When Death Draws Near (26 page)

I OPENED MY EYES. THE ROOM LOOKED, SOUNDED,
and smelled familiar. An infusion pump above my head
click-click-click
ed away and cool, antiseptic-smelling air wheezed from a wall vent. In a moment, the memory nudged my consciousness. I was in Shelby Lee's room, or one like it, at . . . Pikeville Community Hospital.

In a rush, the rest of my memories returned.
Aynslee
.

A series of chirps and pings came from my right.

Turning my head, I peered through the bed railing. Aynslee lay hooked to an array of devices in the bed next to me. She was partially upright, cell phone in hand, thumbs flying. Beyond her, late-afternoon amber sunlight spilled between the blinds on the window.

From the open door to the room came a creak of turning wheels, squeak of shoes, and murmuring of voices. Someone gently snored.

I pushed up enough to see a sleeping Blake sprawled in a chair at the foot of the bed.

“The nurses told me he's been here all day,” Aynslee whispered.

“How do you feel?” I asked her.

“Like I've been run over by a cement truck.”

I winced at the expression as more memories of the previous night flooded back. Blanche, lying dead on the floor of her garage. Aynslee's almost-lifeless body next to me racing to the hospital in Blake's truck. The emergency room where a detective took down my babbling account of the events.

A nurse marched in. “Good. You're awake. We have you scheduled for X-rays on that hand.” She fiddled with the IV line threaded into my wrist.

Blake opened his eyes and smiled at me.

The stupid heart monitor beside me gave away my thoughts.

He stood and moved closer.

“You, go.” The nurse shooed him away.

I contemplated throwing something at her head. Before I could figure out a weapon, an orderly arrived with a wheelchair. “Ready?” he asked the nurse. For the next several hours I spent quality time in that wheelchair, gliding from hallways to X-rays, then on to various tests devised in the Middle Ages by medieval monks.

When I was finally wheeled back to my room, night had fallen and Blake was gone. The room had sprouted flowers ranging from exquisite bouquets to plastic-wrapped grocery store bundles. Lindsay and the woman who'd first spoken to me at the revival were talking to Aynslee.

“Lindsay, thank you.” I gave her hand a squeeze as I was wheeled past. “You saved my daughter's life. And mine.”

The orderly helped me into bed and plugged me back into the infusion pump.

“What did you say when you called her?” Aynslee held up her phone. “Mattie wants to know.”

“I told her to buzz Blake, that is, use the phone tree.” I straightened the covers and tugged at the ugly hospital gown. “I mentioned the verse from Hebrews that tells us ‘since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.' I finished by mentioning not being protected, which told him I was with people he said were ‘not the protectors I thought.' ”

Aynslee texted away, grinning.

“You know the weird thing?” Lindsay said to me. “I didn't get it. I just called Blake and said you were in trouble. He told me to call everybody and meet him at the Campbells' house. He'd figured out that only someone with a lot of money or clout could be behind all this. But he thought it was Arless.”

“He was on my short list of suspects.”

“Actually,” Lindsay said, “I came by to give you the latest news. The sheriff's department—”

“What!” I said.

“Minus Clay, who's under investigation for obstruction of justice,” she amended, “followed your directions and found Grady's body. It's been recovered and the church will be having a memorial for him along with Elijah and Ruby tomorrow at four o'clock.”

“How did you find out about Grady's body?” I asked.

“My cousin, the one I was visiting, is with search and rescue. She told me about the cave.” She cleared her throat. “She also said they saw a bra sitting on a ledge below the cave. She said it was too risky to try to recover . . .”

“So Thelma and Louise are gone for good.” I bit my lip. “They didn't, by any chance, um, recover some underwear . . .?”

“No.” Lindsay raised her eyebrows at me.

“Good.”

Blake entered the room pushing a wheelchair with one hand and an IV pole with the other. Sarah sat bundled in a white blanket. She grinned and waved when she saw my daughter.

A short, tawny-skinned, black-haired doctor strolled in. The name badge said Dr. Kumar. He paused when he saw all the visitors. “If you could all please step outside for a moment?”

The room emptied. He moved between my bed and Aynslee's. “Good news for both of you. I want to keep you one more night, but if all goes well, I'll release you tomorrow. Gwen”—he nodded at my bandaged left hand—“you have three fractures and I've stabilized the bones with that splint. You'll need to have it looked at when you return to Montana. I've been in touch with your doctor and there are a few more tests I want to review.”

“Which doctor?” I asked.

“Dr. West.”

My oncologist. My stomach twisted.

“Young lady.” He turned to Aynslee. “You were very, very lucky. Another few minutes and . . . well, like I said, you were lucky.” He patted her foot and left.

Blake returned, this time without Sarah. “She was getting tired, but she wanted to say hi to Aynslee.”

“What's going to happen to her?” I asked.

“She's my niece. I'll take care of her.”

Before I could respond, Arless stepped in.

I stiffened.

Blake moved close to the bed. “What do you want, Arless?”

Arless hesitated, then placed an envelope on the tray next
to my bed. “I can't apologize enough for all the damage Blanche did. I would like to ask you to forgive me and take this as your earned fee.”

“I forgive you, Arless.” I waved at the envelope. “You don't need to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” He just as quickly turned and left.

I reached for the envelope to tear it up, but Blake caught my hand. “Don't. You did earn it. And you might just need some money. None of your clothes, art supplies, identification, or possessions have shown up.”

“Just Thelma and Louise.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Thinking about cancer treatments or my daughter's education, I slowly nodded.

Blake continued to hold my hand until I fell asleep.

The next morning Aynslee was already dressed by the time I woke up. “There's stuff for you on that chair,” she said.

“Have you seen—”

“Nope. Blake hasn't shown up.”

I had to wait until the nurse arrived and removed my IV line before I could check out the white bag Aynslee had indicated. Inside were jeans, a sweater, slip-on shoes, and underclothes along with a note from Lindsay.
Thought you could use these.

I tried not to feel disappointed it wasn't from Blake. With Aynslee's help, I got dressed.

A nurse showed up with a mess of paperwork requiring signatures, scrawled prescriptions, and last-minute instructions. I thought about the bill for our treatment.
Oh, Lord, how will
I ever pay for this too?
After she left, I gathered up the cards from the flowers and peeked at the envelope Arless left the day before.

My legs became rubber. I sat on the bed.

“What?” Aynslee asked.

I couldn't answer. I just looked at her. Arless had given me enough money for Aynslee's college. Or my cancer treatment. Or to let me finish the house.

When my mouth worked again, I cleared my throat. “Shall we go?”

Before I could get out of my room, an orderly with a wheelchair appeared and insisted I sit in it. He pushed me onto the elevator and out the main doors.

I felt like an idiot, so I gave queenly waves to arriving visitors until we reached the street. I tried not to think about the check, focusing on what I'd need to do before I could get home to Montana. I could get Beth to express me my passport so I had some identification, book a flight—

“Mom!” Aynslee pulled on my arm.

I glanced over to the car parked on the curb. Blake was standing beside an open door. “Need a ride?” He caught my swift glance into the car. “They're not releasing Sarah until tomorrow.”

My pulse raced. “Sure.” He helped me out of the wheelchair and into the passenger's seat, then rounded the car and slid into the driver's side.

He placed a cell phone in my lap. “I told you I'd get you a new one.”

“Oh, wow!” Aynslee said over my shoulder. “The latest iPhone. Just out—I mean,
just
out.”

“Oh, Blake, I don't even know how to turn this thing on.”

Aynslee reached over and snatched it up. “Like this. But it needs a password to work.” She handed it back.

I glanced at Blake. He grinned at me. I typed N-e-a-n-d-e-r-t-h-a-l. A new screen came up with a bewildering array of icons. “And, um, how do I find the list of contacts?”

Blake took the cell and tapped the screen, then handed it back to me.

His number was the only one listed.

Heat rose up my neck and I kept my head down to hide the blush.

The phone vibrated in my hand and the name Kumar came up on the screen.

I jerked. “Who gave him this number?”

“I did. The hospital wanted a contact number.”

The phone vibrated again. I answered. “Gwen Marcey.”

“Ah, Gwen, good. I got hold of you. I mentioned your Dr. West wanted me to run a few more tests.”

I tried to get some spit into my mouth.

“He said I should call you.”

“Couldn't this wait until I—”

“I don't think so. Your tests came back clear.”

“What does that mean?”

“According to Dr. West, every indication showed your cancer had returned. Now”—he cleared his throat—“I went over everything with your oncologist several times. There's no sign of anything out of the ordinary. We need to be cautious and retest in a month. It could be a cycle, or . . .”

“Or a miracle.”

He was silent for a moment. “Or a miracle.”

I hung up and laid my hand over the phone. I remembered
my thought when viewing Shelby Lee, the first victim.
Oh, Lord, we need to catch this guy.
I could still feel the hands of the holiness people on my back.
Touch her, Lord
. I thought of my petition for an escape from the cave. My whispered hope that the racing horse wouldn't fall, the prayer to walk among the snakes to rescue Sarah, my plea not to get dragged to death or shot by Blanche.

I looked down, my good hand folded over my bandaged one, and smiled.
You made Your point, Lord. Thank You.

1. Review Mark 16:17–18. Serpent handlers point to this passage as a sign that they are followers of Christ. Many have the words
   signs following
   in the name of their church. What do you think about this?
   
2. Kentucky is the only state in the Union that specifically mentioned religion when they made it illegal to handle snakes. Contrast that with the First and Fourteenth Amendments that prohibit laws created to curtail the free exercise of religion.
   
3. Gwen struggles with her prayer life throughout this book, reasoning that God, who knows everything, should already know what she will pray for. Reflect on this.
   
4. Gwen is diagnosed as having cancer again in the beginning of the book, yet is free of the disease at the end. Do any other miracles occur in this story? Do you know someone who has had a miraculous recovery?
   
5. Aynslee got baptized in the mountains. Gwen wanted to talk with her afterward, but couldn't. What do you think Gwen might have said? What would you have said?
   
6. Though Gwen thinks of herself as open-minded and fair, she judges Elijah, Ruby, the serpent handlers, and Blake. What does she think of them before knowing more about them? What changed her mind?
   
7. When Gwen can't find a way out of the cave, she becomes angry, then bargains, then is depressed before finding a solution to her imprisonment. Discuss this.
   
8. Gwen goes through several changes (character arcs) during the book. What are they and how did she change?
   

ONCE AGAIN A VARIETY OF FOLKS, BOTH KNOWINGLY
and unknowingly, helped me with this book. I'll start with my dear husband of twenty-seven years, Rick, who brought me the idea of looking at the serpent handlers as a possible story line. Sssssssuper idea! A HUGE thank-you to Barbara West (Bobbi), from the Kentucky State Police, who suggested we come to Pikeville, then shared the great history and the beauty of fall in the Eastern Kentucky Appalachian Mountains. To Paul Glodfelter, the author of the play
Sleep in Safety, the story of Octavia Hatcher
, and to the members of the very talented cast, thank you for your inspiration.

To Betty Tackett of Dreamz Stables, thank you for inspiring me with your steep mountain trail ride on your Tennessee Walkers. I was transported back to my teen years of riding on our ranch in Idaho.

My husband, Rick, Bobbi, and I researched the serpent handlers by attending the Apostolic House of Prayer in Lord Jesus' Name, in Bug Hurley Hollow in Jolo, West Virginia. We found the congregation to be warm and caring, and Reverend
Tommy Addair to be most helpful. The five-foot rattler they pulled out to show us, however, still gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Colleen Coble, it was such fun to have our characters meet. I know Gwen loved to visit Folly Shoals and meet Mallory in your suspenseful novel
Mermaid Moon
.

I want to thank my forensic art students for the caring attention to even the smallest detail of the life and times of Gwen Marcey. In this spirit of thanking everyone, I want thank Carrie Doss for suggesting adding peas to Gwen's famous tuna noodle casserole. And a special thanks to Lindsay Moore for suggesting a beautiful, dimple-cheeked, biracial character. Thanks to Kari Seibel and Ernest Oropeza for loaning me their names and suggestions on how to write the police report. To Jason Tapp, my favorite snake expert, thank you for (shudder) snake suggestions. To Trish Hastings and Michelle Garlock, thank you for lending me your names and letting me kill you.

Olivia Garlock, you darling young lady, thank you for sharing your fourteen-year-old perspective on how to annoy your mom. Without you, I would never have had the much-needed, digitally obsessed,
whatever
, eye-rolling charm of Aynslee.

To the beta readers, thank you for all your help in developing this story. I appreciate you taking the time from your busy lives to suggest the holes in the plot.

Frank Peretti, once again you've proved why you were named the dean of Christian fiction. You saw in a heartbeat what was wrong with the story and what would make it better. I'm forever grateful to you and your lovely bride, Barb. Dinner soon? No zucchini.

Finally to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, in whom all things are possible.