Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) Page 28

  “Oh, drat.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Durn certain. His mother done took a bad fall down ’er steps, and she ain’t lookin’ good. I took her to Doc Trumble’s, and he sent me here to come git ’er son.”

  She gasped. “Could you—would you drive me over there? Please?”

  “You bet.”

  “Just—I’ll be right with you.” She raced into the kitchen to remove the pot of soup from the stove, then ran in search of pen and paper. Finding both, she quickly scrawled a note to Sam, laid it on the table, and then raced out the door. Mr. Medker stood beside his wagon, but she didn’t wait for his assistance; she just hoisted her skirts and climbed aboard with little effort. On the way to Doc’s, she prayed for Flora Connors. Please, God…please, God. No more tragedy, Lord.

  The only thing that played back in answer were those words from Matthew: Let your light so shine. Let your light so shine.

  Doc met them at the door. “Ah, you’re here. I’m glad to see you, Mercy. Mrs. Hardy left early today, so I’m rather stranded,” he rambled. “Where is Sam?”

  “He’s at the park with the boys. I didn’t want to wait. I left him a note, so he should be here shortly.”

  “Good, good.”

  She followed her former boss down the familiar hall, ignoring the tiny pang of regret for leaving the job she’d loved, even though she knew she’d done exactly what she’d needed to. The malodorous Mr. Medker followed after. She’d wanted to send him packing, for fear he would stink up the whole place, but she knew he needed to learn of his employer’s condition.

  “How is she, Doc?” she finally asked.

  “We’ll talk in a moment,” he said in a hushed tone.

  In spite of her experience treating problems and ailments of all types, her first glimpse at the woman caused a shudder to course through her body. “Good gracious!” She turned to Mr. Medker and whispered, “How many stairs did she fall down?”

  “The whole flight, far as I know.”

  “How did you find her?” Mercy asked.

  “I was in the side yard an’ heard her groanin’ through the open windows. I stepped up to the house an’ peeked inside, and that’s when I seen ’er, layin’ on the floor at the foot o’ the stairs.” He scrunched his face into a tortured grimace. “She was layin’ in a big pool o’ blood.”

  A tiny tear escaped Mercy’s eye, trickling in a straight path down her cheek and falling on the front of her dress. “Does she have any broken bones?” she asked Doc.

  “As a matter of fact….” He lifted the blanket at the corner to reveal two bandaged arms. “Two broken wrists.”

  “Oh, dear. She won’t like that. Was she awake when she arrived?”

  “She was awake, all right,” said Mr. Medker. “She done bawled the whole way over. I never heard such carryin’ on. Soon’s we got here, though, she fell into that stupor.”

  “I’d venture it’s partly due to shock from her injuries, and partly the hefty dose of laudanum I gave her to calm her down,” Doc said. “Mr. Medker’s right about her being all distraught. Frankly, I’d never before witnessed Flora Connors in a tearful state.”

  Mercy reached for the woman’s forehead and pushed away a section of gray hair matted with blood. “This is quite a goose egg.”

  Doc nodded. “I fear she’s had a slight concussion.”

  Mercy bent down, relieved to hear steady breathing. “She’ll be fine, then.”

  “It’ll be a long recuperation, I’d guess. I’ll keep her here for a few days.”

  “Naturally.”

  “After that….” Doc’s gaze lifted. “She’s going to need constant care.”

  “We’ll see to it, Doc.”

  Doc eyed her. “She has other family.”

  “All of whom are very upset with her at present.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

  Mr. Medker stepped out of the room, and Mercy took advantage of his absence to suck in several deep breaths. If Doc had noticed his odor, he didn’t mention it, nor would he. In his line of work, he’d breathed in every stench known to man, and she sometimes wondered if he’d lost his sense of smell because of it.

  “Do you have other patients in beds?”

  “Just one. He’ll go home tomorrow.”

  Mercy nodded. “I’ll sit with Mrs. Connors.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Someone should be with her, in case she wakes up.”

  “You want me to tell that Medker fellow to go on back to the farm, then?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He started to walk out.

  “Doc,” she said, halting him.

  He twisted around. “Yes?”

  “Did you smell him?”

  “Who?”

  She laughed. “Never mind.”

  ***

  Sam couldn’t drive the wagon fast enough. John Roy and Joseph whooped and told him to speed up. He tried to keep his eye on them and the road at the same time, reminding them to stay seated and hold on tight. They had no idea what the rush was about, only that they were on the ride of their life. He’d read Mercy’s note in such a hurry that he’d had little time to process it. Apparently, his mother had been hurt, but that was the extent of what he knew. Lord, please don’t let me be too late.

  When they arrived at Doc Trumble’s office, he jumped down from the rig, then reached up and snagged hold of both boys at once.

  “What’s we doin’ here?” John Roy asked.

  “My mother’s been in an accident,” Sam explained, setting both boys on the ground. “I need to find out what’s going on. Can I trust you two to behave yourselves?”

  “We’re always good,” Joseph announced, drawing his shoulders back.

  “No, we ain’t,” said John Roy.

  “Shh, don’t bicker.” Sam’s tone was testy. He took a breath to settle his nerves. “Come on.” He ushered the boys into the too-quiet, dimly lit office. The waiting room was empty, since business hours ended at noon on Saturdays. “Follow me,” he said, leading them down the hall.

  “Is Mercy here?” asked Joseph.

  “Yes, somewhere.”

  “Mercy?” yelled John Roy.

  “Shh.” Sam clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth, just as Mercy poked her head out a doorway at the end of the corridor.

  “There you are,” she said, meeting them halfway. She wrapped Sam in a quick embrace, then stepped back, her face wearing a smile that didn’t manage to mask her concern. “Your mother fell down a flight of stairs,” she said quietly. “She’s…pretty banged up.”

  “Is she gonna be all right?”

  “Doc thinks so. He and Mrs. Trumble have gone out for some supper, so we’re the only ones here, except for another patient across the hall from your mother.” She glanced down at the sandy-headed boys and put a finger to her smiling lips. “You’ll have to be extra quiet for the people who are feeling poorly. Can you do that?”

  They stood taller. “You bet!” said Joseph.

  “Good. Then, I’m going to ask you to go sit down in the waiting room while I take Sam back to see his mother.”

  “Can’t we come too?” Joseph whined.

  “Not quite yet. I want to take Sam back there first.”

  They shrugged their shoulders, then turned and walked back down the hall in the direction of the front room.

  “Okay, then,” Mercy whispered to Sam. “Follow me.”

  “Wait. How does she…you know, look?”

  She pressed her lips together, and a muscle ticked in her jaw. “She broke both wrists, for one thing, and has a probable concussion and bruises aplenty. She’s sleeping right now. Doc gave her a bigger than usual dosage of laudanum.” She paused and met his eyes. “Are you ready to go in?”

  He swallowed and took his time answering. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see his mother. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Sam lagged a few feet behind Mercy, every stride making the lump in his throat gr
ow a little bigger. He didn’t know what to make of his emotions. One minute, he couldn’t stand his mother; the next moment, he panicked at the thought of losing her.

  Mercy had discussed every part of her but her face. Even if she had, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw—the puffy, blackened cheek; the bloodied temple with a golf-ball-sized lump; the split lower lip. Moreover, with her eyes closed as they were, she looked near death. He almost wanted to lean over her mouth to make sure she was breathing. “I’ve never seen her so still and…well, vulnerable.”

  “She’s in a deep sleep.” Standing beside him, Mercy lent Sam a strength he hadn’t known he lacked. As if sensing his weakness, she put her arm around him and squeezed. “She’ll look worlds better when she wakes up. You’ll see.”

  Unexpected moisture collected in his eyes, and he coughed to cover it. Mercy glanced up and noticed his emotion. “Sam.”

  With his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed the bridge of his nose, keeping his gaze lowered. “I guess I don’t want to lose her.”

  “Of course you don’t, sweetheart. She’s your mother.”

  “She hasn’t been a very good one.” He didn’t miss the endearment—sweetheart—and it only served to weaken his resolve the more.

  “Well, no one’s perfect.”

  He sniffed, feeling like a fool for blubbering. The last time he’d shed a tear had been upon hearing the news of his father’s death in prison—and that had been in the privacy of his bedroom. “She’s never even told me she loved me.”

  “She does, I’m sure of it.”

  They lowered themselves into the two wooden chairs near his mother’s bed. Sam clasped his hands between his knees. “Do you think we should let the boys come in? I worry about them sittin’ out there alone.”

  “I think it will be fine. Later, you can take them home. I plan to sit with your mother all night.”

  “No, I should do that. She’s my mother, after all.”

  She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  His throat contracted. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  35

  Male voices, sounding close yet a thousand miles away, tugged at Flora’s senses, and she willed herself to awaken. Foggy…so foggy. That was the only word she could draw upon to describe the condition of her brain right now. Furthermore, she couldn’t place her surroundings, as the bed she lay on had an extra-hard mattress, the blanket tucked beneath her chin was stiff and scratchy, and the overall feel of the place was crisp and sterile.

  Pain sliced her side, and a moan came out of her.

  “Flora, can you hear me?” said the male voice. “She’s coming out of it, Sam. Flora? It’s Doc Trumble.”

  Samuel? Doc? What had happened to land her at Doc Trumble’s place? She tried to lift her arms, perhaps to throw off the blanket and sit up, but they were weighted down with something—maybe even tied. A pain shot clear up to her left shoulder, and another moan escaped.

  “You took quite a fall, Flora,” the doctor said. “Do you recall it? Can you open your eyes?”

  Wanting to open them and doing so were two different things. In fact, it took everything in her even to keep from falling back into sweet oblivion. Still, she had to try.

  I took a fall? Slowly it came back, in tiny pieces: carrying a box of books down from upstairs, losing her balance on the first step, careening downward, rolling, twisting, cracking against something, and then an immediate jolt of pain to every part of her body. How could she have been so careless? Could she do nothing right? A clumsy fool, that’s what she was!

  With all her will and might, she opened her eyes to mere slits. Hovering in front of her was Doc’s bearded face with those beady green eyes, and behind him stood Samuel, his body leaning forward, his expression unreadable. Oh, how he must hate her, all the more now for bringing this trouble upon him. He always accused her of doing things to get attention, and she would admit that she sometimes did, but not this time. She attempted to open her mouth, but the effort proved too great, and instead she drifted back into her deep, dark place of slumber.

  ***

  Sam sat staring at his mother. Just yesterday, he wouldn’t have imagined himself missing sleep to sit at her bedside. He didn’t hate her, but he also didn’t care much for her. Perhaps he loved her but didn’t like her, if that made sense. She stirred, a tiny whiffling sound escaping her lips, so he sat forward. She’d been doing a lot of this over the past two hours, so he didn’t hold out much hope that this time would be any different. But then her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared at the ceiling.

  “Mother?”

  Ever so slowly, she angled her head in his direction. He stood up, so that she wouldn’t have to crane her neck, and loomed over her. “How are you feelin’?”

  “Samuel? What’s happened?”

  “You fell down the stairs. One of your hired hands found you in the foyer.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember.”

  “You remember? How did it happen?” He saw her move beneath her blanket, and he feared she had escaping on her mind. “Don’t try to sit up. Doc says you broke both wrists. He had to set them in plaster o’ Paris bandages.”

  “I’ve broken my…my wrists? How could that be?”

  “You fell down the stairs.”

  “I know, but…my wrists? When did I do this?”

  “Today.”

  Her eyes glazed over. “Don’t hate me for doing it.” She pushed the words out as if each one weighed a hundred pounds.

  “Why would I?”

  “It was so stupid of me.” Her eyes closed. “I sometimes do things…for…attention.” This she whispered in spurts.

  It was a hideous thought, her falling down the stairs on purpose. Was she capable of such a repulsive act? Was she that desperate? He swallowed hard. “Did you do this for attention?”

  “Samuel.” She cracked open her eyes, then closed them again. “Don’t…leave…me. Lonely…come h-o-o-o-me.”

  “Mother, surely, you didn’t do this on purpose.” He leaned closer, but she drifted off again, her breathing deep and steady. Doc had expected her to sleep all night, waking only for brief intervals. He’d told Sam to go home and come back tomorrow, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. His stomach roiled and his hands turned clammy. What had she meant? In her delirium, had she just confessed to intentionally falling down the stairs? He pressed his hands against the sides of his head and gritted his teeth, wishing he could toss out the ugly mental images of her tumbling down the stairs—on purpose.

  Rage and turmoil swam in his brain until his temples throbbed. He had to get out of here, had to get away from her. He stood, threw her a parting glance, and stormed out.

  ***

  “Mercy. Wake up, Mercy.”

  As if wrapped in a huge, sticky web, Mercy fought her way to the present, threw off her covers, and jumped to her feet. “What? What’s going on? Where are the boys? Is the house on fire?”

  Callused hands wrapped around her upper arms and gave a gentle squeeze. “Shh, no. It’s me. Sam.”

  She came awake with suddenness, staring into Sam’s probing eyes, his big Stetson sitting on his head at an angle. Realizing her lack of modesty, she whirled around to reach for the housecoat that usually hung on her bedpost. Remembering that she’d put it in the laundry box yesterday, she rushed to her wardrobe in search of something with which to cover herself. “What are you doing in here?” she asked in a panic.

  “Settle down, would you? I just want to talk. Sorry I woke you.”

  “Okay, but….” The memory of his mother’s accident came rushing back with a thud. “Your mother! Is she all right? What’s happened?” Finding no suitable covering, she hugged herself.

  “She did it.”

  “She did what?”

  “She threw herself down the stairs on purpose. She’s always feigned sickness for attention, and now she’s caused herself an actual injury.”

  “No, Sam. Not even your mother would do a thing like that. It
could have killed her.”

  “She would, and she did. She said as much.”

  “She woke up?”

  Sam plopped down at the foot of her bed. Since the room was mostly dark, save for the moon’s glow outside the window, Mercy deemed it safe to be seen in her thin nightgown. Surely, Sam couldn’t make out her features; and even if he did, a husband was allowed to look, for goodness’ sake. Besides, he’d come in her room to talk, nothing more. So, she approached the bed and sat down next to him, the mattress springs squawking under her.

  “Tell me what she said.”

  “She mostly mumbled, but I made it out just fine. She said she does things for attention, and then she asked me not to hate her…said what she did was stupid. Said she was lonely and wanted me to come home.”

  Mercy’s gut churned. “Maybe tomorrow she’ll be more lucid and can clarify what she meant. I doubt—I mean, I can’t imagine—”

  “You don’t know my mother,” he cut in.

  “No, I don’t. But I soon will. She’s coming here whenever Doc says she’s well enough to leave.”

  His head jerked up. “Are you kiddin’? She’d create nothin’ but upheaval.”

  “She can’t go home, Sam. With two broken wrists, she won’t be able to take care of herself.”

  “Then somebody else can do it.”

  “You’re her only child, which makes us the responsible party. She’ll come here.”

  He leaped from the bed. “She will not.”

  She followed suit, and two stubborn sets of eyes locked gazes. “Of course she will. I’ve already told Doc. It’s the right thing to do, Sam, and you know it.”

  “You’d be stuck carin’ for her while I go to work every day.”

  “I’m a nurse. I can handle her.”

  “Oh, really? How do you plan to go about handlin’ her? That woman is too much for even the most experienced. She’ll give you a terrible time, and I can’t have that.”

  “The Lord will give me strength when the time comes. He’s promised in His Word that His grace is sufficient to meet all our needs, and that His strength is made perfect in our weakness. All day long, the same verse has been echoing in my head. ‘Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’ I’m convinced the Lord wants to use me, and He wants to use you, as well, if you can just learn to forgive.”