Tying the Knot (6 page)

Community nursing meant meeting needs, something she supposed she’d inherited from her parents. But unlike them, she wouldn’t dive into the cesspool of the inner city, hoping to heal the homeless and the drug addicts. No, her sphere of influence would be tamer—the homebound elderly, educational services, perhaps humanitarian assistance on a local Indian reservation. She hoped the closest thing she’d come to a drug addict would be someone who overdosed on Peanut M&M’s.

“I’m sorry, Sandra.”

Anne looked up to see a tall man breeze past her. His blue windbreaker hung open, and he thumped down the hall in hiking boots.

Sandra rose and started to follow him but stopped when he reached the end office and slammed the door shut. She whirled, and silence hung from her open mouth. Anne frowned.

“That was Dr. Simpson.” Sandra cleared her throat. “I’ll inform him you’re here.”

Anne watched the nurse creep down the hall, knock on the door, and poke her head in.

“Go ahead, Anne,” Sandra said when she returned. But her face had lost a shade of color.

Anne’s heart hammered. She somehow made it to her feet. She fought to hear Aunt Edith’s positive assessment of the good doctor above the cacophony of doubts. She shuffled down the hall and licked her lips as she stood outside the door. It was open a crack.

Inside, Dr. Simpson was talking on the phone. He motioned for her to enter. “I want to keep it under our hats for now,” he said, “but you should know the situation, Sam.”

Anne sat on the edge of a straight-backed chair, taking in her surroundings. She hid her revulsion at the sight of a fish, its jagged teeth bared, mounted on a block of wood. Books had been crammed into a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and piled atop a filing cabinet. A rickety coat tree laden with two sweaters, a white lab coat, a down jacket, and a compact umbrella looked dangerously near collapse, and a rather coarse carving of a bear inhabited the corner. She turned and nearly died of fright at the sight of a moose mounted above her, dripping fur onto the back of her neck. She scooted her chair forward.

“Thanks for your assistance, Sam. We’ll be in touch.” Dr. Simpson hung up the telephone and smiled at Anne. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Lundstrom.” He reached across the desk and offered his hand. She found it warm and gentle. “We had a hospital situation I had to deal with.”

Anne felt her pulse slow. “No problem. I met Sandra.”

“She’s the glue that keeps this place together.” Dr. Simpson pulled a manila file folder from a tall stack on his desk. “Dr. Meyers sent your transcripts and evaluation. She speaks highly of you.”

“She’s been a big support.” Dr. Roberta Meyers was a prime reason Anne had stayed in the nursing program after her injury. It took a woman with experience fighting for a place in the medical society to pull Anne back to the land of the living. Anne would never forget the sight of Roberta’s chocolate brown hand holding hers when she’d awoken from surgery.

“You’ve made a remarkable recovery, Miss Lundstrom.” He put down the folder. “But I have to wonder why you chose to finish your internship here. Dr. Meyers expresses regret at losing you.”

Anne folded her hands on her lap. “I’m just looking for a change. I did my time in the city, and I need some fresh air.” She smiled. “I am hoping Deep Haven has some to share. And, frankly, I’m hoping to make my stay here . . . permanent.” She hoped he could read between the lines to her desire for a full-time job.

Dr. Simpson quirked a brow. “I see.” He looked out the window. “How do you feel about spending some time at a camp?”

Anne blinked at him. Camp? She pictured ten-year-olds with scraped knees lining up for Band-Aids. She fought a swell of panic. “I thought I’d be visiting the elderly or teaching mothers how to care for their babies.”

“You’ve been doing quite a bit of that these last few months. I think your time at the University of Minnesota Hospital gave you sufficient experience in community education. If you want to work in this community, a knowledge of the wilderness is a must.” He reached for a pad of paper. “I’ll assign you to visit members of the Granite River Indian Reservation. Meet with Jenny Olson. She runs the clinic on the reservation.” He grabbed a pen.

Anne’s voice caught in the back of her throat. She blinked, trying to comprehend Dr. Simpson’s words. Spend her internship cooped up at a camp? How would she impress the board with her competence when all she did was pull out slivers? Still, the idea of nothing more traumatic than a bloody nose had its appeal.

“Where is the camp?”

Dr. Simpson looked up from his scribbles. “Up the Gunflint Trail about twenty miles. You’ll be close enough to come home on the weekends.”

“I have to sleep there?” Anne winced at her outburst and stared out the window. Her face grew hot as she felt the doctor’s gaze on her. “I’m sorry. I pictured something different.”

Silence, save for the whir of an overhead fan, filled the room. She watched the wind skim through the forest at the edge of a meadow. A squirrel ran down from a nearby poplar and stared at her, its jaw moving. Anne sighed. Perhaps she needed a summer of peace. She might even be willing to acknowledge God’s involvement. Perhaps a positive attitude would also add to her marketability.

She turned back to Dr. Simpson. She was startled at the sight of his head bowed, his hands clasped. Was he praying? Anne wondered what she’d done to elicit such concern.

He cleared his throat and looked at her. “Let’s give it two weeks. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll revamp your course of study.” He handed her the paper. “These are the directions to the camp and Ms. Olson’s telephone number. I’ll expect you in my office in two weeks for a report.”

“You don’t want to see me every day?”

“Why? You’re ultimately accountable to yourself, and I’m going to trust you to do your best job.”

Anne nodded. Another change from the city—no one looking over her shoulder. It made her feel oddly naked. “Um . . . I was wondering about pay. Usually the school covers my internship costs, but since I am working outside their usual sphere, they won’t fund my internship.” She swallowed the embarrassment thick in her throat. “I don’t suppose . . .”

Dr. Simpson did have a kind face. She read it in his smile, the crinkles around his eyes. “I don’t have anything worked out right now, but the camp should cover your expenses, and perhaps when your time there is complete, Deep Haven Municipal can offer you a compensation package.”

At least in camp she wouldn’t have to buy a uniform, and they would feed her. She stood and clasped the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for accepting me.”

“We’re pleased to have you. You’re not the only new face in town, by the way.” He stood and gestured to the door. “Dr. Jefferies, please come in.”

A slim man, slightly taller than herself, pushed the door open with two fingers. His smile seemed genuine, and he extended a hand to Anne. “Richard Jefferies. Family practice.”

His wide hand held hers a moment longer than necessary. She pulled away but noticed his gaze linger.

“I see I arrived just in time.” He smoothed down a teal-and-brown tie and buttoned his lab coat.

Anne frowned at a tremble in his hands.

“Dr. Jefferies is taking over for Dr. Holm while he is on summer sabbatical.” Dr. Simpson came around the desk to clap the younger doctor on the shoulder. “He’s fresh out of residency at St. Katherine’s in Duluth.”

“Good to meet you,” Anne said quietly.

“Anne’s here to finish her internship in community nursing.” Dr. Simpson edged back toward his desk, perhaps to give her room to move past them in his cramped office.

Dr. Jefferies didn’t budge. “Where are you from?” His brown eyes, muddy in color and depth, captured hers.

“Minneapolis,” she heard herself say. What was it about him that sent her shivers?

“I’ve been there a few times.” He backed away and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I love the Sculpture Garden.” He folded his arms across his chest; his tone spoke of interest.

“Have you ever walked through the arboretum at night? It’s gorgeous.” Anne felt her tension dissipating. She was just a bad judge of character . . . always had been.

“No, but Nicollet Avenue on a snowy night is something magical.”

His short blond hair and clean-shaven chin gave him a cultured look, and the way he leaned against the file cabinet invited her conversation. “Yes, it is,” she agreed with a smile, giving him a second chance.

He smiled back, and she recognized something more than polite attention in his sweeping gaze. A blush started at her toes.

“Well, that’s nothing compared to our night sky. You both ought to spend some time walking the beach while you’re here.” Dr. Simpson returned to his wobbly metal chair. “Thank you for coming in, Anne. Oh, by the way, please stop by human resources and get your security pass card and ID picture taken, okay?”

Anne nodded, clutching the folder to her chest, the one with her recommendation. “Nice meeting you, Dr. Jefferies.” She walked out before she babbled further and completely disgraced herself. Certainly Dr. Simpson wasn’t suggesting she and Dr. Jefferies should spend time—together?

Then again, Deep Haven presumed an entirely different set of rules. Perhaps here men weren’t to be feared.

She marched past Sandra, embarrassment fueling her steps. No, just
certain
men weren’t to be feared. The memory of last night shuddered through her, and she shivered again, a reaction to Noah Standing Bear’s suggestion that he drive her home.

He’d stood there, one leg hitched over his bike, acting like she would be thrilled to hop on his danger machine, throwing all caution and common sense to the wind. She knew firsthand what kind of damage a motorcycle could do to a rider, and beyond that, she wasn’t going to let any man—let alone Mr. Standing Bear—within spitting distance of her safe haven. She’d come to Deep Haven specifically to avoid people like him. Noah Standing Bear profiled danger. The way he looked at her with his cocky grin, the wind tangling his black hair, those mysterious golden eyes kneading hers as if they held some sort of secret. No, she’d give him a wide berth if she ever saw him again.

No doubt he’d do the same after her reaction last night. She’d slapped him and scrambled up the road toward home.

She hadn’t stopped running until she slammed and locked her cabin door.

Noah slung a stack of roofing material over his shoulder and climbed the ladder leaning against the lodge. Sweat carried chips of asphalt from the roofing tiles down his back and chest; his army fatigues were black and soggy. Still, the hard work kept his mind off a certain brunette that would skin him alive after she met with Dr. Simpson. He didn’t relish their next conversation.

Not that the last one had gone well. He grunted as he hauled up the fifty pounds of tiles. His aching back was nothing compared to the pain he’d felt when she’d walloped him, knowing that his innocent words had elicited such raw fear in her. He’d stood in stunned silence as she ran off and felt dread seep into his bones.

She hated him.

And he needed her. He groaned, set down the tiles, and sat on the roof, breathing hard. If only she knew of his profound gratefulness for her help. Pastor Dan and the missions committee had agreed to meet again in a week to finalize their funding, and if he didn’t have Anne Lundstrom convinced by then, he’d have to shut down the camp before it even launched. He couldn’t imprison her at Wilderness Challenge, even if a little time at camp facing the very people she was dodging might make her realize that city kids needed the same things as all kids . . . unconditional love and hope. Maybe she’d rethink that not-for-all-the-money-in-the-universe attitude about city living.

He wasn’t a fool. He saw her hackles rise when he’d mentioned the city the first day they met by the beach, and something about his suggestion to drive her home had pushed that fear into action. Some sort of emotional nightmare had fueled the smack she’d given him. She was wounded, and judging by her reaction, it wasn’t something she’d heal from quickly.

Unfortunately, Noah wasn’t a doctor. And he seemed to be ripping open old scars every time they met.
God, I don’t know what You’re doing, but something is up with this lady, and I’d like to help. You brought her into my life, and I have to believe it’s for good.

A white-breasted nuthatch landed on the roof ten feet away and chipped at a piece of stripped wood. Noah watched its tiny black head as it bobbed and rooted for seeds; then he leaned back and let his face absorb the full blast of the noon sun, relishing this quiet moment.

Above him, towering oak rubbed shoulders with beech, basswood, birch, and a generous mix of balsam fir. The air, redolent with pine and a hint of lake water, spoke of peace, of escape. God had led him right into the lap of this forested luxury when an old pal from Bethel College mentioned the camp was for rent. Built as a private fishing retreat on tiny Mink Lake, it had been purchased by a denomination and remodeled into a camp, complete with lodge, a cook’s shack, an outfitter’s cabin, and cement pads for tents nestled at the end of overgrown footpaths.