The Doctor's Christmas (13 page)

“How could he possibly have gotten through this? It's so deep, I can hardly make it.”

“He could.” Her voice was thick, as if with tears. “He's a strong little kid, and he had a head start on us. It wouldn't have been as deep an hour ago.” She choked back a sob. “I have to believe that. I have to.”

He reached out to grab her hand, pulling her through the deep drift. “I know.” He sought for anything that would comfort her. “He's smart, too.”

Maggie nodded, but her eyes were bleak, almost dead.

She won't survive if we lose this child.
Who was
he talking to? The God he wasn't sure he believed in anymore?
You have to help.

God hadn't saved Jason. What made him think He'd save Joey?

 

She had to pull herself together. She couldn't give in to her fear.

Help us, Father. Help Joey. Your children need you so desperately today.

Grant's hand gripped hers, pulling her along through the deepest of drifts. Maybe that was part of God's answer. She hadn't wanted Grant with her today. She would have come alone if she could have.

And that would have been wrong. She couldn't do this alone.

Thank You. I wish Grant and I could at least be friends, but even if we can't, thank You for sending him with me today.

“Wait.” Breathless, she caught Grant's hand with both of hers. “There's the logging road.” She nodded toward the cleft in the trees, barely perceptible in the thick snow.

He frowned. “Are you sure? It doesn't look like much.”

“I'm sure.” A shiver went through her, not entirely from the cold. She knew every inch of this terrain. “I don't see how he could have gone that way, not without leaving a trace.”

Grant pointed down the lane toward the house. “There. Doesn't that look like the marks the toboggan would leave?”

She didn't want to go down that way. She had to. “It could be. Joey knows where the house is—what's left of it, anyway. He might have gone there for shelter.”

Grant's fingers tightened on hers. She felt the reassurance of his grasp through her thick gloves, warming her.

He knew how she left about the place. How could he not? Pointless, now, to try and disguise her fears or anything else from him.

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.”
The promise from Isaiah echoed in her mind, and a fresh spurt of energy propelled her forward.

“Let's go.”

Again Grant forged ahead, pushing his legs through the deepening snow. If not for the track he made breaking the snow, she might not have made it.

They struggled around the bend, and the house loomed ahead of them. Or maybe
loomed
wasn't the right word for something that was tumbling down into itself as if from the sheer weight of unhappiness it had seen.

“Joey!” She coughed a little on the intake of cold air. “Joey, are you here? Answer me!”

The snow seemed to muffle her call, and nothing else broke the silence.

“Joey Bascom!” Grant added his voice to hers. “Where are you?”

He looked at her, eyes questioning. “It doesn't
look disturbed, and it definitely doesn't look safe. Maybe we're on the wrong track.”

“No.” Improbable as it was, a sense of certainty swept through her. “He's here. I know he's here.”

“Maggie—”

She pushed forward, closer to the place she'd never wanted to see again. “We have to check. We can't come this far and just walk away.”

He followed her, and she felt his doubts. Did he think she was clinging to straws?

He brushed past her, leaning forward to peer into a broken window. “The whole roof is down, Maggie. There's not much shelter.”

“He's here.” She scrambled forward to grab at what had been exposed by Grant's movement. “Look.” She pulled the toboggan free of the snow.

In a moment Grant had pushed away the rotted door and climbed into the house. He reached back a hand for her.

“Here, but where? Joey!”

He wasn't saying the thing he feared. That Joey didn't answer because he couldn't. That they were too late.

“The root cellar.” She shoved past him, heading for the old summer kitchen. “He could shelter there.” She had, more times than she cared to remember.

She yanked at the door, then stumbled down the three steps, jerking the flashlight from her pocket. “Joey?”

“There.” Grant jumped down the steps, rushed to
the side wall where a whole section of shelves had fallen. Beneath the shelves—

“Joey!” She couldn't breathe as she stumbled across to him. He was so still, so white.
Father—

Grant dropped to his knees, shoving the wooden shelves out of his way.

She dropped next to him, and she had to fight to hold the light steady on Joey's face. “Is he—”

Grant's hands moved swiftly and surely over the child's body. Then he looked up, and his smile blazed. “He's breathing.”

“Thank God.” Her tears spilled over, but she smiled back at him, feeling an instant of perfect harmony, perfect gratitude. “Thank God.”

G
rant turned his attention firmly to the boy. That was the thing to do—think of him as any anonymous patient who'd been brought into the emergency room. Don't think of the little boy whose eyes had filled with wonder at the sight of that red toboggan. That way lay weakness, and he couldn't afford to be weak.

He cleared the debris carefully away from the child's shoulder and head. The arm lay at a bad angle.

“Looks like a dislocated elbow.” He ran his hands along the boy's arms. “I don't think there's a break, but I'd like to see an X ray.”

Maggie was checking pulse and respiration. “Vitals look good. If he's been unconscious—”

She didn't finish that sentence, probably because at that moment Joey's eyelids flickered and opened.

“Maggie,” he whispered. “Doc.” He managed a smile. “I was asleep. I dreamed you came.”

“Looks like your dream came true.” Maggie
touched his cheek gently. She sounded perfectly calm, as if they hadn't been hovering on the razor edge of disaster a few moments earlier.

“You'd better call this in.” His voice was sharper than he intended it to be. “We'll need some help getting him out of here.”

She sent him a questioning look, then nodded and moved toward the steps as she pulled out the cell phone. As he checked the child over carefully, he listened to the joy in her voice.

Maggie was happy. Resentment knifed its way into his thoughts. Had she forgotten so quickly why they were in this mess? If Jason—

He stopped, appalled at himself. This wasn't Jason. He looked at the boy, and for a moment the face in front of him wavered. It almost looked like his brother's face from so long ago.

No.
What had made him think such a crazy thing? This was Joey.

Maggie came back, slipping the phone into her pocket. “They'll be here in a few minutes.” She smiled at Joey. “We'll have you snug and warm in no time.”

He touched the child's forehead. “I can't figure out why he's not colder than he is. He's been exposed to the weather for hours.”

Joey wiggled a little. “It's not so cold in here. I remembered what Maggie said about the root cellar.”

He glanced at her, lifting his eyebrows. “Root cellar?”

“We always kept vegetables in the root cellar in
the winter. It's underground, so it stays at an even temperature. Joey was pretty smart to remember that.”

“You were pretty smart to realize he might be here.” He sat back on his heels, trying for a normal tone of voice. He wouldn't think about that moment when he'd confused Joey with his brother. Nor about his anger with her for getting them into this mess to begin with. He'd stay coolly professional.

Something changed in her face, just for a second. “I used to hide here.”

Joey might think she meant as a game. He knew better. Maggie was talking about hiding from her father.

The images battered at him—Maggie cowering in a dirty corner. Maggie shivering, waiting for the door to burst open. He tried futilely to push the thoughts away. He seemed to have no emotional barricades left. He hated that.

The roar of a snowmobile motor broke the silence. Someone shouted from outside, and Maggie hurried up the steps.

“Here,” she called. “We're here.”

In moments the tiny cellar was filled to overflowing with people, pushing out all the ugly images.

“We brought the rescue truck, Doc.” The barber/ fire chief carried a litter down the steps. “We can put the litter on one of the snowmobiles to get him out to it.”

He started to say they'd better carry the litter, and then remembered their struggle through the knee-deep
snow to get here. The man was right. That would be safer.

“Good.” He reached for the kit, but one of the volunteers already had a neck collar ready to put in his hand. “We'll immobilize his neck and arm first.”

It was reassuring to have familiar equipment at hand, comforting to go through the familiar movements. He could block out those moments when he'd seen his brother's face on Joey. When he'd seen a small Maggie cowering in the corner, weak and afraid.

In minutes they were ready to transport. Willing hands seized the litter and bore it gently to the waiting snowmobile. The motor purred. The driver moved off slowly and carefully with his precious cargo, several volunteers walking on either side.

He started to follow, but someone hustled him onto another waiting snowmobile. How had they all gotten here so quickly? The once-deserted area around the derelict house teemed with people, all trying to do something to help.

His snowmobile driver roared through the woods, apparently feeling no need to go slowly with him. He dismounted at the emergency truck and pulled open the rear door. Before he could do more than glance inside, another snowmobile roared to a stop next to him. Maggie got off, lifting her hand in thanks as the driver swung around.

“I want Joey taken straight to the nearest hospital,” he said. “We'll ride with him.”

Maggie shoved wet bangs out of her face. “That's not a good idea.”

His jaw tightened until it felt as if it would break. As usual, Maggie seemed to think she knew better than he did.

“This is no time to worry about someone finding out about the Bascoms.”

She blinked. “That never entered my mind.” She lifted her hands. “Look around. The snow hasn't let up—if anything, it's worse. The chopper won't fly in this, and the roads are bound to be bad. Jostling him along forty miles of slippery roads isn't going to help a dislocated elbow.”

“He needs more sophisticated care than we can provide.”

Was that the reason? What was wrong with him, that he'd let his professional judgment be hampered by this place and these people?

Maggie looked at him gravely, as if she knew what was going on beneath the surface.

She couldn't know. No one could.

The snowmobile with the litter pulled up. All he could see was Joey's small face as they lifted him into the van. Joey's face. Not Jason. Joey.

Maggie stepped closer. “Grant.” She lowered her voice. “He really is better off at the clinic.”

He didn't want this. He didn't have a choice. He gave a curt nod and climbed into the back of the van.

 

Maggie paused outside the clinic door a few hours later, taking a breath, lifting an almost wordless
prayer. Joey had been treated with Grant's usual skill, and he was safely tucked up in bed with Aunt Elly in attendance and half the village running in and out bringing food or offering to watch the other children. Crisis over, she should be able to relax.

But she couldn't. Aside from every other worry, something was wrong with Grant. She'd felt his tension, so strong it vibrated through the room the entire time he'd taken care of Joey. Felt it, but not understood it.

Help me, Lord. I don't know what's going on within Grant. Show me how to help him.

She opened the door and went inside.

Grant stood at the desk, his head bent, hands braced on its surface. He'd changed into dry slacks and a gray sweater, and he should have looked warm, dry and relieved. He didn't.

Please, Lord.

“Joey's tucked into bed and nearly asleep. One more story from Aunt Elly should do it.”

Grant turned his head to look at her, and the inimical expression in his eyes nearly stopped her heart.

“Why are you looking like that?” The question came out involuntarily. “He's all right. You should be happy.”

“Happy?” His voice rose, and he took a step toward her. “I don't see much to be happy about in this situation.”

“But he's all right,” she repeated, not sure what else to say. Was he still worried that Joey needed more sophisticated care than they could provide?
“You did everything they'd have done if we'd taken him to the hospital. He couldn't have received better care than you gave him.”

“That's not the point. Don't you see that we can't be responsible for these children? Today should have made you face reality. Don't you realize that Jason could have died out there?”

For a moment she could only stare at him. “Joey. Not Jason.” Then, as if a curtain had been pulled back, she knew. “Jason was your brother.”

He looked gaunt suddenly, as if all the life and strength had been drawn out of him. “Joey. I meant Joey.”

She'd asked God how to help him. Perhaps she was hearing the answer.

“Joey reminds you of your brother, doesn't he?”

“No.” His mouth tightened. “They're totally different.”

“Externally, maybe. But something about Joey still reminds you of him.” She took a step, closing the gap between them, and put her hand on his arm. It felt like wood beneath her fingers. “Tell me, Grant. What happened to Jason?”

His face was so rigid it was a wonder he could move his lips. “He died. Childhood leukemia.”

Her heart hurt for him. “I'm so sorry.”

“That was a long time ago. It doesn't have anything to do with what's happening now.”

“Maybe it shouldn't, but it does.” A certainty that could only come from God pushed her on. “For some
reason, you relate to Joey in the way you did to your brother. And you don't want to.”

“No, I don't want to!” His reserve broke, so suddenly that the wave of emotion nearly knocked her off balance. “I can't. I can't be a decent doctor if I let myself see Jason in every child I treat.”

He tried to turn away, but she tightened her grasp, holding him. She couldn't let him retreat from this. Once he went back behind those protective barriers, he'd never come out again.

“You can't be a decent doctor if you're afraid to care.”

“You sound like Dr. Rawlins. That was why he talked me into coming here. He thought I'd find some passion for my patients here.” His hands clenched. “He thought Button Gap would make me open up. It's just shown me I was right all along.”

“No.” She wanted to shake him, as if that would make him see how painfully wrong he was. “You can't shut yourself off from people because you're afraid to lose them the way you lost your brother.”

He whitened. She'd probably gone too far, but she couldn't stop now.

“You can't live that way, Grant.” Her voice went soft, almost trembling with her need to reach him. “No one can.”

His mouth curled in a mirthless smile. “Sure they can. My parents have been doing it for years.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother uses her social whirl, my father uses
his business. They haven't felt a thing since the day we buried my brother.”

She'd thought she already hurt as much as she could for him, but that revelation sliced into her heart. They hadn't felt a thing for him, the child they had left. “Who comforted you?” Not his parents, that was clear.

“I didn't need comforting. I don't need it now. I just need to—”

“What? Stop caring? Stop grieving? You can't shut other people out of your life.”

He probably hadn't ever truly grieved for his loss. How could he, when his parents had blocked themselves off from caring? Her heart wept for him.

He shook her hand off, his face a mask of denied pain. “Leave it alone, Maggie. You're not exactly an advertisement for relying on other people yourself.”

She felt as if he'd hit her. She caught her breath and fought to be honest, knowing only honesty could possibly reach him.

“Maybe so. I've been so determined not to be weak, like my mother was, that I couldn't accept help.”

Why couldn't you be strong, Mama? Why couldn't you protect me?
She struggled for control.

“Don't you see, Grant? That's something taking care of those kids made me face. I had to have help, and I got it. Button Gap didn't let me down—not when I was eleven, and not today.”

“You belong here,” he said stubbornly. “I don't.
In a few more days, I won't have Button Gap. I'll be back in my real life.”

“Back to helping people only when you can do it from a safe distance? Back to letting your white coat insulate you from caring?”

“That's my choice.”

They'd come full circle. It
was
his choice.

“You're right.” She clasped her hands to keep from reaching out to him. He didn't want her touch. “You can go straight back into that hard, cold shell of yours. It'll keep you safe from anything raw or painful. You can just go on blaming God.”

A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw, the only sign a living human being existed behind the mask he wore. Maybe she'd probed the sorest spot of all.

“If God is there, He could have saved Jason.” Implacable. He couldn't give an inch.

God alone knew the answer to that hard question. He knew, too, how much she'd struggled with it. Why did the innocent suffer? Maybe everyone had to deal with that one alone.

“God is there.” Tears stung her eyes. “I don't know why your brother died, but I know God was there, holding him in His hands. I know God is ready to help you deal with it, if you'll let Him.”

His face was closed and barred against her. “I don't want Him to. I don't need help. Not from Him. Not from you.”

He grabbed his jacket and slammed his way out of the clinic. The door seemed to close on her heart.

She'd tried. She'd failed. Grant was lost to her for good. Worse, she was afraid he was lost to the only One who could help him.

 

By the time he stopped reacting and started thinking, Grant realized he'd walked to the edge of the village. He hadn't bothered to zip his jacket, and the cold air seemed to permeate his very bones.

He zipped the jacket, pulling the collar up. He should go back. The snow had stopped falling, finally, but dusk was drawing in. This was no time to be out on a cold, lonely lane in the middle of nowhere.