Breaking the Chain (12 page)

             
           
             
             
                                   
21
             
             
 

             
Elizavon ignored the shrill ring of the phone as she sipped her morning coffee. Whoever it was could wait until after she finished breakfast. Returning her cup to the breakfast tray, she noted with irritation that the line was blinking. How many times had she told the staff not to make personal phone calls on her private lines? Three, four? God, it was hard to get good help these days; most domestics were either lazy, stupid--or worse, complete fools.
             
Moments later she heard a soft knock on her bedroom door. "Come in," she growled.
             
Taft entered and stood pensively at the foot of her bed.
             
"What is it? It'd better be good. You know I don't speak to anyone this early."
             
"I know, madam. But it's your niece, Mary. She wants to speak to you. And you did ask me to phone her."
             
Arctic eyes bored a hole in him before moving to the window. "That was five days ago," she fumed. "Nobody makes Elizavon Phelps wait. Nobody. Tell her I'm busy. She can call back at my convenience." She shoved the breakfast tray from her lap as she spoke, and watched it teeter dangerously on the side of the bed, then dip to disappear over the edge.
             
Taft lunged forward, arms outstretched, to arrest the tray's descent. Instead of the sound of breaking china, Elizavon heard a slight rattle, then nothing. A few moments later Taft stood up, slightly disheveled, tray in hand. "Very well, madam," he said in a breathless voice. Nodding his head, he turned and walked slowly toward the door, balancing the tray in one arm.
             
Irritated beyond reason, Elizavon tossed her covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Who the hell did Mary think she was, making her wait five days for a return call? She had a mind to call in their half of the loan for the plantation. That would serve her and that worthless husband of hers right.
             
Reaching out, she pressed the staff buzzer with her right hand, wincing at the pain even that slight movement caused. Damn this old age of hers. The pressure on her chest increased, and the now familiar burning sensation started down her left arm. She instinctively reached for the bottle of nitroglycerine tablets, stuck one under her tongue, then leaned back against her pillows and waited for the pressure to abate. When it didn't, she flung her right arm out to grasp the tiny brown bottle and accidentally knocked the bedside lamp onto the floor. The tip of the lampshade jarred the nitroglycerine bottle as it fell, spewing tiny white tablets out in every direction. Unable to move because of the stabbing pain in her chest, Elizavon willed shaky fingers to fumble around the cool marble until they encountered a single, life-saving tablet.
             
"Oh, Mrs. Phelps. Are you all right?" gasped the maid as she entered the room.
             
"Call. Call the doctor," Elizavon whispered in a thready voice.
             
"Yes ma'am," said the maid as she raced from the room like a frightened rabbit.
             
The burning pain in her arm intensified, and Elizavon wondered if the stupid woman was going to let her die before bothering to call for help. Where was everybody? When Taft appeared, some of her worry abated. Unlike the others, he'd know what to do.
             
"I've called the doctor and an ambulance," he announced, enveloping one of her cold hands in his. "Do you need another nitro tablet?"
             
She nodded, and opened her mouth.
             
"How many have you had?"
             
Shaking hands struggled to hold up two fingers.
             
"Good. Don't try to talk, the paramedics are on their way. Just relax. You know the ropes--lie still, don't talk, and concentrate on breathing. It's not like this hasn't happened before," he consoled in a soothing voice. "Just try to relax and let the nitroglycerine do
its
job."
             
She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed two fingers against her lips. "Don't try to talk; save your energy," he warned. "Right now your body needs as much oxygen as it can get."
             
The loud wail of an ambulance siren filled the air, and he shifted his glance toward the window. "That'll be the paramedics. They'll fix you right up."
             
Moments later the door opened, and two men entered, carrying black bags. Taft stepped aside as one man reached to take Elizavon's pulse and listen to her heartbeat.
             
"She has a heart condition," Taft offered. "She's had three nitro tablets, but they don't seem to be working very well."
             
"Okay. We'll take it from here," the paramedic said. While he finished taking her vital signs, the other paramedic disappeared, soon to return with a gurney. Elizavon moaned as the men gently lifted her from the bed, placed her on the gurney, and covered her with a blanket. As she passed Taft on her way out, she reached out and grabbed the side of his jacket.
             
"One moment, please," he requested, leaning close to the ailing woman.
             
"Call Mary," she whispered in a breathless voice. "There's something I have to tell her. It's important. Send the plane to fetch her."
             
"I will," he said, patting her shoulder. "You just worry about getting well. I'll make sure she knows where they're taking you."
             
The paramedic touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we have to leave. Now."
             
Taft stood silently with the other staff members as Elizavon was whisked into the waiting ambulance. As it sped down the driveway with sirens screaming, he wondered if the old woman would survive. He certainly hoped so; jobs that paid as well as his were hard to come by.

               
             
                                       
22
             
             
 

             
Mary's pensive mood vanished when she saw her husband standing in the airport reception area. It never ceased to amaze her that the mere sight of the man could send her pulse soaring and fill her inner being with such joy and happiness. Was this what being in love really meant? She sent a silent prayer of thanks to God for bringing Jack into her life and giving her the chance to know such wonderment.
             
"Hey, baby! I'm so glad to see you," she cried as she flung herself into his arms and smothered him with kisses. "Guess what? I have ten whole days off! Isn't that great?"
             
He hugged her close, kissed her tenderly, then guided her to a row of seats.
             
"What's wrong?" Panic replaced joy at his sober expression. "Did something happen to Sadie or Justine? The plantation? Oh God, please, tell me they're okay."
             
He patted her shoulder. "We're fine, the plantation's fine. It's your aunt. Elizavon's butler, Taft, called earlier today. I'm afraid she's been rushed to the hospital. They think it's a massive heart attack. He didn't know if she'd make it or not, and wanted me to let you know that he's sending her private plane for you. Evidently she wants to talk to you before-- Well, she wants to see you right away."
             
Stunned by the news, Mary's mind refused to work. Elizavon dying? Nah, couldn't be. This had to be some kind of sick joke. The old woman was a tower of strength, always had been. Besides that, she was too snotty to die from a normal disease like a heart attack. When her aunt died, it would probably be from some spectacular disease that would catapult her into the medical journals. That's just how she was. There was no way Elizavon would let something like a mere heart attack do her in.
             
It suddenly dawned on her that Elizavon's butler must have been the mysterious Mr. Taft who'd called her office. Had Elizavon been trying to get in touch with her because she knew she was dying? Guilt consumed her as she berated herself for not remembering that Taft was Elizavon's butler. How could she have forgotten something that important?
             
A hand on her arm snapped her out of her reverie. "Mary, are you okay? Honey, look. It's not your fault Elizavon's had a heart attack. Don't look like that," Jack begged.
             
She leaned into him, grateful for the support of his arms. "Oh, Jack. Mac told me last night that a Mr. Taft called the office a couple of days ago. I didn't remember who he was."
             
"Mary, how could you possibly be expected to know that Elizavon's butler was the same Mr. Taft who called your office? You're not a mind reader; quit blaming yourself. For one thing, you only got the message last night. And, didn't you tell me earlier today that you tried to call your aunt this morning but couldn't get through?"
             
"Yes, but--"
             
"No 'but' to it, Mary." He held her away from him, cupped the bottom of her chin with his fingers, and forced her to look up. "Listen to me. It's not your fault Elizavon's sick, and it's not your fault you couldn't return her call. For God's sake, woman. Give yourself some credit for being human. Elizavon's an old woman. Her heart was bound to give out sooner than later, and nothing you, I, or anyone else could do, can change that." He leaned forward, planted a wet, noisy kiss on her lips, then cuffed her chin affectionately. "I hate to say this, but your being so conscientious is one of the things I love most about you, Mrs. Windom. Come on. Let's go get a cup of coffee, and we'll figure out what you're going to do next. Okay?" He spun her around and nudged her forward. "And I won't take no for an answer, either."
             
Mary leaned back to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Jack. You're wonderful, do you know that?"
             
He grinned mischievously and a twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Of course I know I'm wonderful. I was beginning to wonder how long it would take for you to figure it out!"
             
"You're terrible!"
             
"Yeah, but at least I'm never dull. Come on, let's go get that coffee."
             
Mary idly tapped her teaspoon on the side of her cup, unaware that she'd spooned three teaspoons of sugar into her coffee, instead of one. When she reached for the fourth, Jack placed his hand over hers.
             
"Uh, sweetie, I think that's enough sugar," he said with a grin. "If I were you, I'd try a sip before I put any more in."
             
"What?" She lifted the cup to her lips, then spit the dark liquid back into the cup. "Ugh...this is awful. Why didn't you tell me I added too much sugar?"
             
He shook his head, then waved the waitress over. "I'm sorry, but do you think we could get my wife another cup of coffee? She accidentally poured too much sugar in hers."
             
The waitress subjected Mary to a not-too-polite stare, puckered her lips together to blow a bubble with her chewing gum, then retrieved the offending cup. "Sure. No problem."
             
A few minutes later, she banged another steaming cup of thick black coffee on the table, causing Mary to look up sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I'm so worried about my aunt I wasn't paying attention. I really appreciate this."
             
The woman's expression softened, and she patted Mary's arm. "That's okay, honey. We all have family. I know how it is. You just let me know when you want a refill, and I'll bring it right over."
             
"Thanks." After she left, Mary stared out the window, gazing at the thick black clouds that were slowly moving toward the airport. "When's the plane due? I overheard the pilot telling the stewardess the weather's supposed to get really bad. Is that true?"
             
"Yeah, there's a storm front moving in sometime tonight. When Taft called, he said the pilot would probably get here about eight. I sure hope he didn't get delayed anywhere. Otherwise, he's in for a nasty ride."
             
Mary fidgeted in her chair. "Maybe I ought to call and see how Elizavon's doing. Did Taft leave a number for the hospital?"
             
"I thought you'd want to know, so I called Brigham and Women's Hospital before I left. Elizavon's in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. She's stabilized, but it's still too early to know anything, one way or another. The nurse's station said to call back in five or six hours, and maybe they'd know something by then."
             
"Thanks, Jack. God, I hope she makes it."
             
"Me, too. For your sake. Are you ready to go home? There's nothing we can do here." He caressed her palm and wrist suggestively with his index finger, then grinned. "We have a lot of 'homework' to catch up on, and it's so warm outside, I'm thinking about taking an afternoon siesta. Want to join me?"
             
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and a slow grin spread across her face. "Why Mr. Windom, are you trying to tell me you want to ravish my body?"
             
"Yes ma'am, that's exactly what I plan to do," he announced with a toothy grin.
             
"Well, if that's the case, then why are we still here?"
             
When Mary called the hospital some three hours later, Elizavon still hovered in the twilight between life and death. The doctor on duty informed her that even if her aunt did survive, she wouldn't be allowed to visit her for several days because nieces weren't considered "immediate family." He advised Mary to delay her trip to Boston, and promised to have a nurse call if there was any change at all in Elizavon's condition.
             
Fuming, Mary hung up the phone and stomped into the office she shared with Jack. "Have you ever heard anything so preposterous? My sister and I are the only family Elizavon has, but because we're her nieces, we're not considered 'immediate' family. That really ticks me off. I'm so mad I want to smack that doctor up side his head."
             
"You might as well calm down, sweetie. There's nothing you can do, and they really are looking out for Elizavon's best interest," Jack said in a soothing voice. "Besides, you'd only be able to see her for what, five, maybe ten minutes at a time? Chances are, she probably wouldn't be awake, anyway. I hate to say it, but he's right. You're better off waiting until she's on the mend before going to Boston."
             
She eyed him suspiciously. "Whose side are you on?"
             
"Nobody's. I'm just trying to make you see reason, that's all." He patted the chair next to his. "Why don't you try and take your mind off your aunt by doing something else? I need your help for a minute."
             
"All right. But don't think I'm going to let them get away with this. As soon as my aunt's out of the woods, I'm going to give that doctor a piece of my mind."
             
He tapped the side of her head. "You think that's a good idea, sweetie? After all, if you go around giving everybody a piece of your mind, you won't have any left," he teased. "Then what would you do?"
             
"Ha ha. Very funny." She sprawled ungracefully in her chair. "What do you need?"
             
"Take a look at these papers. It's the evaluation of the Smythe's mansion. There's a particular piece I want you--"
             
The shrill ring of the phone on his desk interrupted his request, and he picked up the receiver.
             
"Blue Moon Inn. Jack Windom speaking."
             
"Paul Dykes here, Mrs. Phelps' pilot. I wanted to let you know I arrived. I'm supposed to pick up Mrs. Phelps' niece and take her back to Boston."
             
"Yes, we're expecting you. Glad to see you made it before the storm front moved in," Jack said.
             
"Yeah, so am I. This weather isn't even fit for ducks."
             
"If you don't mind waiting a little bit, Mary and I'll come and get you. No sense in staying in a hotel when we have plenty of room at the plantation. I probably should tell you there's been a slight change of plan; you won't be going back to Boston in the morning. I'll explain more when we pick you up."
             
"Do the folks in Boston know about this?"
             
"Yeah. Mary called them about an hour ago, and everything's been settled. You leave in three
days
. Unless, of course, Elizavon dies. Is that a problem?"
             
"Not really. How soon will you be here? I'll need to cancel the flight plan I just filed."
             
"Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour."
             
"Good, that'll give me time to tie up a few loose ends as well."
             
"We'll pick you up in front of the main doors, in the passenger loading zone. I'll be driving a white van with 'Blue Moon Inn' painted on the side. It shouldn't be too hard to spot."
             
Dykes laughed. "Don't worry; you can't miss me."