Tying the Knot (24 page)

Trust Me.

17

The wind tangled Anne’s hair through the open window of her SUV as she drove down to Deep Haven. Lake Superior spread out like an indigo carpet, dotted with bobbing white gulls. Rimming the carpet stood a lush line of evergreens. The town—quaint shops and antique houses—was tucked into a fir-lined pocket like window dressing, an afterthought of landscaping.

Riding in the backseat like the queen of Sheba, Bertha shoved her snout in between Anne and the window, battling for air. The dog licked Anne’s neck and she laughed, feeling her tension begin to loosen. She’d done the right thing dragging her duffel bag back to the cook’s shack last night. Somehow sitting by the dark lake listening to a lonely loon seemed wiser than searching for Edith’s dirt road in a dark clasp of trees, stumbling through a rutted path to her cabin, and crying herself to sleep in an unmade, cold bed.

She could do that just fine in her cot, to the sound of trees scratching the rafters.

But in the light of day, she knew she needed supplies—and perspective. She hoped a firm chat with Dr. Simpson about her definite future at the hospital would give her reason to turn the SUV toward camp at the end of the day.

A reason beyond Noah Standing Bear and his deceitfully winsome grin.

She couldn’t deny that Noah had a God-honoring idea. Thoughts of her father’s faith, the way he risked it all—even his family—for the sake of the gospel, made her both hate and admire him. But she couldn’t be called to do the same thing. She didn’t have a heart for these lost kids—they made her jumpy, tense, and downright hostile.

Noah had called her a thundercloud—but she’d become a tree-whipping, hail-and-pelting-rain, finger-of-God tornado if that’s what it took to shake Noah loose from this insanity.

She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and realized she was gritting her teeth. Anne reached over and popped in a CD of Vanessa-Mae. Her violin magic swelled through the vehicle and drowned Anne’s turbulent thoughts.

Deep Haven Municipal Hospital hosted three cars in the parking lot—Sandra’s, Dr. Simpson’s, and one unknown. She should have guessed that they would be on call this weekend. Anne wondered if Dr. Jefferies was on shift today as she lowered the windows and left Bertha in the car. He might not have Noah’s charisma, but the doctor certainly had a smile at which most girls would look twice. Perhaps when the summer was over, she would have recovered her footing enough after the Standing Bear disaster to consider the Dr. Jefferies option. If she survived the next six weeks without getting knifed, shot, or beat up, that is. As she trotted into the hospital, her own cynicism made her grimace.

Sandra was manning the admitting desk, and she glanced up when she heard the scuff of Anne’s shoes. The woman’s welcoming smile told Anne she’d been missed. “Emerged from fighting the mosquitoes, huh? Any battle wounds?”

Anne couldn’t even begin to explain. She answered with a smile. “Is Dr. Simpson in?”

Sandra nodded. “Go on back. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Anne heard Sandra’s voice announce her as she treaded back to the office. Dr. Simpson had risen from his desk by the time she reached the door. Her heart jolted at the strain on his gaunt face. Bags of sleeplessness hung under his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

He greeted her, but his smile was forced. “Glad to see you, Anne. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you stopped in earlier. Did you get your key?”

Anne fingered her key chain containing the addition of a new key to the pharmaceutical closet. Last week when she’d stopped in, Judy, the human-resources rottweiler, had issued her a new key, along with instructions to guard it with her final breath. “Yes, thank you.”

“Please be extra careful. Report it if it’s lost.”

“Of course.” Anne nodded. “Why?”

Dr. Simpson paused, and in the brevity of silence, she heard him sigh, as if measuring his burden and her faithfulness. “Jenny Olson was attacked last night.”

Anne blinked, braced herself on his desk. “What happened?” Her stomach clenched at the sudden image of Nurse Jenny, her gray hair pulled back into a sturdy braid, her blue eyes brimming with compassion as she tended elderly patients. “Did it happen on the reservation?”

Dr. Simpson’s lined face betrayed grief. “No, outside her house. Someone was waiting for her and ambushed her when she came home.”

A split-second image of a stranger with dark eyes flashed through her mind.
Garth Peterson, freelance photographer . . . just looking for the perfect opportunity
. What opportunities, exactly? Anne fought a shiver and forced her next question. “How badly is she . . . is she . . . ?”

“No, thank the Lord. Her neighbor heard her dog barking, then Jenny’s screams.” Dr. Simpson sat back down and covered his face with his aged, elegant hands. “She’ll be okay. But she’s pretty rattled.”

Anne understood how it felt to wake in a hospital, disoriented and grasping for comprehension. “Did they catch the person?”

Dr. Simpson shook his head, and his face twisted. “I don’t know how to tell you this . . .”

Anne had the oddest impulse to reach across the desk and squeeze the doctor’s hand. “What is it?”

He looked away from her, his shoulders rising and falling with a sigh that clawed at Anne’s heart. She sank into the chair under the gaping jaws of the moose head and braced herself.

“Jenny is the third nurse who has been attacked this month.”

Anne swallowed hard. Shakily, she said, “Here in Deep Haven?” As if they would be from somewhere else. Panic tightened her throat at the notion of crime afflicting the shores of this town.

“Chief Sam suggests that no one gets keys to the hospital unless they are checked in and on duty, but since you’ll be off campus, hang tight to yours.”

Anne frowned. “Does he think the attacks have to do with the hospital?”

Dr. Simpson met her eyes, and his face hardened. “Maybe. We have a shortage of a few prescription medicines. Drugs that have street value.”

Percocet, Ritalin . . .
her conversation with Sandra raced back into Anne’s head.

Dr. Simpson folded his hands on his desk, as if stopping short of reaching across the messy top and holding her hand like a father. “Jenny is going to be okay, but I’m shutting down the Granite River Clinic for now. I want you to spend the summer at camp. You’ll fulfill my requirements of your internship and when the summer is over, we’ll talk about your future.”

Anne blinked at him. A confusing ball of regret and hope lumped in her chest. “Jenny’s position?”

“We’ll see. But I promised your aunt that I’d keep an eye on you, and I’d prefer if you’d spend the summer at camp, out of the reaches of some drug-crazed mugger.”

Anne nearly rolled her eyes. Obviously the naive doctor had no idea the type of people she’d be spending her summer with. She managed a nod. “Are you sure you don’t want me visiting Jenny’s patients while she’s recovering?”

“No. I’ll be looking in on them myself. You concentrate on finishing well. I know you expected more experience following on Jenny’s heels, but I think your time as an EMT prepared you better than six weeks in her shadow.” He stood and grinned. “And after this summer, you’ll have backwoods experience.”

Anne folded her arms across her chest and steadied her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize Noah’s camp, but really, someone should be warned . . . “Did you know that, uh . . . Noah’s campers are from Minneapolis?”

Dr. Simpson raised one eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“As in inner-city Minneapolis. The urban jungle?” No response. “Gangbangers?” Her voice rose. “Thieves, criminals, hoodlums?”

His smile dimmed. “Didn’t you know?”

Anne’s words vanished and her chest felt strangely vacant. “I . . . uh . . . no.”

“I see.” He rubbed his chin. “Noah didn’t tell you?”

She grimaced. “He was pretty vague.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m sorry it came as a shock. I thought you’d be a perfect fit for the job, with your EMT experience.”

Aunt Edith obviously had kept Anne’s secrets, from Dr. Simpson, at least. Anne sighed. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“In fact, Noah’s told me more than once that you are a real answer to prayer. A gift from the Lord.”

She fought to exorcise her sarcasm. “Yes, I know.” Obviously Dr. Simpson had no idea that those words felt like a knife through her heart. She dredged up a smile. “Can I see Jenny?”

Dr. Simpson didn’t move. “I was against Noah’s idea, you know. The first time he suggested it, I hated it. But God reminded me that it’s not the healthy who darken my door who need my help. It’s the sickly. The blind, the deaf, the wounded. These kids are wounded, and they need all we have to give.”

Anne clenched her jaw, but his words squeezed past her folded arms and tugged on the edge of her heart. “I already told Noah I’d stay and help him.”

Dr. Simpson’s expression told her he hadn’t even considered otherwise. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She gulped. What kind of wishy-washy, flimsy-hearted woman was she to walk out on a commitment, even if it pushed her to the edge of her courage? Sure, her boundaries felt invaded . . . but she’d walked into the mess of her own accord. She hadn’t needed a push to pack up her dog and her belongings and hightail it to camp after Noah had smiled in her direction. Just because life didn’t turn out the way she’d dreamed didn’t mean that she was allowed to cut and run. Besides, the little girl who’d been dragged into the inner city as a budding teen had learned a few savvy lessons. She lifted her chin.

Perhaps God
had
sent her.

Perhaps she
was
the person Noah needed.

At least the person he needed to run his camp and keep his hoodlum campers alive. She tried to ignore the voices inside that told her Noah Standing Bear had unloaded both barrels of his charisma to hook her. To keep her on staff and make all his dreams come true. Her throat felt raw as she shook Dr. Simpson’s hand and went in search of Jenny.

Noah stood at the edge of the dock, stopwatch in hand, timing the kids as they treaded water. They all wore life jackets, and their skinny bodies trembled as they practiced staying afloat. “Five more minutes!”

A collective groan, punctuated by a few colorful adjectives, rose from the shivering tadpoles. Few of the boys and girls knew how to swim and they needed to learn how to stay upright in a life jacket in case the canoes capsized.

Ross and Bucko were in the water treading alongside them, instant assistance should fear rise from the depths and cramp muscles. Katie and Melinda, both lifeguards, stood on the dock, and junior counselors Megan, Juanita, Carmen, and Elijah paddled in nearby canoes, poised to reel in the weary.

On the shore, looking graceful in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Anne watched the swimmers like a hawk, searching for panicked faces and possible cramping. A veritable human iceberg for the last three days, she’d yet to look at Noah, let alone warm him with a smile in his general direction. Just being close to her sent chills up his spine . . . unfortunately it wasn’t the type of chills he was hoping for. He’d done his best to keep clear of her. Making sure they were never alone, never in talking-close proximity, even in the chow line. But he felt like he’d taken out his heart and pinned it to his sleeve, and she took a good whack at it every time she passed him and didn’t even glance in his direction.

He grieved for what they’d lost. Even if she could never love him, never again surrender in his arms—and that thought made him ache—he longed for her friendship. Her laughter made him feel new and whole. And the sunlight in her eyes reflected an image of himself that didn’t resemble a seedy hoodlum but a man she’d trusted. He’d never had a lady as a friend, and now he knew why. Losing Anne felt as if he’d been scraped out from the inside. He put his hand on his chest and pushed against an ache that went so deep he wondered how he was still standing.

“Okay!” he yelled, incredibly grateful for these real-life distractions that kept him partially sane. “Time’s up! Haul yourselves to shore, get changed, and meet me in the mess hall for snacks!”

The campers were too tired to whoop for joy. Some of them made a dramatic show of crawling onto shore and landing in a heap.

Darrin had made a pal, George, a kid with dark eyes and Native American ancestry who took great pride in the braid he wore to his waist. The two snapped towels at each other, following Bucko and Elijah toward their tents.

Katie and Melinda rounded up their girls, wrapped in towels and shivering like wet cats, and scooted them off to change. The sounds of laughter and screaming peppered the air.

Three days and no mishaps. Noah hadn’t stopped thanking God for the holy intervention. He’d outlined the dress code both before and after the kids arrived, just in case it didn’t sink in. The last thing he wanted at Wilderness Challenge was gang borders being drawn. He’d told them, accompanied by gentle threats, that gang identifiers would send them into the red zone and solitary confinement. Signs included “representing,” or flashing gang hand signals, hats being bumped or tilted to indicate gang affiliation, pants worn rolled up, or pockets pulled out. Earrings had been confiscated, and tattoos covered with Band-Aids.