Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (30 page)

For a moment I was confused by who this woman might be and why she would threaten me. Then I remembered!

A year or two earlier, I had taken care of a woman who was involved in a Wicca community in Graham County. She had been hoping to become a “good witch” but had encountered an evil spirit face-to-face. It had scared her nearly to death. But with the help of a local pastor and his church, she had turned from the dark side and was, the last I had heard, in full spiritual recovery. I wondered now if Danny's grandmother wasn't the head of the group — or at least a part of it.

I sighed, picked up the chart, and headed to Danny's room.

When I walked in, I found Danny's father and their pastor at his side.

“Evening, Mr. Hammond, Pastor Shook.”

Mr. Hammond stood and walked over to shake my hand, but the pastor kept his head turned toward Danny.

“Don't mind him,” Mr. Hammond commented. “He's just irritated at you for challengin' his theology with my wife.”

Mr. Hammond looked over at the pastor, who was still gazing down at Danny, and then turned back to me. He whispered, “But I thank you for what ya told her. It gave her a heap of peace. I appreciate that, for sure. Between her mom and the pastor, it's been a spiritual war in our home.”

“Is your wife coming up?”

“She's just gittin' the girls fed. Be up shortly.”

I nodded. “Mind if I do a quick check of Danny?”

Mr. Hammond shook his head and moved out of the way. I pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the bed from the pastor. I looked at him, but he wouldn't look back at me.

When I looked at Danny, I saw the face of death. His breathing was shallow and very slow. Even with an oxygen mask, I could see he was cyanotic. His forehead was cool and clammy. I gently opened his eyelid and saw a sunken eye. The white of his eyeball was a dark yellow, indicating that Danny was deeply jaundiced — likely in liver failure. Danny's pupils were reactive to light, but only slowly, and they were unequal in size. I suspected the cancer had metastasized to his brain. His mouth membranes were dry and dehydrated, and his lungs sounded like they were filled with fluid. The sounds I heard through my stethoscope were what the older doctors called “the death rattle.” Danny's abdomen was distended. I was sure now that his liver was not functioning. No further exam was necessary.

I pulled the sheet up to Danny's neck and checked the flow rate of the IV fluids. The amount of morphine he was receiving would keep him comfortable. I looked up at the pastor.

“Pastor,” I said softly.

He kept his gaze on Danny and did not acknowledge my words or presence.

I continued. “I believe that even though Danny's outer body can't respond to us, his soul and his spirit can hear us and even see us. And I believe without any doubt that when Danny leaves us here, he is going to spend eternity in heaven.”

The pastor nodded. I could see his eyes filling with tears.

“Pastor, you've been Danny's spiritual shepherd. You are incredibly meaningful to him. He often talked about you and his Sunday school. He credits you with the fact that he has a personal relationship with God. Pastor, you've given this family and this little boy an incredible gift. You've pastored them, you've shepherded them, and you've loved them, and your ministry has been used by God in a way that allowed him to give them the sure knowledge of eternal life.”

I could see his lips quivering as a tear fell down his cheek. He slowly reached across the bed and placed his large hand across Danny's hand, which was lying on his chest. I reached over and placed my hand on top of his.

“Pastor, when God chooses not to heal, it's not our fault — it's
not
our lack of faith. I'm truly convinced of that. The Lord used you in a powerful way to draw Danny to himself, and there's simply no greater gift you could have given him.”

I was silent for a moment. Pastor Shook continued to gaze at Danny, the tears now flowing freely down his cheeks.

“Why don't we pray, Pastor? Will you pray for the family? Will you pray for Danny? And Pastor, will you pray for me?”

Harold tightened his lips and thought for a moment. Then he slowly nodded and closed his eyes.

“Dear Lord,” he began, “I fear I've been foolish. I fear I've wanted you to do things my way — and I've not always wanted to do them your way. Lord, forgive me.”

The pastor was silent for a moment, and then after sniffling he continued. “Lord, I want to thank you for Danny. He is a precious gift. Thank you for all he's taught me — about death and dying and about what it means to really live. Lord, if you choose to heal him, oh, that would be glorious, and we'd forever thank you. But Lord, if you choose to take him home, well, we freely give him to you. We'll miss him so very much but pray that you'd bring each of us comfort in his passing.”

He paused to take his hand away, pull out a handkerchief to blow his nose, and then went on. “Lord, I pray for strength for those of us left behind. Give me the wisdom to lead this precious flock you've given me. Give the family strength to go on and go strong. And Lord, I pray for this young doctor. I pray that you, the Greatest Physician, would be his teacher and his guide, his comforter and his escort, his strength and his might.”

Harold paused to blow his nose again and then continued. “Lord, bring comfort to Myrtle and Jess and the girls. For any guilt I may have produced in their spirits, forgive me, Lord. And allow
them
to forgive me.”

He blew his nose one more time. “Father, I know I don't understand the death of a child. It don't make no sense to me. And Lord, I've fought you mightily over this. But now, Lord, I give way. Lord, I accept
your
way and give up
my
way. I ask you to continue to teach me, that I might be found faithful as a pastor. And I ask you to hold the Hammonds close and wipe away their every tear. And if you choose to take Danny home, Lord, use his death to draw others to yourself. I pray these things in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen.”

I looked up to see the pastor place his head on Danny's chest and begin to softly sob. I saw that Myrtle had silently entered the room while we were praying. She and her husband, who had moved to stand just behind their pastor, had both reached out and placed a hand on their pastor's shoulder.

As I looked up at the Hammonds, I could see they were gazing intently at their son. Then I saw their eyes widen, and Myrtle softly gasped and raised her hand to cover her mouth. My head turned to see Pastor Shook sitting up and looking at Danny and smiling — even as tears continued to stream down his cheeks. At the same instant I realized that something was different — Danny's agonal breathing had stopped.

My gaze followed theirs to one of the most amazing things I had ever seen. Danny had stopped breathing, but he had a sweet, sweet smile on his face. I knew at that moment that Azar was walking away with Danny — as he had walked with my child. I knew that Danny was gloriously happy and completely pain free. At that moment, his pastor's and his parents' fervent prayers had been divinely answered — Danny was now healed of his cancer, his nausea, his anorexia, and his tears.

And as a lantern dimmed on this side of glory, I could envision him skipping for the first time in many, many months, into a new life in a new place, more wonderful and beautiful and perfect than he could have ever imagined. He would never know pain again. Danny had experienced the ultimate healing.

chapter twenty-nine

A
TOUGH DECISION

S
am Tanager had agreed to sit for the kids while Barb and I went out for a pleasant meal with his parents at the Fryemont Inn. Our kids had really grown to enjoy Sam, and he seemed to truly enjoy being with them. But late that afternoon, he called to cancel; he had come down with a cold and had a low-grade fever. Unfortunately, both of his sisters were also ill and unable to substitute for him.

Before Sam had called us, his mom had been kind enough to call around. She talked to a friend of a friend in a nearby town who had a son, Mickey Thompson, who did some babysitting. Laura had used Mickey's older sisters as sitters and felt they had done a good job. Barb was initially uncomfortable calling Mickey, since we had never met him or his parents — even though his dad was prominent politically in a neighboring county.

But when Barb called and talked to him, Mickey said he knew of us, was available, and would be delighted to help us out on short notice. He even had a car, so he could drive over to our house.

We talked with him for a while after he arrived, and he seemed to be a nice kid. Despite our initial uneasiness, we decided to hire him for the evening. After all, we were going to be close by, and we weren't planning to be gone for very long.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be one of the worst decisions we had ever made.

August is the height of the tourist season in Bryson City. The inns and motels are packed with families coming to enjoy the white-water rafting, hiking, fishing, tubing down Deep Creek and just plain ole “lazin' around.” Summer in the Smokies brings gospel singing conventions, motorcycle riding clubs, and camps full of kids from all over the United States. But there was always room at the various inns for us locals to enjoy a meal.

George and Sue Brown had set a private table for the four of us. It was in a side room off the main dining room at the Fryemont Inn, which was abuzz with activity. Our meal was romantic and, as usual, spectacularly tasteful — even though Barb and I missed Katherine's coming out of the kitchen to greet us, as was her habit when she owned the inn.

After dinner, we walked with the Tanagers down the old main hallway to the front lobby and then onto the deck with its panoramic views of the Smokies. We each took a rocker and watched the stars come alive in the pitch-black sky.

“Walt,” McCauley asked, “I know about how
you
chose to come here, but what about Rick?”

“Well,” I began, thinking back to five years earlier, “Rick had been concerned about coming to Bryson City initially. Although he loved nature, birding, hiking, and camping, and he was
extremely
attracted to a situation where he could practice the full gamut of family medicine skills, as a single man he still had some concerns about the potential of finding a soul mate.”

“What won him over?” Laura asked.

Barb took over the explanation. “Walt and Rick had talked throughout our residency training about practicing together, but Walt and I sensed the call of the mountains before Rick did. As much as we all wanted to work together, we didn't want to see him end up in a location where he might rapidly become uncomfortable or unhappy. Since we had sensed God's call for us to practice in the Smokies, we finally decided to let the Lord draw Rick to the mountains, if that's where he wanted him to be.”

I picked up the story. “By late spring of our last year of training, and knowing that Barb and I would be moving to Bryson City in September of that year, I was beginning to feel a bit anxious about Rick's procrastination. In the meantime, Rick decided to take a camping and hiking trip to Alaska and to the Pacific Northwest. During that trip, during a quiet time in the wilderness, Rick sensed a small, quiet voice calling him to join us in the Smokies.”

“Walt and I were overjoyed at his decision,” Barb added.

“That's certainly true! And now, nearly four years later, our practice is finally on an even keel, and we've developed a comfort with the practice of medicine and a great joy living in this small town.”

“We're glad you're here,” Laura remarked.

“Us too,” Barb echoed.

We rocked awhile until Barb broke the silence with a comment to the Tanagers. “Sam seems to be doing so well.”

“Seems like a completely new boy since his trouble with the law,” Laura agreed. “He's active at church and in Sunday school. His grades are better, and he finally seems to be getting along with his sisters. He still stays out too late some nights, but he says he and his friends are involved in deep spiritual discussions and just having youth group fellowship time. We couldn't be more pleased.”

McCauley added, “He's turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Walt, we've found out that Sam was involved in some pretty bad stuff. We've learned there's a gang in the area that calls itself ‘The Satan Gang.' ”

I nodded. “I've heard about it.”

McCauley continued. “Well, we learned that Sam was one of the leaders. We're not even sure of all the depravity they were involved in — and I'm not sure we
want
to know. But Sam says he's left the gang. They've really put a lot of pressure on him to come back. They've threatened him, tried to intimidate him, and even blackmail him. But Sam seems solid in his commitment to stay clean.”

“I hope he will, McCauley,” Barb commented.

“Me too, Barb. We're sure praying for him.” McCauley was quiet for a moment and then turned to face me.