Among the Tulips (2 page)

Haut, Holland: One week later

T
ires screeched. Metal boomed against metal. All forward motion in the car stopped, except for Annie who suddenly flew forward, still propelled by Newton's Law. Her hands lost their grip on the steering wheel. Pain erupted in her legs, her chest, her head as she met the resistance of the abrupt cessation of the vehicle.

Stars danced in brilliant colors before her eyes.

A wreck.

She'd been in a wreck.

Vaguely she heard noises around her, but as for focusing, that wasn't possible.

Drums pounded in her ears as she sat trying not to pass out.

Her first day in Holland.

Her entire body throbbed in pain. Forcing her eyes open, she groaned as the bright light from the sunny day increased the throbbing agony in her head. Absently she reached for her head but stopped as she saw people coming toward the car—including an angry looking man who was stalking his way to her, looking for all the world as though he was going to tear her apart as soon as he got close enough.

Short, round and wearing an apron, he shook his meaty fist before pounding on her window. With each slap to her window, her head pounded out a cadence of objection to the noise.

He shouted, loudly, in Dutch.

Her head nearly exploded.

She had to calm him down, had to apologize, make him understand that she hadn't meant to hit his car. What was she doing? Why had she come here? Did they arrest foreigners for auto accidents?

Lifting her hand to her aching head, she felt something wet and sticky. Glancing at her fingers, she saw her hand come away with blood.
Oh dear.
She felt dizzy and turned her head away from the sight.

She couldn't help her eyes from slipping closed.
Her hands went to her eyes and pressed gently as if to relieve the headache. “Do you speak English?” she asked.

Alarmed at how weak her voice sounded she tried to speak up. “Does anyone speak English?” When no one answered, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes.

Her window was still up. No one could hear her—and the man still screamed.

Fumbling, she reached for the knob to the window and proceeded to roll it down. “Does anyone speak English?” she repeated, her voice still sounding weak. She hurt from head to toe and didn't think she could move.

The man ignored her question and jerked the car door open.

She gasped as she realized she could move—but it caused her a lot of pain. The throbbing noise in her head increased, drowning out some of her attacker's unintelligible words. He pointed at his car and then back at her.

Had she been in the wrong lane? She tried to remember, but everything was fuzzy. All she could remember was she had been driving down the street on the way to the hotel just outside of town…

She turned to get out of the car. A crowd was gathering. Panic edged up her spine. She had to do
something, say something, find someone who could help her. Her chest tightened and her palms grew slick with sweat.

Why hadn't she listened to her son and daughter? They'd both nearly disowned her when she'd told them of her plans last week. She'd seriously considered not coming, but Cynthia and Amy had convinced her she would have a great time.

She reached up and grasped her head. It pounded viciously from her movements. The front window of the car was smashed. She must have contacted it with her head. That would explain the lump that was forming on her forehead as well as the blood.

Pushing herself around, she gasped in pain as she moved her right leg. Looking down she saw both knees were bloody too.

Hearing the murmurs, she glanced carefully back up.

“Does
anyone
speak English?” A large crowd swarmed around, talking and pointing. A mob? Did they have mobs here? What would they do to her? Her vision narrowed as she felt herself breathing faster.

Oh no.
She had never been in a situation like this. Never. She tried to slow her breathing.

A policeman appeared and started asking questions. She wanted to cry.

She couldn't understand a word he said.

Again she asked herself why she had come to Holland.

“English. Eng-lish!” she cried out.

“Do you need some help?” The deep baritone voice came from in the crowd. Desperately she looked around, trying to find who had spoken.

The crowd obviously knew. People turned, pointed and started babbling.

The noise level doubled, which in turn, doubled her headache. “Please, yes. Who said that?”

She reached for the car door, intending to stand.

“I did.”

A tall man, at least six foot, stepped forward as the crowd parted. Dressed in a pair of casual jeans and paint-splattered top, he looked vaguely familiar—American, she thought. Long hair to his shoulders, slightly wavy and pulled back in a ponytail, and deep blue-gray eyes; he had a casualness that bespoke comfort in his surroundings.

Funny she should notice all of that about a stranger. “I can't understand the policeman. I'm a tourist.”

The man turned and spoke to the officer, who in turn motioned for the people to move back. Another officer showed up and began directing people out of the way.

The man who had been yelling at her now turned to the officer and began telling him some
thing in rapid-fire Holland-ese. What language did they speak? She didn't remember.

Finally her link to the local language turned back to her. “Are you hurt?”

Insurance papers. Driver's license. What all was she supposed to show the officer? “Yes.”

Annie gripped the side of the car and the door and started to lift herself out.

“Wait—” the American said.

The first bit of weight on Annie's right leg told her more than anything else that she really wasn't okay.

She cried out in pain and pitched forward—right into the arms of the American.

She saw stars, and then, the next thing she knew, she was lying in the man's lap on the sidewalk, staring up at a blue sky.

“Why did I do this?” she moaned.

“I tried to warn you that sometimes shock will prevent a person from noticing injuries. Now lie still until we can get you to a hospital.”

Annie blinked. Warm strong arms surrounded her, holding her gently.

“Who are you?” she asked, more than willing to take his advice because moving, she decided, wasn't a priority.

“Call me Victor,” he said simply.

She nodded, or tried to. She realized Victor was
holding a hankie to the lump on her head. “Ow.” The pressure hurt.

He gentled his ministrations. “You have a small cut there.”

“I want to go home,” Annie whispered.

She could hear all of the voices around her, and she had never been so frightened in her life. She trembled from the pit of her stomach to the limbs of her body. She lifted her hand and saw her fingers shake with a palsy of shock and pain.

“I just turned forty, you see. My friends thought this vacation would be a wonderful idea. I didn't think about the language problem or driving or…anything. We just made reservations for today, my birthday and then I got on the pl-pl-plane. Well, yesterday in America, you see. I was on my way to the hotel when th-th-this accident happened. I only want to go ho-ho-home now.”

She realized she was rambling, and worse, she realized tears had filled her eyes and had spilled over.
Oh heavens. Dear God, please help me get control,
she silently prayed.

Victor reached up and brushed away the tears before pulling her closer. “It's shock and an adrenaline rush. Don't worry. It's going to be all right. Let's take one thing at a time. First, let's get you taken care of, okay?”

In the distance, a siren's blare grew louder—a
very odd foreign-sounding siren that made her feel so much more alone and different. Annie bit her lip. “But the hospitals overseas…I've heard stories…and I don't speak the language…”

“Let me handle this,” the man said gently.

She nodded. “I'm so-so-sorry.”

“For what?” he asked.

The siren died down as an ambulance pulled up.

“For getting you involved, for taking this trip— I don't know—for many things.”

Two men got out and approached her.

As they knelt next to her, Victor asked, “Is your husband here with you? Someone I need to notify?”

Annie shook her head slightly, immediately regretting it. “No. I'm a widow.”

Victor released her, gently laying her down on the sidewalk and then stepped back to allow the men to get to her. She didn't move. She hurt too much to move.

“I don't suppose I can have your name,” he said.

Annie realized she hadn't told him. “Annie. Annie Hooper.”

“Nice to meet you, Annie,” the polite stranger said.

“You have no idea how nice it is to meet you,” Annie said, meaning it with every heartbeat.

She was terrified and alone. She was exhausted after the long trip and all she had been thinking about was getting to the hotel to rest.

She had no idea what had happened. She had been driving and now she was being loaded onto a gurney. How had the wreck occurred? A big blank was there where information should be. And where was the man she'd hit?

As the two men lifted her, she couldn't help a surge of panic. “Don't leave me,” she called and realized the man who had been at her side was once again talking to the police. He immediately turned and stepped over to her. Wrapping both of his hands around hers in an intimate act of great comfort, he focused his complete attention on her, his eyes connecting and holding hers in a steadying gaze. “I'm right here.”

She bit her lip, embarrassed, but unwilling to let go. “Thank you.”

Some trip this was turning out to be. Yet, holding on to this man calmed her somewhat. A needle pricked her arm as the paramedics started on IV and then injected a clear fluid into the IV line. “What are they giving me?”

Her rescuer turned and rattled off a question in that language they spoke.

The one attendant answered.

Tall dark and handsome turned back to her. “Something to help calm you.”

Oh heavens…she could already feel it taking affect. “You look funny,” she said, but it didn't sound right. The words had come out mixed up.

The man smiled, two dimples appearing in his slightly bearded cheeks. “I have a funny look?”

“No. You…your face…it's…turning…” She lifted one hand to show him how he seemed suddenly tilted, but found the effort too much and dropped her hand back to her side. “I'm not making sense.”

The attendants lifted the gurney. It felt very odd—as if she were suddenly floating up into the air. Victor was still next to her, however.

“You have a dimple in your chin,” she said, staring at him.

He gave her a half grin as he turned to say something to someone near them.

“I would have seen it better if you had shaved. You have stubble all over your face.”

He glanced back, his eyes widening in surprise.

She felt the silliest urge to giggle—which she did. And then she closed her eyes.

Until she was jarred.

“Wait a minute. We're moving.” She glanced around and noted they were in the back of a vehicle and it was speeding down the street.

Victor was still there, sitting right next to her, along with a stranger who was talking on a radio. Victor held her hand with both of his. He must have sensed her confusion, however, because he released her hand with his right hand and cupped her cheek. “The medicine is affecting you. We're on the way to the hospital. Obviously time isn't the same for you. We've already been in here several minutes. They must have given you something pretty strong.”

Annie felt disconnected, though his hand felt great. With a sigh she rubbed her cheek against his hand. “You feel so good,” she murmured sleepily. “I had no idea how much I missed a gentle touch.” She hadn't said that out loud—had she? Ah well, what did it matter? He was here now, with her. Her eyelids felt heavy. “My protector.”

She didn't want to let her eyes close though and forced them open. The gorgeous guy in front of her was her only lifeline to this world she was in. She didn't want to lose him.

He had an odd look on his face.

She studied him, wondering just who this man was, this gentle soul who had been willing to help her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Please don't leave me alone.” That sounded so wimpish and frightened. She wasn't wimpish
and easily frightened. At least, she didn't think so. “Yes, I am. Very wimpish.”

The man laughed.

She felt his hand against her cheek again and smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered. Turning her cheek into his hand she snuggled down into it, thinking it felt so much like her mom's hand had so many years ago—soft, gentle and caring. She closed her eyes.

“Thank you again? For what?” Victor asked. When she didn't answer, he realized Annie was asleep. Turning to the attendant he spoke in Dutch, “I want to make sure we get her into a room immediately.”

The young tech nodded, a bit starry-eyed. “Of course, Mr. Rivers. Whatever you want.”

Victor simply nodded. He was used to the deference he received, though it did get old. In this case, however, it would be beneficial; it would ensure that ‘Annie' got good medical care.

What was he going to do with the woman?

A stranger in a strange land and she didn't speak the language.

He would love to have a talk with her friends. Didn't people realize just how dangerous it was to be in a foreign country where she couldn't speak the language? If she'd been in one of the bigger cities, she wouldn't have had a problem, but in the
tiny city of Haut, with a population of only ten thousand, located out in the middle of nowhere—very few spoke English.