Violets in February (14 page)

He frowned. “Huh? What's that mean?”

She pointed to the roof of the truck, her words slurring slightly. “I am floating up there with the fairies.”

Worry etched on his face, Jed stopped the truck, keeping the engine running. “Fairies?”

“Don't you know what fairies are? Little shiny people with wings. They grant wishes and stuff. But I think they're really mini angels.”

“I know what they are. I just don't have them in my Ute.”

“Oh, but you do. Only these are big ones, not little ones.” She gripped his hand. “Can't you see them?”

He glanced around. “See what?”

She pointed. “Right there, either side of the truck. Tall, dressed in white robes, blond hair and swords on their belts.”

Jed shook his head. “Darl', there is no one there.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” she whispered. She leaned back in the seat. “And He shall send His angels…”

“Command His angels,” he corrected.

Lucy shrugged. “Whatever.”

He reached out and touched her forehead. “You have a fever.”

“A little sick, yeah.” Lucy put a hand on his knee. “But at least it doesn't hurt anymore.”

He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “That isn't a good sign, and you know it.”

She settled back in the seat, closing her eyes. “I know.”

Jed let go of her hand and pulled away again. The truck bounced over potholes.

“Thought this was the main road.”

“It is,” he replied. “Just a better dirt track than before. Reckon another hour and a half, two hours tops.”

“Don't think I got a couple hours left in me.”

“Don't you dare say that,” he said sternly. “We have not come this far for you to die on me now.”

“Why not?” she whispered.

“Because I love you.”

Lucy jerked open her eyes. Had she heard him right? “Sorry?”

“You heard. I love you. So don't you dare die on me.”

She smiled, as the darkness which had hovered around her for so long now descended like a thick fog. She wasn't sure she'd heard right, but she'd waited so long to hear those words from anyone, that if it was the last thing she heard, she'd die happy.

The darkness deepened.

“I…” she whispered, unable to formulate the words aloud.
Love you, too…

~*~

Jed slammed the brakes on hard, as Lucy's head rolled to one side. “Lucy!” He shoved his fingers against her neck. The little pulse she had was thready and barely there. Her breathing was shallow and labored. “Noooo, don't you dare.”

Tears stung his eyes as he began driving like a man possessed. “God, please, we've come so far. Don't let her die like this. It's a waste. She has so much more to give. And I love her. I need her. She brought me to You. Don't let her last moments be spent like this. She deserves to know love and happiness and to be reunited with her family.”

He prayed constantly as the Ute bounced and slid over the road. Finally, after half an hour, he hit the tarmac. The flags still fluttered on the front of the bonnet, and once he caught a glimpse of something white on either side of the Ute, but wasn't about to stop to check it out.

He knew where the hospital was, and headed straight there, grateful all the traffic lights were in his favor. Lightning flashed and thunder echoed again as he pulled up outside the main entrance.

He jumped out of the Ute and ran around. He pulled Lucy gently from the seat and ran into the building with her. “I need a doctor!” he yelled.

Two figures in scrubs ran over to him. “What is wrong?”

“She passed out in the Ute. Her pulse is faint, breathing is shallow. She isn't even rousable.” The words flowed from him, running into each other in his desperation to get Lucy looked at. “She dislocated her knee several days ago, but the joint is still swollen, and her foot is cold and white. She also has a fever. The guy who put her kneecap back in place was afraid the joint was broken or there was ligament damage.”

“Bring her this way.”

Jed ran with them down the hallway, his ribs aching painfully now. He laid her on the gurney and stood to one side, letting the doctors examine her.

“We will take care of her. What is her name?”

“Lucy. Dr. Lucy Boyd. The injury happened three, four days ago. It's taken us this long to get here.”

The nurse looked at him. “Let us see to your cuts while the doctor cares for your friend, Mister …?”

“Gorman. Jed Gorman.” He didn't move. “I'm not leaving her.”

“How old is she?” one of the doctors asked.

“I don't know.” He tried to think. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, I honestly don't know. Is she going to be all right?”

“She might need to go up to surgery; we'll know more when we've finished examining her. Go with the nurse, and we will find you when she is finished.”

“I should go move the Ute. I'm blocking the entrance.”

The doctor smiled. “With the president's flags on it, no one will touch it, and you and your friend will receive the best care there is. You know him?”

Jed nodded. “You could say that. Lucy saved his life earlier this week a couple hundred miles away.”

“Then I will do my best to save hers.”

Half an hour later, patched up and with ribs bandaged so tight he could hardly breathe, Jed moved the Ute to a parking space he'd been assured he wouldn't have to pay for. He leaned back in the seat and turned on the radio. “Pete, you there?”

“Where the heck have you been?” came the angry reply. “Every two hours, I said. It's been thirty-six.”

“Sorry. Things got a little busy.”

“Where are you?”

“In the city, at the hospital. Lucy's in surgery. But it's not looking good.”

Pete paused. “Can I do anything?”

“Pray. It's all anyone can do.”

“Jed Gorman. That is the one thing I'd never thought I'd hear you say. Not in a million years.”

Jed closed his eyes. “Yeah, well, things change. People change. She needs a miracle, mate. And the only way to get those is to pray and ask for them.”

12

Lucy was floating. Everything was white. There was music and singing. Then she realized that the music was about as far from harps and heavenly choirs as you could get, and the singer was Jed. She listened for a moment. Despite the Led Zeppelin song he was singing along to on the radio, he was in perfect key, even harmonizing in places.

She opened her eyes. Her vision took a moment to focus on the blue eyed, bearded man beside her. She'd never been as pleased to see him as she was now. His fingers kept perfect rhythm on the wooden arms of the chair.

He sat stiffly, his chest swathed in bandages, which even his baggy shirt couldn't hide. Paper stitches held the cut over his left eye together, and his right eye was swollen and bruised. As she touched his hand, his face broke into a lopsided smile. He flipped off the battered CD player.

“Hey, Lucy, you're not dead, then?”

She shook her head, shards of pain shooting down her neck. “Not quite. You?”

He gripped her hand tightly. “Dancing with the angels, darl'.” He pushed himself from the chair, sitting gingerly on the bed beside her. Pain creased his eyes, crinkling the lines around them for an instant, before he hid it. “How are ya going?”

“A little sore.” She glanced down at the cover over her legs preventing her from seeing them. “What did they do?”

“Fixed your leg. The knee joint itself was broken and cutting off the blood supply to your foot.”

She closed her eyes. The doctor in her told her exactly what that meant. She mentally counted the days since she fell, wishing she could see her leg. Her senses told her it was still there, but that meant nothing. “Oh,” she whispered.

“But they think you'll live.”

She opened her eyes. His face was totally straight, eyes serious and no hint of a smile anywhere.

“I'll live?” she repeated.

“Yeah. I mean, you have two legs, right? So you can use crutches and stuff to get around. A few weeks and you'll be really good at it.”

“What?” she managed. Shock pushed her back into the pillows, her hand dropping limply to the bedclothes. Her stomach plummeted as if she'd been speared.

He winked. “Until the doc says you can weight bear. It might be a few months though.” His face broke into a huge grin. “Gotcha!”

“You beast.” She thumped his arm. “I thought you meant…”

His eyes twinkled as he cupped her face. “No, darl'. The doc will explain when he comes in, but from what he told me, it was close, but they saved your foot. You need to stay here for a few days, and then I'll take you wherever you want to go.”

Lucy sucked in a deep breath as she glanced around the room. “Why aren't I on a main ward? I can't afford this private room, nor can the mission society.”

“Relax.” He pushed her back down with gentle hands. “You're not paying, nor is the mission society and nor am I, before you say anything.”

“Then who?” This made no sense. She was getting private care and had done nothing to deserve it.

“Apparently, only the best is good enough for the doctor who saved the life of the president.”

“Oh.”

He jerked his head. “You've been out of it for three days. I've camped out here, showers excepted, hence the beard because I don't have a razor.”

“It looks good on you.” She paused. “Yet you found time to buy new clothes.”

He shrugged. “Got given them. Anyway, while you slept, the civil war ended. President Kwame is back in office. You are officially a guest of the government, which is footing the bill. The British ambassador came to see you. He'll be back again once he knows you're awake. Evidently if you want to go back to England, they'll arrange flights.” He kissed her forehead. “But you're gonna be apples, that's what matters.”

She leaned against him, trying not to hurt him. “Did you mean what you said in the truck?”

“I said a lot of things.” His hand moved lazily through her hair. “Which bit in particular?”

Lucy hesitated. Maybe she'd heard wrong. After all, she'd been pretty out of it. “Just before I passed out.”

Jed smiled. “If you mean, did I say, I love you, then yes, I did. Because I do.” His eyes darkened and his hand slid around her face to cup her cheek. “You touch me like no sheila has before.”

“My name isn't Sheila.”

He chuckled. “I know that. Fine. You touch me like no Lucy ever has before.”

She struggled to keep her face straight. “Known many Lucys then?”

He rolled his eyes, in that really cute way he had.

Not that she'd ever dare tell him it was cute. “What?” she asked, as innocently as she could.

“I think, on reflection, I prefer you unconscious. A bloke can at least get a word in edgeways then.” He put his fingers over her lips. “I love you. And before you say another word…Ewww!” He yanked his hand away as Lucy licked it, and wiped it on his shirt. “That is revolting. Where'd you learn that one?”

“My mother. Didn't work with the gunman though, because I tried.”

Jed sighed. “You really are not making this easy for me, darl', are ya?”

“Sorry,” she said grinning at him.

“Not sorry at all, are ya?” He kissed her cheek.

The door opened and a doctor came in.

Jed stood. “My cue to leave. I'll be back in a few.”

Lucy nodded. She listened as the doctor explained about her knee, and told her honestly how close she had come not only to losing her foot, but her life. She took the lecture silently, on how she should know better than overworking and not sleeping or resting. And promised to do the physio and rest and not overdo things until cleared to do so.

As he left, Tim arrived with yet another lecture. He told her she was on compulsory furlough until July. What she did was up to her, but she wasn't allowed on the mission base until July twenty-seventh at the earliest.

Tears blurred her eyes as he left. Her hands curled around the sheets. “What do I do now? July is several months away.” she whispered. “I don't have a life apart from serving You, Lord. Nor do I have a home to go to.”

“Yes, you do.” Jed's voice came from beside her.

She glanced up. “I didn't realize you were there.”

“I noticed.”

“I'm on leave until July…four months. I hate leave, haven't had any in years, because I always cancel it or work through it. They're forcing this on me. They don't want me back.”

Jed perched on the bed next to her, gentle fingers wiping away the tears. “Yes, they do.”

“No, they don't. Tim said they have another doctor now. They don't need me.”

“For goodness sake, woman. Its four months. It's holiday.”

“Don't take holidays and don't swear.”

“I'm not swearing. And Tim said you don't take leave. You need a break, darl', and I don't mean your leg. You can't work like this. Your knee needs time to heal, as does the rest of you.”

She shrugged. “What do I do?”

He held out a phone. “Press seven and you have a dedicated outside line. Ring your parents, like you said you wanted to.”

She frowned. “I never said that.” At least, she didn't think she'd done so aloud. She'd thought about it and was going to, but in her own time.

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Oh.” Lucy took the phone and looked down. “What if I left it too late to put things right with Mum and Harold?”

“Call them,” he said firmly. “They're your parents. They love you like that prodigal son kid. OK, you haven't squandered the family's silver, or fed pigs, but you said yourself you were pretty mean to them. Maybe spend some of your leave in England with them.”