Each Shining Hour (13 page)

“That's not a problem. Invite her to come along. Since she's new to town, it might make her feel more welcome.”

“Actually, that's a wonderful idea, but it sounds like a real imposition.”

Christine's smile returned. “Not at all. Grandmamma is frying up a big batch of chicken. There will be more than plenty. We always gather a crowd for Sunday lunch. Mr. Pilkington and his wife will be there and everyone pretty much just eats and laughs and eats some more till the last person falls unconscious.”

“You're sure it's okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fair enough. We'll be there shortly after one o'clock.”

We parted and I grabbed my coat, shaking hands with Joe Dawson on the way out the door. I liked him. We were approximately the same age, although he had a wife and two children.

“Thanks for visiting with us today, Luke.”

“Enjoyed it, Joe. Good to be here.”

I departed down the steps, made my way to the Corolla, and headed home. I envisioned a delightful, lazy winter Sunday afternoon ahead of me. I couldn't have been more mistaken.

Sunday Lunch

A
fter stopping by the house to make a quick change into some jeans, I drove over to the clinic and arrived thirty minutes early. Fortunately, Ann Patterson was already there, waiting outside in her SUV.

I had worked with travel nurses before but only in large hospitals where they were part of a cast of thousands. This was quite a different matter. Other than the EMTs at the fire station, Ann Patterson and I would be the only medical professionals in Watervalley, working together day in and day out. If the chemistry was bad, it could make a misery of the daily routine. But we had seemed to click well over the phone, and my gut feeling was that we would get along fine.

She exited her car and walked toward me. A neatly attractive woman in her early fifties, she had dark brown hair and brown eyes under wire-rim glasses. Her skin had an olive complexion, almost Middle Eastern. She was of average size and carried herself in an attentive and assured manner. When she spoke, her voice was a blend of cordial and matter-of-fact.

“Luke Bradford?”

“Yes, you must be Ann?”

“Good to meet you, Dr. Bradford.”

“‘Luke' is fine.”

“Fair enough.” She studied me for a moment. “You look younger than I imagined.”

At first I wasn't sure how to respond. Ann stood there with a polite smile, but it was clear she was sizing me up. It occurred to me that a seasoned RN like her had probably worked in hospitals with dozens of residents fumbling through their rounds, trying their best to put on a dignified and knowledgeable air of authority. No doubt she had seen plenty of the likes of me. But there was a flip side; I had seen plenty of the likes of her.

I smiled and responded, “Should I show you some ID?”

“No, no. I'm sorry. That probably didn't come out right.”

Her response was genuine, but lacked that effusive and accommodating cordiality that I had grown accustomed to in Watervalley.

“I guess it's not very fair, is it?” I said. “The travel nurse interview process tells me everything about you and your background, but you get to know very little about me.”

“Actually, that's not completely true. I did some checking. I understand you finished first in your med school class.”

“Well, that would be true. But I cheated a lot.”

Ann laughed. “For some reason I don't believe that.”

I nodded. “Come on, let's get out of the cold so I can give you the grand tour.”

In a matter of minutes we went over the clinic's facilities, taking in the exam rooms, the supplies, and the medical equipment—or, rather, the lack thereof. Ann absorbed all of this attentively, offering only a few brief comments. She was a pleasant woman,
somewhat reserved and undoubtedly very professional. She was not only an RN but also a nurse-practitioner who could do assessments and prescribe medications within some limitations. As well, she was certified in midwifery. Watervalley and I were getting a real deal.

We finished and sat in my office, where I briefly discussed the logistics of her work. I did my best to assure her that while there was no formal orientation, I would do my best to help her adjust to the rhythm and rituals of small-town clinic practice. This seemed to set her at ease. Even still, I had to admit, despite her amiable manner, she was something of a difficult read.

She was definitely an old-school RN, the kind who had endured the earlier decades of demigod doctors who lorded their rarefied knowledge straight down their noses to lowly nurses—nurses who had developed thick skins without losing their soft touch. In the short vernacular, she was a smart angel of mercy who had been taught not to take crap off anybody.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost one o'clock.

“Listen, we've been invited to Sunday lunch with one of the local families. I know it's kind of sudden, but it would be a wonderful way for you to get to know a little bit about Watervalley. Since tomorrow is New Year's Eve, it's only a half day of work and should be slow. We can continue with your orientation in the morning and you can meet the staff.”

Ann considered this a moment and then responded with a brief shrug. “Sure.”

I locked up and Ann followed me in her SUV out to Summerfield Road.

She was a short distance behind me as I was about to make the right-hand turn onto Christine's driveway. That's when I noticed a familiar truck barreling straight at me.

It was John.

After I made my turn, he whipped the truck abruptly in behind me, cutting off Ann and causing her to slam on the brakes. The three of us convoyed down the long drive and parked in the front yard. John tumbled out of the truck and walked toward me, offering only a disgruntled glance toward Ann's SUV. He was dressed in khakis and a flannel shirt.

“Well, sawbones. Looks like you made the lunch invite list also.”

“Hi, John. How did you score a ticket for a free meal?”

“Hey, I'm still the brother-in-law. Madeline caught me on the church steps.”

“See, being Mr. Nice Guy is starting to pay dividends.”

“It's a meal, not a lottery win. Who's that in the Chevy?”

By now Ann was approaching us and regarding John sternly.

“Ann, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Dr. John Harris. He's a retired chemical engineer. John, this is Ann Patterson, nurse-practitioner. She is the new nurse at the clinic.”

While I spoke, John was studying Ann, collecting the details with a mild indifference. “Oh, yeah. The traveler. Well, welcome to Watervalley.”

Ann looked small, diminutive even, standing next to John's imposing six-foot-plus frame and commanding presence. That was, until she spoke.

“Hello, Dr. Harris. Do you always drive like an idiot?”

John's neck stiffened. He stared at her, flat faced, obviously taken aback by her directness. Then his eyes grew soft and calculating. He looked at me with a wry grin and then back at Ann.

“Charmed.” With that, he gave a slight nod and turned to walk away. “See you inside, sport.”

Ann and I stood there for an awkward moment, watching John depart toward the steps.

“He's an acquired taste,” I said.

She grinned lightly and looked to the side. “Yeah, I know the type. I can already envision the duct tape over his mouth.”

We proceeded to the porch, where Christine's mother met us at the door. Madeline was a small, attractive, and gracious woman who embodied the genteel nature found in Southerners who came from generational money. Yet, with Madeline there was none of the haughty exclusivity so often packaged in the mix. She clasped my hand between both of hers.

“Luke, it's wonderful to see you again. I am so glad you are joining us.”

I introduced Ann, and in much the same way, Madeline greeted her warmly.

We moved into the large living room, where further introductions were made: Angus and Amelia Pilkington, and Mattie Chambers. John had poured himself a cup of coffee and stood on the periphery, reserved and distant, still stinging apparently from his sharp encounter with Ann.

Despite John's remoteness, there seemed to be no limit to the good spirits of this small gathering. Everyone welcomed Ann enthusiastically, even Christine's grandmother, who was outfitted in blue jeans, gumshoes, and an orange UT sweatshirt. Conversely, she still regarded me with a withering glare, as if I were lowbred, dirty, and had bad teeth.

Eventually I maneuvered over to John. “Beautiful place, isn't it?”

“Yeah, my brother-in-law, Al, built it.”

“What was he like, anyway?” I had wanted to know more
about Christine's deceased father, but had thought it an awkward topic to pursue on our first day together.

“Albert was a class act. We were always friends, but not tight. He was a little older than me. Got his master's in agriculture from Tennessee and then came right back to Watervalley and took over the family dairy farm. He was smart, progressive, real down-to-earth. You'd have liked him.”

I nodded, absorbing John's words. After a brief moment, he spoke again.

“So, that's the new nurse, huh?” He was staring across the room at Ann, who was engaged in conversation with Christine and Madeline.

“Yes. That would be her.” Given their first encounter, I was unsure of what else to say.

“Well. She's certainly a piece of work. Did she bring her flying monkeys with her?”

“Not sure. Should I ask?”

John sipped his coffee. “Eh, probably best to play wait and see on that one.”

“Yeah. Smart call.”

“Humph. Well, it could be worse, I guess.”

“How's that?”

“She could be ugly, too.”

I nodded, making no further comment, but John's words told a story. My entire focus toward Ann was professional, and while I would easily describe her as attractive, it appeared that her small frame and schoolgirl figure had clearly sparked something in John. Apparently, his blood still had some warmth in it.

I spoke briefly with Angus and Amelia, struck by their polite friendliness. Angus's twinkling eyes said he was glad to see me back at the farm.

Eventually, we all took seats at the long dining room table. While I greatly preferred to sit next to Christine, I had no sooner taken a chair than Ann arrived to my right and John corralled the chair to my left. Christine was down and across the way, with her grandmother sitting directly across from me, firing sharp looks of disapproval in my direction.

Madeline asked Angus to say the blessing, and afterward, the group erupted into a hubbub of conversation and plate passing. The ritual of Sunday lunch was in full swing.

Christine spoke across the table. “So, Ann. Where were you before taking this assignment?”

“I was in Asheville for several years, where I worked and went back to school. I was able to get my master's and my certification in midwifery.”

“That's good to know, Miss Ann,” Angus interjected. “I can give you a call if one of the cows is having a rough delivery.”

Ann responded with a good-natured grin. “Actually, that wouldn't be a problem. I grew up on a dairy farm in Pennsylvania.”

John immediately responded in a detached voice, “So, you're an advanced-practice nurse . . . meaning, you can run a Code Blue?”

“Yes, that's correct,” responded Ann.

It was the setup John was looking for. “Well, Angus. Looks like she can also give mouth-to-snout resuscitation to a dying cow if need be.”

The group chuckled lightly and John resumed his slightly smug demeanor.

Ann chewed quietly for a moment. Then she responded lightly, “I'm better suited to doing CPR on humans. Of course, in your case, John, I'd probably just opt for declaring time of death.”

This evoked a wave of laughter, including a restrained chuckle
from John. But I could see him sullenly contemplating a return volley. Fortunately, Angus jumped in first.

“You see there, Dr. Bradford. Even your new assistant has milked cows. Matter of fact, John here milked some during his high school days.”

I turned an inquiring eye toward John, who didn't look up from his food. “Guilty as charged. As I remember, though, it had more to do with a certain brunette who lived here rather than the pay.”

This enlisted a series of comments, during which Ann leaned over to me and said, “Divorced?”

“Widowed,” I whispered.

Angus implored me again. “So, Doctor. The invitation still stands to come help with the milking this afternoon.”

I swallowed hard and looked around the table at the curious faces awaiting my response. “Thanks, Angus, but I think I'll continue to enjoy my status as the token nonfarmhand in the group.”

A round of cajoling and laughter followed.

Madeline came to my rescue. “Luke, it was delightful to see you in church today. How did you like the service?”

“Very much. I really like Joe Dawson. Choir didn't sound too bad either.”

I shot a wry grin toward Christine, who smiled discreetly at me.

“I did notice something curious, however. There was a small brass plaque dated 1943 on the pew with Oscar Fox's name on it. That seemed odd given his nefarious reputation.”

Christine's grandmother responded, “It was during the war, Jasper.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Meanwhile, Ann spoke to me from behind her napkin.

“Jasper?” she whispered.

“Don't ask.”

Mattie Chambers continued. “The church was doing anything it could to raise money for the Red Cross, so it auctioned off church pews. They didn't replace them, mind you. It was just a way to encourage people to fork over some cash, which there wasn't much of in those days. It was a throwback to an earlier year when the church raised money to buy new pews by putting up brass nameplates honoring the donors.”

It amazed me how Mattie's mild dementia gave free passage to seventy-year-old memories, but brought recent ones to a grinding halt. She continued in her raspy, unvarnished voice, “Oscar Fox has always gotten a bad rap. He was a generous man. He had money, although you'd never know it by the way he lived. Things were tight during the war. He loaned my dad money so he could plant wheat and tobacco. Didn't demand a cent till after the harvest was in. They were good friends. Everyone thought Oscar was buried in the family cemetery because Daddy was an elder in the Presbyterian church. They thought it was a kind gesture, and, well, I guess it was. But Daddy told me in later years that Oscar saved the farm.”

“Grandmamma, I never knew this,” Christine said. “You've never told this story about Oscar Fox.”

“Oscar was considered a pretty evil character after that bloody murder. It just wasn't the sort of thing Daddy wanted to talk about. Nobody really knows what happened or why, and probably nobody ever will.”

Madeline followed her mother-in-law's comments, speaking in her kind, elegant way. “It is a real shame. There's always been a stigma in the community around the Fox family. It seems such an unfair burden for something that happened decades and generations ago.”