Tying the Knot (34 page)

Noah stood. “What else?”

“I need my medical kit. And a flashlight. And, let’s see, a towel. We need to immobilize his spine.”

“Oh no.”

Anne stood and gripped Noah’s shoulder. “It’s just a precaution. I’ll need sleeping bags, at least two, and sturdy poles—use paddles—to make a gurney.” Her touch must have galvanized him, for the look in his eyes steadied. “I think his leg is broken. I need Bucko and Katie. Tell the others to stay away. The last thing we need is for the campers to go into shock.”

Noah nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

“And, Noah—” she turned back to Darrin, her chest tight—“tell the others to pray.”

He scrabbled away as she knelt and rubbed her knuckles against Darrin’s sternum. “C’mon, pal, give me a pain reflex.”

Yes! The kid jerked involuntarily. So maybe his spine wasn’t crushed.
Please, God, give me wisdom. Help me think.

Katie ran up, the beam from her flashlight flickering against trees and the jagged rock face. She skidded to her knees and dropped the medical pack next to Anne. “How is he?”

Anne shook her head. She dug out her stethoscope and scissors and cut open Darrin’s shirt. “Point the flashlight on his chest.” Anne listened for sounds of breathing, abnormal heart rhythm. She probed his chest and his abdomen for spasms or broken ribs. “Give me the flashlight.” She scanned his body, looking for darker patches that might indicate internal bleeding. “I don’t know.”

She handed the light back to Katie and leaned over Darrin, speaking loudly. “Darrin, can you hear me?” She opened his eyes. Reactive pupils. A hint of relief tugged at her.

Footsteps thumped down the path. Noah emerged, holding a flashlight angled away, lighting the path. His face was a mess of emotions, sweat dripped off his chin. “Is he still alive?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the towel and dug in her kit for an Ace bandage. “Where’s Bucko?”

“Here.” His voice pushed through the foliage ahead of him. A second later he appeared, looking like a grizzly. She was instantly glad she hadn’t been on top of the cliff, witnessing Bucko’s confrontation with George.

“Okay, listen. We need to immobilize him, put him onto a board to keep him stable.”

Silence.

She turned, seeing the fear on their stark faces.
Keep them busy.
“We can do this. I need you all to take deep breaths and do everything I say. Get me something to keep his spine straight.” She looked at Noah and wished for a second that she could rewind time and cling to him one second longer, one more golden moment to strengthen them. “Where are the paddles? Katie, Noah, run and get all the paddles you can.”

Noah dropped a towel at her feet, turned, and sprinted into the darkness. Anne heart’s spiraled after him, wishing she could ease his pain.

She cut the towel, ripped it in half, folded it into a long rectangle, then eased it under Darrin’s neck, winding it around as best she could, careful not to make it too tight. Then she unwound the Ace bandage and repeated the gesture.

Darrin didn’t stir.

“Here are the paddles!” Katie burst out of the darkness, holding two paddles.

“Okay, listen. We’ve got to support his spine. We’re going to turn him slowly so I can get one of these under him. Katie, you take his hips and keep him straight. Bucko, I need you on his chest. All hands at once, on the count of three.”

Anne braced Darrin’s head. “Please, God, make this smooth.”

Bucko sucked in his breath, kneeling beside the broken Darrin.

“One. Two. Three.”

In one slick movement, they rolled Darrin on his side. Anne had the paddle in place in seconds. “Roll back.” They settled Darrin on the handle. Anne could hear Katie sniffle as Anne secured Darrin’s head with medical tape. “Katie. We need more paddles. Four of them, at least, to make a back board. Go.”

Katie wiped her tears on her sweatshirt and raced off into the night again.

Anne became more tortured with every moment Darrin stayed unconscious. “Wake up, pal, please.”

“Are these enough?” Noah was back with a handful of paddles. Katie ran beside him, breathing like a windstorm.

“Yes.” Anne rubbed her head, trying to think. “Make me a back board.”

“Right.” Noah dropped them on the ground with a clatter that made Anne wince. Moving like a man under fire, he shoved them side by side, four in a row, opposite ends together, with another at the top and bottom. “Will tape work?”

Anne handed him the medical tape, thankful to see the color had returned to his face. His expression was a grim line of fierceness that told her he wasn’t going to let Darrin fade without a fight. “Leave room in the middle for the paddle along his spine.”

Noah readjusted the paddles, then deftly taped them together.

“And a sleeping bag,” Anne added.

He reached into the pile he’d dumped at Anne’s feet earlier and tugged a bag out of a stuff sack.

“Good. He needs to keep warm.” Anne helped him spread out the bag over the paddles. “Now, let’s roll him on. Bucko? On three, again.”

Katie and Bucko manned their positions, their faces strained. They rolled him again, this time settling the back board underneath him.

Anne felt a surge of relief when Darrin groaned. “Darrin? Buddy? Wake up.” She tapped him lightly on the face. He didn’t move. “I gotta take a look at his leg.” It pained her to see the grotesque angle of his left leg. At best, a simple fracture; at worst, compound.

She cut open his pant legs and wanted to cry aloud at what she saw. His thigh was swollen nearly spherical in shape, the thigh muscles in spasm—obvious indications of a femur fracture. If she didn’t splint it, with traction, the bone ends could overlap, dig into the muscle, and cause not only pain but more internal damage. Even if his neck wasn’t broken and his organs weren’t bleeding, this femur fracture could send the kid into shock and kill him.

“Darrin needs to be airlifted out.” She left the “or he’ll die” part off but read in Noah’s grim expression that he understood. Noah crouched beside her. He wore only his sweatshirt and swim shorts, and the night had laced the air with chill.

For the first time, she noticed her own damp clothes and started to shiver. “I need to get him into traction.” She gripped Noah’s shoulder. His tortured gaze found hers. “Call for help.”

“I can’t get a signal on the cell. I don’t know what’s wrong. When I came through here this spring it worked fine.”

She refused to surrender to despair. “We can’t carry him out, Noah. He won’t make it. Not with that leg injury and the possible trauma to his spinal cord.”

“I know.” He stood up, a veritable wall of guts and desperation against the dark hues of night. “I’ll go for help. Pastor Dan and some other volunteers from town are on standby. They’ll be here as soon as I can get ahold of them. You just keep him alive.”

Anne nodded.

Noah turned to go but stopped at Bucko. “Get the kids together and pray. I’ll be back with help to take them all home.”

Noah had done two things right. He’d found his boots and he’d grabbed a flashlight. As the night sky pressed down on him and a million eyes watched him paddle across the inky lake into the darkness ahead, Noah fought the demons roaring about his soul.

Why hadn’t he seen it coming? Anne surely had. Thundercloud Annie. He grimaced at the way he’d teased her. She’d warned him from the first that these street kids couldn’t shake their colors. Not their gang colors at least. He wanted to scream, to punch something hard. Instead, he forced power into his paddling and prayed with every stroke.

He nearly ran with his canoe up the stairway portage, the link between Rose and Hungry Jack Lakes. He made record time across the second lake, adrenaline numbing his body against the cold and ache in his shoulders.

Please, God, don’t let Darrin die!

Noah rammed his canoe onto the shore. Throwing his paddle onto shore, he climbed out. Before he hoisted the canoe, he dug out his cell phone.
Please, work. Please. I need a signal.

The phone had juice . . . and as the light blinked on, praise God, the signal flickered. He turned and the signal kicked in. Noah dialed with shaky hands, guessing it was about midnight.

“Hello?” Dan’s voice, groggy, but so beautifully clear.

“Dan, it’s me. We’ve had an accident.”

Thank the Lord, Dan was a man of action. As a volunteer firefighter, he knew how to jump-start his common sense and make a frontal attack on a problem. As a pastor, he did it bathed in prayer.

“Where are you?”

“I’m on the Hungry Jack portage, headed toward Bearskin Lake. I need a helicopter. Can you call Dr. Simpson?” From his research, he knew Deep Haven had one very ancient medical chopper, an early BO-105 Eurocopter donated by Duluth’s St. Margaret’s Hospital. “One of our campers is down, and I need him airlifted now.”

“Right. Okay. What campsite?”

“We’re at the cliffs on Rose Lake.”

Dan’s silence hurt. “Okay,” he said softly. “Consider it done. I’ll meet you at the Bearskin put-in.”

Noah nearly ran the portage to Bearskin Lake. Kneeling in the middle of his canoe, he paddled until his arms burned and sweat beaded along his spine. The night wind, frigid and suddenly violent, tangled his hair and fought his progress. He leaned into the breeze, smelling storm.
Please, God, protect them. Give Anne wisdom.

What would he have done without her? She’d attacked the tragedy like a she-bear, a direct assault on death. Relief swept through Noah when she ordered him to get paddles. His utter helplessness had almost knocked him to his knees.

Thank the Lord, the churches had demanded her presence. Obviously others had seen past his enthusiasm to the realities of dragging twenty gangbangers out of the hood and into the wilderness. Seen the danger. The foolishness. One of them had been Anne. Why hadn’t he listened to her?

Noah plowed into the water, his own stupidity fueling his efforts. Anne had been totally correct, and if he had half a brain he would have listened to her warnings. Hope had fogged his common sense, waved him off like a red flag to a bull. He’d certainly charged right into danger.

Just like he’d charged right into a relationship with a lady who didn’t want him.
Wanted,
she’d said. Past tense verb. Even though she’d kissed him, told him she loved him, it didn’t mean she would follow him back to her nightmares. He couldn’t ask that of her. He hadn’t stopped to think what his profession would do to a woman simply seeking peace. Hadn’t she told him that night as he stood on the porch of her little cottage that all she wanted was somewhere safe to live?

Oh, what an idiot. A heartless, selfish jerk. He’d kissed her. He’d wanted more. All she had to give. But what was he willing to give her? His future? His profession? His calling?

His chest clenched at the thought. At the agony of wanting someone so badly and knowing that he couldn’t have her. Not unless God released him from his commitment. Not unless he surrendered everything he was, everything he’d hoped to accomplish.

Then again, so far what had he accomplished? The list seemed pretty pathetic. He’d managed to endanger the lives of twenty kids, to trap a young woman into facing her worst fears, and to permanently scar the barely beating organ in his chest.

The worst part was that he’d done it all without telling Anne how he felt. How he longed to be near her, just to see her smile, every moment of the day. How, when he thought about the future, he couldn’t imagine her not in it, working so in tune with him that he wouldn’t know where he stopped and she started.
I love you.
Yes, it had been on the edge of his lips, bubbling out from the most terrified, most hopeful recesses of his heart. He loved her—utterly, hopelessly, forever.

He’d known it the day she’d floored it into his camp, spent the day helping him construct his dreams, and sat with him in front of a crackling fire. Knew, even then, that Anne Lundstrom was the miracle he’d been waiting for his entire life.

But before he’d been able to force out the truth, lay his heart out in the open, she’d looked at him, her love clear and full and beckoning in her eyes, and he’d melted. He’d let his emotions run right over his words, and he’d kissed her. Without promises. Without any verbal vulnerability.

Oh, he was a real winner.

And he shouldn’t forget—she was afraid of him. Or at least had been. She’d never answered him, and for some reason that omission sliced through him. Wanted. Afraid. Right now, their future seemed as iffy as Darrin’s life.

The shore loomed closer, a dent in the haze of black treescape. Noah arrowed for it.

Maybe this accident was a giant “get real” from God. Noah Standing Bear, wake up and smell the looming antiseptic. Anne Lundstrom had a future here . . . Noah did not. If this accident didn’t make that painfully clear, he hated to guess what God would use to get his attention. All he needed now was for his campers to draw lines in the dirt and drag out the Glocks they’d probably brought along and hidden in their packs.

Trust Me.
The words beat inside him, keeping tune with his pounding heart. Noah’s throat thickened, unable to scrape up a response. It wasn’t God who was inadequate . . . it was him.