Love takes wing (Love Comes Softly #7) (11 page)

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hard on swallowing. "Guess we made out okay. Abe is alive an' seems fine, an' iffen the arm has healed all right--"

"But it hasn't," replied Luke carefully. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Abe still needs special care for that arm."

"But ya said it's healed."

"It is," Luke answered slowly, "as far as the break itself." "Then what needs doin'?"

"It's healing crooked, Arnie. Crooked."

Arnie just sat staring into space, trying to understand the words.

"What's thet mean?" he asked finally.

"It means if it doesn't get treated properly, the arm will get worse. Abe won't have full use of it. In time it might not function well at all."

Belinda looked first at Arnie and then at Luke. So that was what had been bothering her doctor brother.

"What . . . what can be done?" asked Arnie, his voice tight. "It's already set."

"That's not a big problem. They rebreak it. The only thing is, the sooner it is done, the more successful it will be."

Arnie swung about to face Luke, his eyes dark with anger. "Are ya suggestin' thet I take my son to some city hospital and put 'im through his pain all over again--on
purpose?"

For a moment Luke was shocked to silence.

"Well, forget it," rasped out Arnie. "The boy has suffered quite enough. Iffen you'da set it properlike in the first place--"

But Arnie stopped short. The expression on his face said he knew he wasn't being fair. Luke had done his best. He had saved the life of his son. Arnie looked as though he wished he could take back his words.

"Arnie," said Luke gently, "I don't blame you for feeling that way. Honest, I don't. And I wouldn't even suggest such a thing if there was any other way. But I've been watching that arm. It's

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getting worse. It needs to be fixed and the sooner the better. I know a good doctor. He does amazing things in corrective bone surgery. He would take Abe's case, I'm sure he would, and there's a good chance--a
good
chance that the arm would heal properly--be almost as good as new. This doctor--"

"I said no." Arnie's voice was low but the tone unmistakable. "I won't put him through all thet."

Luke took a deep breath. "If you don't," he said firmly, "you'll have a crippled boy"

The tears ran down Arnie's cheeks. He brushed them roughly aside. "He's been through enough pain already," he insisted. "What kind of pa would I be to put him through more?"

"A loving pa," Luke said, laying a hand on Arnie's arm, his voice little more than a whisper.

Arnie spun around to face him. "You doctors!" he cried, choking on his words. "All ya wanna do is play God. Ya don't think nothin"bout the pain ya cause. Ya jest gotta fix, fix, fix. Well, I won't have them experimentin' on my son jest to git glory in the doin', ya hear? The matter is closed. I never wanna hear of it again. An' one more thing, I don't want ya sayin' a word of this to Anne. She's suffered enough havin' to watch her boy fight to live. It would jest make things worse. Ya hear?" And Arnie slammed out the door, calling for Abe as he went.

Belinda took a deep breath and looked over at Luke. He stood leaning against the wall with his head down, his face in his hands, and he was weeping.

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ELEVEN

Sorrows

Belinda could sense the heaviness in Luke as he went about his daily medical rounds. She longed to share his burden in some way. She knew Luke had done his best, but she also knew he felt his best hadn't been good enough, that he had failed a child-- and, even worse, a family member.

One wintry day when the foul weather seemed to be keeping away all but the emergency cases, Belinda decided to broach the subject of young Abe to her doctor brother. She knew there was no way for her to ease the pain Luke was feeling, but she felt that even talking about it might help some.

"Have ya talked to Pa and Ma about Abe?" she asked softly. Luke raised his eyes from the column of figures he was adding. He shook his head, his face thoughtful.

"Do ya think ya should?"

"I don't know," Luke hesitated. "Some days I think I've just got to talk to them and on other days . . . I don't know. It might just make things worse."

"Worse how?"

"Arnie already avoids me."

Belinda nodded in agreement. She had noticed it also the last time the family had gathered for Sunday dinner. Quiet and morose, Arnie hadn't entered in with the usual man talk and good-natured banter. In fact, Arnie seemed to have retreated from

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the warmth of the entire family. Marty had noticed it, too, and worried that he might be coming down with something and should be taking a tonic.

"Abe seemed chipper enough," Belinda finally commented after the silence.

Luke was still deep in thought. He turned his eyes back to Belinda as she spoke.

"He's chipper," he responded, "but he's not using that arm well. If you watch him, he handles almost everything with his other hand."

Belinda hadn't noticed, but then she hadn't been as attentive as Luke. Thinking back, she realized now that Luke no doubt was right.

"What happened, Luke?" she asked softly.

"One of the bones that was broken was in the elbow and it was pushed out of proper position. I figure that the bull must have caught the arm between his head and the hard-packed earth and twisted as he ground it. You've seen certain critters do that. They aren't content to just butt things. They grind at them with those rock-hard heads of theirs."

Yes, Belinda had seen them do that.

"Well, this bone was dislocated, so to speak, as well as broken, and I couldn't get it to line up properly. I hoped--and prayed-- that it might adjust itself as it healed, but deep inside I knew it would really take a miracle for the bone to align on its own." Luke sighed deeply, his eyes troubled. "Well, this time we didn't get our miracle," he stated simply.

"And ya think they can do thet in the city--set it right?"

"I'm sure they could. They have a team of doctors and all the latest equipment. I'm sure they could do a good job for the boy. I got to watch a doctor do a very similar procedure when I was in training. I couldn't believe what he accomplished."

"Is it . . . is it terribly painful?" went on Belinda.

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"There's pain . . . of course. After all, it is a break. And also surgery. But they have good sedatives. Good medication for pain. And the main thing is that the patient is whole again. It's worth the additional suffering for a while if Abe gets his arm back."

Belinda understood Luke's reasoning. If it were his son, he would do all he could to give him a whole and usable body. But this wasn't Luke's son. And Arnie had never been able to stand to see suffering of any kind. He shrank back from it, hating it for its very sake. Arnie would find it hard to make a decision that would cause suffering to anyone, especially his child, even if the purpose was to bring healing.

"What happens if nothin' is done?" Belinda continued.

Luke shook his head. "It'll get worse and worse. He may lose use of the arm entirely as time goes on. It might not grow with the rest of the body. Might even begin to shrivel some. At best, the elbow will be stiff and unbending. To say it simply--the boy will have a crippled arm."

Belinda cringed. She remembered, years ago, seeing such a boy. She had gone to another town with her ma and pa, and they were riding down the street in an open carriage when they were halted in the street for some reason. Belinda had looked about her while the horses fidgeted and impatiently tossed their heads.

At first she had enjoyed looking in the windows of the nearby shops and watching the people in their colorful garments as they hurried back and forth on the sidewalk. And then her eyes had landed on a young boy on the street corner selling papers. In his one hand he held high the latest edition as he called out the headline to the passersby and urged them to buy their copy. But it was the other hand that drew Belinda's attention. The whole arm was twisted off to the side in a strange way, the hand small and the fingers bent.

She had been shocked at the sight and unable to understand why the boy's arm looked like that. Even at her young age her

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heart was tender with sympathy. She had tugged on her pa's coat sleeve and pointed a finger at the young boy, asking what was wrong with him.

Concern in his eyes, her pa had gently pulled her arm down and turned to look at her intently.

"He's crippled, Belinda," he had said softly. "I don't know how or why, but his arm's been damaged somehow. Like my leg was damaged," and he tapped on his wooden one. Belinda stared up at her pa with wide eyes. She was so accustomed to his handicap that she didn't even think about it.

At just that moment three young boys came around the corner. Belinda saw them stop before the newspaper boy.
Maybe they're goin' to help him,
she thought. But they began to dance around, calling out such things as, "Claw hand, claw hand," and "Crooked arm!" Then they had snatched his papers and begun throwing them about on the street. Clark saw it all, too, and before Belinda could understand what was happening, her pa had jumped from the carriage. Seeing him coming, the boys turned and ran from the scene.

It had taken Clark many minutes to help the young lad gather his papers back in the stack, and then Belinda had seen him slip the young boy a bill, pick up a paper, and join the family, his jaw set and his eyes filled with anger.

By then Belinda was in tears, and Clark reached out to draw her close while Marty fished in her handbag for a fresh handkerchief, clucking all the time over the injustice of it all.

"Why . . . why did they do thet . . . be so mean?" Belinda had quavered out.

Shaking his head, Clark said, "I don't know, little one. I don't know," he soothed. "Our world is full of unkindness. It wasn't meant to be . . . but it is. Thet's why it's so important that we, as God's children, never add to the grief of any of His creatures. He put us here to love an' help an' heal, an' we need to be extry

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careful thet we're a doin' thet. Not hurtin' or harmin' our fellowmen."

But Belinda still was unable to understand why the boys would taunt and tease the boy, and she could not erase the scene from her young mind. There followed a time when she had bad dreams about it and would waken in the night crying, and Marty would come to her bed and comfort her.

And now. . . now their own Abe was destined to be crippled. Belinda felt she understood Luke's concern. Surely . . . surely there was something to be done about it . . . some way to make Arnie see reason.

"Well, I think we have no choice," she said firmly. "Ma and Pa have to know. They are the only ones who can talk some sense into Arnie."

Belinda placed the sterilized instruments in a sheath of clean gauze and returned them to the cabinet.

"But Arnie would be angry. . . I know he would," Luke said thoughtfully.

Belinda nodded. "Fer a time. But surely in the end he would see thet we've done the right thing. Surely. . . surely when young Abe is . . . is whole again, he will be thankful thet we persisted." Belinda lowered herself to a chair near Luke and allowed herself a few moments of deep thought. "It's a terrible thing to be handicapped if it doesn't really need to be," she finished sadly.

Luke lifted his pencil back to the paper before him. He shook his head and sighed again deeply. "Maybe you're right," he said wearily. "Maybe I shouldn't give up so easily. If only there was some way to do it without hurting Arnie further."

Strange!
mused Belinda.
It's Abe's accident, Abe's pain, but it's Arnie who's sufferin' the most.

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"It's too cold for you to be riding horseback," Luke said on Friday afternoon after the last patient had been sent on his way. "I'll get the team and drive you home."

Belinda did not protest. The buggy wasn't a lot warmer, but if she were to take Copper, by the time she reached the farm her feet and hands would be numb and her cheeks tingling. Besides, this would give Luke an opportunity to speak to Clark and Marty and Belinda was convinced that such a talk was a must.

The two rode most of the way in silence. They were both weary and had already discussed the main things on their minds-- and besides, they felt comfortable with silence. Now and then, they would discuss something briefly and then fall silent again.

Marty was at the door to meet them.

"My, my!" she exclaimed. "I was worryin' some 'bout ya comin' on horseback, but Pa said ya'd jest stay on at Luke's fer the weekend." Belinda had often stayed in town for one reason or another.

Marty hurried about the big farm kitchen, putting on the coffeepot and slicing fresh bread for sandwiches.

Clark came in from the barn to join them at the table. He gently massaged his injured leg to take the sting of the cold from it without attracting too much attention. Luke, as usual, noticed but made no comment.

Belinda knew without Luke's saying so that he would talk to his ma and pa about Arnie and little Abe. She didn't particularly wish to be involved in the conversation, knowing it would be difficult for all involved. Excusing herself "to change into a housedress," she left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her room.

She spent some time changing from her office clothing, puttering around tidying her dresser, and straightening a few drawers, and at last she went back down to the kitchen. All during this time she had been praying for her family.

Luke and her parents were still seated at the table when