Sacred Trust (35 page)

“I know, Tedi. I understand how you feel.” A ten-year-old little girl should never have to feel that way. “Do something for me, okay? Just go to bed. Try to be asleep when he comes home. That way you won't have to talk to him again tonight.”

Tedi was silent for a long time, and Mercy heard soft sniffling again. How much longer would this go on?

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, honey. We're going to get you out of there, but I want to do it legally so it'll stick. Please do as I ask.”

“Okay. I'll try.”

“And, Tedi?” She couldn't believe the words that came to her mind, but she knew Tedi needed to hear them. “Remember the night you got stung by the bee?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember that you prayed?”

“Yeah.”

“Pray again.”

 

Lukas read and reread his short letter of resignation. It simply informed Mrs. Pinkley that he wished to be released from his duties as of this coming Thursday morning. It was an offer that came after hours of prayer. That would give Jarvis Tuesday and Wednesday to find someone to take his place Thursday, and it would meet the deadline for the hospital board committee meeting, therefore not endangering Mrs. Pinkley's job. He added no stipulations about liability.

The phone rang, and Lukas reluctantly picked up. He knew who it was. He knew what his answer had to be. “Yes, Mercy.” He listened. Bless her. “Thursday, Mercy. Unless something happens, Wednesday will be my last day at Knolls Community.”

A
t eight o'clock Thursday morning Theo sat across the desk from Mr. Johnson, his boss. Gordon slumped next to him, eyes averted, while Johnson threw down some copies of transactions that had taken place at the First State Bank months ago.

“Can either of you explain these to me?” the boss growled.

No one said a word.

Johnson sat back in his seat, crossing his hands over his midriff. “Ever heard of a paper trail?” His eyes simmered with anger. “Gordon? You write all the checks—or you did until now. Tell me what I've got here.” He picked up the papers and waved them.

Gordon cleared his throat and shot Theo an unholy glare. “You tell him, Theo. This was all your idea.”

Theo took a deep breath, wishing he were any place else. “That property we told you about back in—”

“I know which property you're talking about!” Johnson spat. “I told you not to buy it, remember? I knew it would cost too much to fix up, then be impossible to unload. You
not only disobeyed a direct order, you used company money—money from
my
company!—to gamble on something I'd already told you was a lost cause.”

“But we contributed, too!” Theo exclaimed. “The price was—”

“That place was worthless at any price!” Mr. Johnson tossed the papers back down and shoved himself away from the desk. The rollers of his chair took him backward several inches. “I can have you arrested for embezzlement right now. You didn't think I could follow your juggling act, did you, Gordon?”

“It was temporary.” Gordon's voice held a definite whine. “We were going to pay it back.”

“You'll pay it back, all right.” Johnson stood to his feet and placed both hands on his desk. “You'll have thirty thousand dollars here in this office by Monday, or I'll press charges and this will be in the hands of the police. I imagine the state Board of Realtors will also have some input.”

Theo also stood, determined not to be intimidated. “Where are we going to get that kind of money?”

Johnson's eyebrows shot up in amazement. “I don't think I heard correctly. Are you implying that's my problem?”

“I'm simply stating that you're not giving us much time to—”

“Shut up, Zimmerman,” Gordon snarled. “He doesn't have to give us till Monday.”

Johnson stared at Theo for another moment. “Your little buddy here is right, Theodore. I could have had the police waiting for you this morning when you walked in. Count your blessings.” He shook his head and turned to walk out the door. “You're both fired,” he said over his shoulder. “Get out.”

 

At eleven-thirty Thursday morning Jarvis sat at the nurses' station in the center of the emergency department, grimacing every time the baby screamed in exam room three. He was ready to strangle the baby, the mother and the nurse, Claudia, who seemed to contradict every decision he'd made this morning.

There had been few patients so far, none with high acuities, for which Jarvis was thankful. Thanks to narcotics his pain was manageable, but barely. He did not want to have to make snap decisions about human lives under these conditions, and he cursed Lukas Bower for not being here to do his job. While he was at it, he decided to curse Bailey Little, as well. His threats were the reason Bower had handed in his resignation. Estelle Pinkley deserved to be on the list, too, for suspending Bower's privileges so he wouldn't be on duty today. The woman had the audacity to refuse the resignation! After tonight's meeting they could set about hiring someone to take Bower's place, but that didn't help now.

The ambulance speaker sparked to life, spewing information about an elderly man in apparent cardiac distress. They were on the scene and would be en route in a few minutes. The patient apparently lived close to the hospital.

As soon as the report ended, Jarvis turned toward the desk and spied Dwayne Little sitting out in the waiting room. He motioned to Claudia. “Is Little here as a patient?”

She glanced at Carol, the secretary, and they exchanged a meaningful look. “Yes, Dr. George. He says he has a headache.”

Jarvis felt a flash of irritation. “Is there some reason he hasn't been taken care of yet? We've got several empty exam rooms.”

“He was low on my triage list,” Claudia said tiredly.

“Since when is pain a low triage? There's nobody else waiting out there, is there?”

“No, but I'm getting ready for our cardiac patient.”

“Fine, you do that, but take care of our other patients while you're at it. Get Dwayne back here.”

Claudia took a step closer to Jarvis and lowered her voice, glancing over her shoulder at Dwayne's head resting in his hands. “You realize he's here seeking drugs?”

Jarvis's irritation turned to anger. “Nurse, almost every patient who steps through those doors is here seeking drugs in some form or another. If you're implying, as Bower did, that this man is a drug addict and a drug seeker just because he's been here more than once for intractable pain, then you can join Bower in the unemployment line. Otherwise, get that patient to a room and get him taken care of!”

Claudia held his angry gaze for a moment, her own eyes flashing. He hoped she would say something, just one more thing. Then he'd have a good reason to get rid of her. He'd had all he could take of this bossy woman today.

She didn't say another word. She picked up a chart and walked out toward the waiting room.

“Call a nurse down from the floor,” Jarvis ordered Carol. He needed as much backup as he could get. He turned to glare at the secretary. “Or are you going to argue with me, too?”

Carol shot him a resentful stare, but said nothing. She picked up the phone and dialed upstairs.

A few moments later Jarvis stepped into exam room six, holding a thick file on Dwayne Little.

“Hi, Uncle Jarvis.” The slender, fair-haired young man sat rubbing his forehead. His shoulders were bent forward and his face held a grimace of pain.

“You don't look too happy.” Jarvis tossed the chart down on the desk, then leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I feel awful. I know I shouldn't be coming back in here, but I've got to get help. I know I should get some tests to find out what's wrong, and I will. But right now I just hurt.” Tears formed in the young man's eyes.

Jarvis could identify. His own head ached a little more, in spite of the narcotics on board, just from the stress of the morning. He listened to Dwayne's chest, checked his eyes, then took out a prescription pad and wrote on it. “I'm going to give you some relief, son, but you've got to promise me two things.”

Dwayne looked up, his eyes hopeful. “Anything.”

“No driving under the influence. I know you love that hot rod of yours, but morphine does crazy things to the mind. You can't drive. Call your father to come and get you.” He felt like a hypocrite. What about practicing medicine under the influence? “Same with the prescription. No driving.”

“I know. You won't see my car out in the parking lot, either. I've got a friend I can call.”

“What about your father?”

Dwayne grimaced and shrugged. “Dad's too busy. So what's new?”

Jarvis smiled and patted Dwayne's arm. “Call your friend. I'd take you home myself if I weren't stuck here.” He wrote out a note. “I also need you to promise me that you'll find out what this problem is. I'll make an appointment for you with a good neurologist, and I want
you to be sure to follow up. You need to find out what's going on. It could be dangerous.”

Dwayne's eyes widened. “You think it really could be?”

“Ever heard of brain tumors? Strokes? Son, this could be anything. I don't want to scare you, but you've got to start taking this thing seriously.” Jarvis frowned. His own tests had turned out negative so far, but he knew he had to keep trying, too.

“I'll be good. I promise.” Dwayne's eyes grew slightly moist again, and he held his hand out. “Thanks for believing in me, Jarvis.”

Jarvis reached out his own hand, but it suddenly went numb. Dwayne's face fuzzed out of focus. The room tried to spin, but he closed his eyes.

“Jarvis?” A hand touched him on the shoulder. “Uncle Jarvis? Are you okay?”

In the distance the sound of a siren echoed.

Jarvis took several deep breaths, forced his eyes open and gripped the edge of the cot for support. The brightness of the room hurt his eyes for a moment, but everything gradually focused again.

“Jarvis?” The boy's voice was gentle, worried.

Jarvis nodded and straightened. He reached up and patted Dwayne's shoulder. “I'll be okay. You just see to it you keep your promises to me.” He turned and walked out the door, issuing orders to the nurse for Dwayne's shot.

 

Frankie's chest hurt worse than ever before. The nitroglycerin helped some, but he almost wished he hadn't let the paramedic give it to him. If Shelly hadn't found him…He reached his hand out and felt her grasp it as they turned into the hospital ambulance entrance. This time she wasn't crying.

“You're going to make it, Frankie,” she whispered.

“Somebody's watching the kids?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Mahurin from across the street.”

He smiled and closed his eyes. The kids liked Mrs. Mahurin. She would be good to them. “You be sure and give them that DNR sheet, okay?”

There was a long pause. “The paramedic has it.”

Frankie nodded. “Good. Thank you, Shelly.” He knew that had been hard for her to do.

“I don't feel right about it. It's like I just told them to kill you.”

“You told them not to fight God's decision if He wants my heart to stop beating. That doesn't mean it will stop today.” The chest pain hit him again, and he grimaced. Shelly's hand tightened over his; then they heard the sound of the ambulance doors opening.

“Okay, Mr. Verris, we'll be inside in a moment,” came the paramedic's voice.

“Who…” he gasped, “who's the doc today?”

“Dr. George.”

Frankie nodded. Not Dr. Bower, but it didn't matter now.

He fought the pain as they wheeled him out into warm, fresh air, then through a sliding glass door into cooler temperatures, beeping machines and muted voices. In spite of the nitroglycerin, he hurt worse now.

He groaned and clutched his chest. The voices swirled around him. He thought he heard the doctor….

“Good, you've got him on oxygen. Get me an EKG and draw blood for a cardiac panel, and I'll be in. Claudia, do you have that morphine ready?”

“Yes, Dr. George. His BP is a little low, and he's having some PVCs on the monitor. Do you want me to start another line?”

“Just follow my orders! Give him 2 milligrams every five minutes.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The voices faded out while Frankie waged a physical battle with the demon in his ribs. Later, he felt something burn a little down his left forearm. Sometime after that the pain eased. But the demon hovered nearby. Frankie could feel it.

He kept fighting, but his time was almost up and he knew it. They chased Shelly out of the room, but he heard her crying in the hallway over the beeps and voices and movements of the people that surrounded his bed.

One voice rose above the others, and he thought he recognized the nurse who had helped him when he came in. “Dr. George, the morphine's not helping. He needs Tridil. What rate do you want me to start at?”

“Just give him another sublingual nitro.”

“His BP is too low for that. He needs IV nitro.”

“I know what he needs!” the doctor's voice snapped. “Stop…stop telling me how to do my job! I can't think with you nagging me—”

“What rate, Dr. George?” She spoke more sharply.

“The EKG doesn't show anything….”

“The monitor is showing more PVCs and some couplets. He may need lidocaine, too. Do you want me to start a heparin drip? Five thousand or 10,000 bol—”

“Stop it!” the doctor snapped. “Stop…”

“Doctor, are you okay? Doc—catch him, Carol! He's going to—”

“Leave me alone! I don't need you hovering over me! Help me with this patient. Get me another line. Repeat EKG….”

Frankie groaned with pain. The doctor sounded drunk.
Where was Dr. Bower? Why couldn't he have been here when the time came?

More hands moved over his chest and arms.

“He's got ST segment elevation. It's an MI.”

The pressure grew beneath his ribs with sudden intensity.

“V-tach! He's in V-tach!”

He couldn't breathe.

“I can't get a pressure!”

He couldn't think.