
The telephone buzzed, and Jama rushed to answer it, waving for Tyrell to have a seat as she entered the reception office.
Tyrell stood in the middle of the empty waiting room, watching Jama and thinking about the unprotected hillside at the ranch covered with Norton and Vignoles vines. The Norton were a sturdy strain of native grape, but it, too, was at risk if the weather didn’t change.
He couldn’t help wondering if his brother was setting the bales properly at the base of the hillside. Too close, and the fires could scorch the vines, too far away, and a fortune in precious hay would be wasted.
His thoughts scrambled with tension as he watched Jama juggle calls: Dad and Doriann, life and death, the fragility of existence; Jama and Amy and the lost bond of friendship that Jama grieved after more than four and a half years.
He shook his head, wishing he was wiser about affairs of the heart.
He couldn’t keep his attention from Jama. She was efficient on the phone, patient, which had never been a characteristic of hers when she was growing up. As she listened, counseled, reassured and jotted down appointments, he hoped that only he caught the strain in her voice.
As the calls continued and no patients entered, Tyrell stepped to the back window of the waiting room and gazed up the hillside, below which he knew fields of large, round hay bales were being transported into place for multiple bonfires.
Would these efforts save the vines?
The ranch was Dad’s lifework. Mom’s occasional rival.
Not that Mom would ever say anything about it, but Tyrell had always known that she’d often been lonely, even in the midst of all her children, when Dad was at a co-op meeting that ran late, or in the fields making his rows a little straighter.
Dad had always taken pride in his work. So had Mom. And Dad had spent good, quality time with his kids, and with his wife. They loved him for it. But Tyrell had suspected for years that quality time once or twice a week with her husband might not be enough for Mom. Quantity might also play a part. He knew that it played a part for him. He wanted more than even his happily married parents had enjoyed.
He couldn’t help wondering if that could be part of Jama’s concern about the two of them, as well. Having seen Monty’s obsession with making the Mercer Ranch the best, most productive, most progressive ranch in the Missouri River Valley, would Jama be worried that Tyrell would follow in his father’s footsteps?
Jama would never dream of saying a word against her foster father.
And then Tyrell thought about Heather and Mark. Was Heather simply imitating her father’s example when she worked so many long hours that her daughter was practically being raised by someone else?
“Tyrell? Hello?”
He blinked and turned to find Jama standing behind him, eyeing him with concern.
“You okay?” she asked.
His first impulse was to assure her that everything was fine. But he hated lying. “No. You?”
She shook her head. “Everything okay at the ranch?”
“Daniel’s carrying his cell phone. He can call me with any questions.” Their cousin, Mae, and her husband had a dairy farm near Hermann. Tyrell was counting on her expertise to guide Daniel as she drove the tractor with the bale lift.
“Do you think the bale fires will work?” Jama asked.
“I think it’s our best chance. We won’t light the fires unless the temperature drops below twenty-six degrees. The technique won’t be foolproof, but we might save a percentage of the shoots.”
“Big if?” Jama asked.
He nodded. “How many patients are coming from the winery?”
Jama sank into one of the waiting-room chairs. “Five, according to the call I received about a minute ago. Three smoke inhalations, one possible broken bone, and one of the men has a possible hip dislocation.”
“Ambulance?” He sat down beside her.
“Private vehicle.”
“I could have collected two or three of them on my way here if I’d known transport was needed.”
“I was told it’s chaos at the winery. Two fire trucks are there, and one of the first responders is securing the patients. They should be here before long. If not for the hip dislocation, I’d say we could take care of
the rest ourselves. You probably have a lot more work to do at the ranch.”
“Not quite as much as you’d think. Daniel and Mae can handle it.”
“I heard Tom Frey’s trying to hire a helicopter to protect his vineyard,” Jama said.
It would cost thousands of dollars a night to have a helicopter hover over the crops and move the air to keep the frost from destroying them, but the method might be a feasible alternative to the bonfires. However, Tyrell believed that the delicate shoots were less likely to be damaged with heated air than with the strong, uneven blasts of wind caused by rotor blades.
But Tyrell’s mind wasn’t completely on the crops, or the incoming injured, or even on his father.
“You’re thinking about Doriann,” Jama said.
He nodded. “Every time I close my eyes, I can see her hair, the color of sweet potatoes.”
Jama laid her hand on his. “I remember her head poking out of the hay last summer, with the widest, most mischievous grin on her face.”
Tyrell stared down at their joined hands, comforted by her touch.
“If you think about it too much, the fear can eat you alive,” Jama said.
Tyrell nodded. He was trying to think of everything else…anything but his visions of what might be happening to Doriann. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. There was still juice in the battery.
“When she’s found, you’ll be one of the first to know,” Jama assured him.
“Mom knows,” Tyrell said.
There was a swift intake of breath. “How?”
“She saw a TV news alert.”
Jama leaned close enough for him to catch the warm air of her minty breath against the side of his face. “How’s she handling it?”
“She’s unhappy with us for keeping it from her in the first place, and she’s frantic for Doriann.”
Jama stood and walked to the front window, arms crossed over her chest. “Oh, Tyrell, I thought we were doing the right thing.”
“I still think we did.”
“But to find out about it on television?”
“You did all you could to keep that from happening. Stop second-guessing yourself, Jama.” He wanted to get up and join her at the window, to hold her close, and reassure her that all would be well. But would it?
He thought about his brother. “Daniel says Doriann’s still alive.”
Jama turned. “Is that just a statement of hope, or something more?”
“He told me he knows she’s alive.” Tyrell kept his doubts from his voice. Long ago, his sisters had labeled their younger brother the family prophet. Daniel had always had a profound faith, a deep rapport with God, it seemed. Those few times in his life when he’d stated a certain knowledge about something, he had always been right.
And yet Tyrell was afraid to believe him this time. Afraid to trust.
“She’s alive,” Jama said, her faith in Daniel’s word apparent in her voice. “And since she’s alive, there’s hope. And since she’s such a wily little squirt, I think she’ll stay alive.”
“Nice thought.” Tyrell was chagrined at the cynicism in his voice.
Obviously, so was Jama. “Ted Claybaugh would have pulled you off the field for that attitude.”
“Coach isn’t here, and this isn’t football.”
“But remember what he said. ‘Kids, learn the game well, and learn to do it with a strong heart and good ethics, because when you can do that in football, you’ll know how to live right in the game of life.’”
Tyrell couldn’t help smiling at Jama’s attempt to imitate the retired coach’s gruff voice. He realized, once again, how much he would lose if Jama were to ever step out of his life.
“You kept Heather from panicking this morning,” Jama said. “You know, that ‘cup overflowing’ speech you always give anyone who’ll listen. Now look at you.”
Tyrell glanced out the window, where a River Dance Winery passenger van was pulling into the parking lot. “Jama, you know that I love you, right?”
She followed the line of his vision. She didn’t answer him. That bothered him. A lot.
Before he could press the issue, Jama headed for the door. “You have a lot of work to do back at the ranch. If you’ll just help us relocate that man’s hip, Ruth and I can handle the rest.”
She stepped out before he could reply. He felt the sting of rejection all the way to his toes.
Chapter Twenty
Jama watched Tyrell establish an IV on Tom Pritt’s arm as she explained to the burly vineyard worker what was going to happen.
“It’ll be harder for Tyrell and me than it will be on you, Tom. You’ll be floating on a drug wave, and this won’t take long at all.” She was glad Ruth had ordered the morphine and midazolam ahead of time and made sure both were in the Pixus machine.
At Jama’s nod, Tyrell pushed the drugs into the line. He hooked up the blood pressure cuff and monitor, and placed a pulse ox on Tom’s finger.
“You know the procedure, right?” Jama asked Tyrell, as Tom’s eyes glazed over.
“I’ve done it a few times.”
“Then let’s get this man taken care of.”
Jama gripped Tom’s right knee, while Tyrell anchored the patient to the bed by lying across his lower abdomen and holding on to the other side of the bed.
Jama listened to the voices of Ruth and Chelsea Franklin in the hallway as she pulled on Tom’s leg with steady pressure. When he didn’t wince, she increased the pressure at a forty-five-degree angle. The man was big and muscled, but as he continued to relax, she felt him move easily. There was a pop.
She smiled at Tyrell. “It’s in.”
He straightened and watched the monitor as they waited for the drugs to wear off. “You know, I need to keep my skills sharp. I don’t suppose Ruth would consider me as a backup whenever you’re shorthanded.”
“You have a ranch to run,” Jama said.
“Dad may be slowing down, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be ready to get back to work as soon as he’s well again. You know how he is.”
Jama pressed her stethoscope against Tom’s chest, stalling for time. His heartbeat was strong and steady, breathing was good.
“Jama?”
She looked at Tyrell.
“What do you think? I’ll be nearby, I’ll probably have some time on my hands.”
“You’ll have to ask Ruth about it.”
“I’m asking you.”
Jama looked into his deep blue eyes, and thought about the constant stress she would feel with him so close. She didn’t think it would be any easier for him. At least…part of her hoped it wouldn’t.
“Don’t you think it would be a little awkward, considering everything?” she asked softly.
“I can handle it,” he said. “Can you?”
She hesitated.
Tom yawned and opened his eyes. “You guys gonna do this thing, or am I just going to lie here all day?”
Jama chuckled and returned her attention to their patient, relieved by yet another reprieve.
The clinic was quiet again, as the patients departed with friends and family members. Tyrell had returned to the ranch, and Jama manned the telephones once more.
As she picked up the receiver, she saw Chelsea Franklin follow Ruth from X-ray into Ruth’s office. Tall and slender, with soft black hair, large blue eyes with dark lashes and brows, the young woman had grown from an awkward adolescent into a beauty. She smiled warmly at Jama and waved.
Any other time, Jama would have greeted Chelsea with a hug and sat down to catch up on ten years’ worth of life. Chelsea had always had so much potential in her future. What would happen to her now?
“River Dance Clinic,” Jama spoke into the receiver.
“Dr. Lawrence, please?” It was a man’s voice, and the reception was poor.
“I’m sorry, she’s in a meeting right now. May I take a message?”
“If you would just tell her that Jack is calling from Tanzania. I�
�ll wait.”
Jack. Ruth’s husband, according to Eric.
“I’ll get her.”
But when Jama stepped to Ruth’s doorway and announced the call, Ruth looked up briefly and shook her head.
“Should I take a number so you can return the call later?” Jama asked.
Ruth leaned back in her chair and tucked her ink pen through strands of her tightly woven hair. “Since Chelsea may become a part of this team, I can save time by telling you both right now that I will accept no personal calls during office hours. Africa has no connection with this clinic, Jama. I am refusing the call.”
Jama blinked, looked at Chelsea, who studied Ruth with curiosity.
“You’re giving me the job?” Chelsea asked hesitantly.
“If you have the skills I need.” Ruth turned back to Chelsea, apparently dismissing Jama. “If I read your résumé correctly, you’ve had experience both as a lab tech and as an X-ray tech. We need that combination-”
“Excuse me,” Jama said, “do you really want me to tell this man who is calling from the other side of the planet that you choose not to take personal calls on company time?”
“I didn’t stutter.” Ruth didn’t look at her.
Jama shrugged and turned away. She didn’t have time to argue. “We have a patient coming in.”
“I said no more patients,” Ruth called after her.
Jama turned back to the doorway. “A local farmer had an accident. We can at least check him out and stabilize him before sending him on to a hospital. He’s driving himself.”
For a moment, their gazes collided.
Ruth didn’t look away. “Who is the director here?”
“You are, but he’s coming by here anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt for me to take a look at his foot.”
Ruth sighed. “Take a look, but that’s it. Nothing more.”
“I’ll tell Jack to call back after business hours.”
“Tell him not to call at all,” Ruth said, her voice growing sharper, warning Jama not to push further.
Jama returned to the phone, only to discover that the line had disconnected.
The smell of pine needles used to be one of Doriann’s favorite scents. She would pick them from the tree outside their apartment, and rub them between her fingers. Sometimes she’d even placed crushed needles beneath her pillow so she could imagine she was sleeping in a tree house, or camping out in the woods on a fishing expedition with Grandpa.
A Killing Frost Page 13
