Story Over the River and Through the Woods
- Thread starter PacNorWest
- Start date
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Pac thank you for sharing your time and your gift of story telling, please know that you are cherished by more readers than you will ever know. I believe You have many member and guests readers that have never posted to you site that are faithful readers. You are a bright ray of sunshine in a world that evil runs rampant in. You present the word of God in a way that many of the lost can relate to and find Christ and salvation because of you story.
Wayne
Wayne
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#38b
The clan heard the motor noise far ahead of the vehicle. Kids scattered to take up defensive positions and weapons, ready for whatever might happen. Clora looked at the well practiced maneuvers and they made her heart ache. These were practically babies, having to take guns and prepare to defend the family. At times the hurt of what the family had to do was overwhelming.
Exhausted beyond belief, Clora was having a silent, mini breakdown. Mark looked at his wife and could easily read the pain on her face. He broke from his watch position and went over to kiss her forehead. "Be strong, love." he whispered. Clora nodded up and down, it was all she could do.
Benny called from upstairs, "Dad, it's the Carry all and the trailer, I can see them clearly and it looks like Toby driving." As taught, nobody moved until Mark's all clear signal was given. It was Toby, and the whistle sounded.
The oldest Linderman came rushing in the house, frantically looking for TJ. Toby didn't want to scare his son anymore than the small child was already afraid of him, so he skidded to a stop before he swooped down and grabbed the boy for a hug.
TJ stiffened a little, as dark brown eyes regarded each other. "Are you OK?" Toby's thick voice was muffled in TJ's neck. TJ nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but I was so worried when I found the house had burned. Do you want to get down?" Toby asked and TJ nodded. The child wasn't to the forgive and forget point yet.
"Ma, Dad, is everyone alright? The word we got was awful, the papers so lurid." Toby had to sit down, his knees were shaking.
Clora looked at Toby and was very much reassured by what she saw. Toby cared for TJ and all of the family, and she said a prayer of thanks.
They had hot water to drink, so Toby manfully downed the warm liquid. He noted that there were three new kids. No need to ask where they came from, Ma attracted kids like cockleburs on a long haired dog.
When Mark came in from scouting Toby's back trail, Toby stood up and offered his hand to his father. There was a strong clasp of arms and a long, measuring look between the two men. Mark finally nodded and Toby did the same. What had gone before was forgotten. They were two men working side by side for the protection of the clan.
"You can't stay here," Toby announced as he handed the papers to Mark. "There is supposed to be a winter storm come in tomorrow afternoon and there are all kinds of dire predictions. There are too many kids to be responsible for under the conditions you have now, and it will be worse tomorrow."
Toby looked at the rag tag group and could easily understand the reason for the look on Ma's face, she understood what would probably happen, snowed in and freezing and starving to death.
"I brought fuel, do you think the bus can make it a couple of hundred miles?" he asked as the rice was passed for lunch. Toby lied, saying he had eaten on the way, as Ma pretended to dish herself up a small tablespoon of rice, making it look bigger than it really was.
Mark and Clora looked at each other. It was time, God had sent them help and they needed to use it.
The clan heard the motor noise far ahead of the vehicle. Kids scattered to take up defensive positions and weapons, ready for whatever might happen. Clora looked at the well practiced maneuvers and they made her heart ache. These were practically babies, having to take guns and prepare to defend the family. At times the hurt of what the family had to do was overwhelming.
Exhausted beyond belief, Clora was having a silent, mini breakdown. Mark looked at his wife and could easily read the pain on her face. He broke from his watch position and went over to kiss her forehead. "Be strong, love." he whispered. Clora nodded up and down, it was all she could do.
Benny called from upstairs, "Dad, it's the Carry all and the trailer, I can see them clearly and it looks like Toby driving." As taught, nobody moved until Mark's all clear signal was given. It was Toby, and the whistle sounded.
The oldest Linderman came rushing in the house, frantically looking for TJ. Toby didn't want to scare his son anymore than the small child was already afraid of him, so he skidded to a stop before he swooped down and grabbed the boy for a hug.
TJ stiffened a little, as dark brown eyes regarded each other. "Are you OK?" Toby's thick voice was muffled in TJ's neck. TJ nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but I was so worried when I found the house had burned. Do you want to get down?" Toby asked and TJ nodded. The child wasn't to the forgive and forget point yet.
"Ma, Dad, is everyone alright? The word we got was awful, the papers so lurid." Toby had to sit down, his knees were shaking.
Clora looked at Toby and was very much reassured by what she saw. Toby cared for TJ and all of the family, and she said a prayer of thanks.
They had hot water to drink, so Toby manfully downed the warm liquid. He noted that there were three new kids. No need to ask where they came from, Ma attracted kids like cockleburs on a long haired dog.
When Mark came in from scouting Toby's back trail, Toby stood up and offered his hand to his father. There was a strong clasp of arms and a long, measuring look between the two men. Mark finally nodded and Toby did the same. What had gone before was forgotten. They were two men working side by side for the protection of the clan.
"You can't stay here," Toby announced as he handed the papers to Mark. "There is supposed to be a winter storm come in tomorrow afternoon and there are all kinds of dire predictions. There are too many kids to be responsible for under the conditions you have now, and it will be worse tomorrow."
Toby looked at the rag tag group and could easily understand the reason for the look on Ma's face, she understood what would probably happen, snowed in and freezing and starving to death.
"I brought fuel, do you think the bus can make it a couple of hundred miles?" he asked as the rice was passed for lunch. Toby lied, saying he had eaten on the way, as Ma pretended to dish herself up a small tablespoon of rice, making it look bigger than it really was.
Mark and Clora looked at each other. It was time, God had sent them help and they needed to use it.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#38c
Clora cooked rice for the supper meal and the kids helped load whatever could be spared for the moment. Sweetie was milked early, the milk parceled out along with the rice. It was the hope that children with something in their stomachs would sleep during the drive.
Toby took the carry all and the stock trailer. All their assorted animals including the dogs were loaded, plus some of the burden in the bus. Mark drove the old clunker, nobody could drive it like him, Toby assured his father with a grin. Mark harrumphed a little and then gave in gracefully.
Benny and Teresa were piloting the Datsun, thankful for some alone time to figure out things between them and plot a course for their life. They had two pieces of the Kubota equipment on the small trailer, and Benny had disabled the Kubota so it wouldn't run. They had to leave it in the barn, there simply wasn't enough vehicles and trailers to take it.
Mark prayed that by relieving the old bus of the heavy stock trailer, the ancient old crate would make it there; it was doubtful at best.
They set out, Clora riding with Toby in the back seat of the Carry all, the three smallest children curled up with her. "Let her sleep if she will," Mark whispered to Toby. "She's about to the end of her rope. Clora has been praying instead of sleeping and some of the kids have nightmares at night when she does get to sleep.
Toby looked at Ma in the rear view mirror as long as it was light enough to see. The woman looked a hundred years old. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving in silent prayer. He had to shake his head. Then there was the problem of Dad.
If Mark looked like he hadn't slept in four days, it's because it was true. He had the Wilson boys with him and to say they were unhappy was an understatement. Vic and Chilly had done a man sized job, identifying the bloated and disgusting bodies around the houses. They only cried a little when they discovered the body of their youngest cousin with her throat cut. Both had the usual response when faced with something so raw and senseless, they heaved their precious allotment of rice and spent the time in the bus almost faint with hunger.
Neither boy had wanted to leave the area, and Mark gave them the facts and let them make up their own minds. They took their stubbornness right down to Mark waiting to close the bus door with the motor running. They were old enough, but not well enough equipped to be on their own. They knew how to go to school and goof off and hunt and fish. Not much of a resume, Mark was thinking; the elders in the Wilson clan hadn't done their children any favors.
Thankfully, children went to sleep, mainly because it was warmer in the vehicles than in the house. Even the bus was warmer and Mark found himself dangerously sleepy. He had to flick the lights at Toby to pull into the rest area when the sign came up. He simply couldn't stay awake.
Toby Linderman stayed awake and guarded the motley assortment of people and belongings like they were the most precious cargo in the world.
They got on board feeling like the world was going to end; and for them, it almost had.
Clora cooked rice for the supper meal and the kids helped load whatever could be spared for the moment. Sweetie was milked early, the milk parceled out along with the rice. It was the hope that children with something in their stomachs would sleep during the drive.
Toby took the carry all and the stock trailer. All their assorted animals including the dogs were loaded, plus some of the burden in the bus. Mark drove the old clunker, nobody could drive it like him, Toby assured his father with a grin. Mark harrumphed a little and then gave in gracefully.
Benny and Teresa were piloting the Datsun, thankful for some alone time to figure out things between them and plot a course for their life. They had two pieces of the Kubota equipment on the small trailer, and Benny had disabled the Kubota so it wouldn't run. They had to leave it in the barn, there simply wasn't enough vehicles and trailers to take it.
Mark prayed that by relieving the old bus of the heavy stock trailer, the ancient old crate would make it there; it was doubtful at best.
They set out, Clora riding with Toby in the back seat of the Carry all, the three smallest children curled up with her. "Let her sleep if she will," Mark whispered to Toby. "She's about to the end of her rope. Clora has been praying instead of sleeping and some of the kids have nightmares at night when she does get to sleep.
Toby looked at Ma in the rear view mirror as long as it was light enough to see. The woman looked a hundred years old. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving in silent prayer. He had to shake his head. Then there was the problem of Dad.
If Mark looked like he hadn't slept in four days, it's because it was true. He had the Wilson boys with him and to say they were unhappy was an understatement. Vic and Chilly had done a man sized job, identifying the bloated and disgusting bodies around the houses. They only cried a little when they discovered the body of their youngest cousin with her throat cut. Both had the usual response when faced with something so raw and senseless, they heaved their precious allotment of rice and spent the time in the bus almost faint with hunger.
Neither boy had wanted to leave the area, and Mark gave them the facts and let them make up their own minds. They took their stubbornness right down to Mark waiting to close the bus door with the motor running. They were old enough, but not well enough equipped to be on their own. They knew how to go to school and goof off and hunt and fish. Not much of a resume, Mark was thinking; the elders in the Wilson clan hadn't done their children any favors.
Thankfully, children went to sleep, mainly because it was warmer in the vehicles than in the house. Even the bus was warmer and Mark found himself dangerously sleepy. He had to flick the lights at Toby to pull into the rest area when the sign came up. He simply couldn't stay awake.
Toby Linderman stayed awake and guarded the motley assortment of people and belongings like they were the most precious cargo in the world.
They got on board feeling like the world was going to end; and for them, it almost had.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thank you for another great chapter Pac.
Wayne
Wayne
teedee
Veteran Member
Pac your story's are always up lifting. While I am not a religious person it is obvious that you are and I can handle that. your story lifts up the Lord to a higher plane and I am sure that your life is reflected in your stories. I absolutely love your writing and thank you for all the time that you put into the work that up lifts us so.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
I truely love you story, thank you pac.
beaglemama
Contributing Member
Thanks PAC. hopefully with Toby back, aftger she gets some rest Clora can figure out what's been done to him.
I wholeheartedly agree with sneaker 11, Mr Bill, Dosadi and others that have offered support.
I have learned much from your story and we each believe as we are convicted when we study our Bibles.
Please continue with the story! I watch anxiously for the next installment!!!!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
You do your story your way Pac. It has been very enjoyable.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#38d
Mark slumped over the steering wheel. He was so tired his teeth ached. Some one in the dark night handed him a pillow and Mark laid it on the steering wheel. He thought he was asleep before his head got as far as the pillow. They were approximately half way to Raleigh, and it would be better to make the last miles in the daylight.
Toby stood watch as Ma finally sank into sleep, TJ on her lap and Luke and Liz snuggled in tight on either side. TJ had his fist tangled in Ma's shirt, he didn't want anyone moving him during the night. Toby was thinking that the whole bunch of them had severe mental problems, but then he supposed you couldn't bring gathered up children like Ma had acquired without somebody having a problem or two.
The adults were so tired that they forgot that Benny and Teresa were alone in the pickup, and the young charmer and his little dark haired girl held hands and cat napped on and off during the night. "We aren't kids anymore, " Ben said as they left the hotel. "I'm nineteen and I guess I don't know how old you are Resa."
"I'm eighteen, almost nineteen. I got held back in the first grade because I had the measles bad and lost a lot of school." They chatted about a lot of things, getting to know one another on a deeper level.
"Before we get in any deeper, I need to know if you like me enough to be in love with me, and then in enough love to marry me?" Ben asked very seriously. "The reason I'm asking is, that this won't be easy living in the same house and being together and not touching." Ben explained he was going to be a mechanic to have a job and support a family while he studied to be a minister.
"I want very much to be a minister, and I have to do things right. Because I respect you more than I do myself; this is the last time we can be alone together. I have to have your help with this Resa, I won't be able to resist you unless you decide to help me be strong. It's gonna take the two of us working together to get our life headed in the right direction." They talked and planned until sleep overtook them. Long, lanky Ben totally uncomfortable in the small cramped cab.
Sweetie was mooing her discomfort when they woke in the morning. She was a touch indignant at the treatment she was getting, but Toby brought her and Lady and the dogs more water and was looking for something to milk into when Mark woke up and went rushing into the restroom. They looked into the cab of the Datsun at Ben all folded up like an accordion bellows and Mark grinned evilly.
"No room in there for hanky panky," Toby heard him say. Personally Toby thought the old man couldn't remember what it was like to be young, and he had his own evil chuckle. He did.
Toby had the only working cell phone and the gypsy troop of mismatched people and animals stopped at the last rest stop before entering Raleigh and they cooked oatmeal on the camp stove and served the fresh milk. Toby called the church affiliated with the retreat and got the address, asking pertinent questions concerning the price and buildings.
The secretary took his number and told him the directions. "Reverend Scott will meet you out there in an hour, he's at the hospital visiting a sick parishioner."
They drove to the retreat. It was a gorgeous place, with dark brown sided buildings circled around an open parking lot. The shake roofs blended with the towering pines in the shady and bird singing dense forest of trees. They were halted by the gate, but what they could see looked amazing.
"Oh my," was all Clora could say. Benny got Lady and Sweetie out of the trailer and let them graze on the winter grass along side the drive. Lou had Gladys, but she was being pesky and it took both Lou and Gary to hold her on the tether rope. The acreage was fenced tight into several different pastures and there was a shed used as a barn.
The young kids were out running up and down the driveway, playing in the cooling air. They were definitely going to have a storm. Close to the time the Rev. Scott was due, animals, children, dogs and whatever was reloaded so they looked as presentable as possible.
Mark, Toby, Benny, Mandy and Tess were standing talking; when the minister drove up. If he was shocked at the sight of such a rolling menagerie, he managed to hide it well.
Reverend Scott unlocked the gate and they drove in. It was easy to see how careworn the parents were, and my heavens there were kids everywhere. Allen Scott unlocked the main house and noted that every child carefully wiped their feet before entering. It was big, roomy and most likely so expensive they couldn't afford it.
The Rev., Mark, Toby, Benny, Vic and Chilly, Mandy, and Tess and Teresa all sat in on the negotiations. The only one not there was Clora and she had gone to the Carry all and fallen asleep. Mark carefully warned the children they were not to wake Ma up, that she was very tired, and soon the younger kids found an older brother or sister to hold them.
When Allen gave the Dad in charge, the figure the congregation wanted for the retreat, the man declined, saying they didn't have enough money. Allen had figured that by the looks of them; but then he dropped his bombshell. The church was willing to forgo half the price, if the buildings were used for Christian purposes. Looking at the assembled kids, Allen was willing to bet almost all of them were orphans, as only two of the small kids resembled the Dad.
Mark was thinking quick. Half price they could afford. "Well Sir, we have always called ourselves Clora's house for gathered up children. I don't know if that qualifies us or not, but that's what we are."
Mark slumped over the steering wheel. He was so tired his teeth ached. Some one in the dark night handed him a pillow and Mark laid it on the steering wheel. He thought he was asleep before his head got as far as the pillow. They were approximately half way to Raleigh, and it would be better to make the last miles in the daylight.
Toby stood watch as Ma finally sank into sleep, TJ on her lap and Luke and Liz snuggled in tight on either side. TJ had his fist tangled in Ma's shirt, he didn't want anyone moving him during the night. Toby was thinking that the whole bunch of them had severe mental problems, but then he supposed you couldn't bring gathered up children like Ma had acquired without somebody having a problem or two.
The adults were so tired that they forgot that Benny and Teresa were alone in the pickup, and the young charmer and his little dark haired girl held hands and cat napped on and off during the night. "We aren't kids anymore, " Ben said as they left the hotel. "I'm nineteen and I guess I don't know how old you are Resa."
"I'm eighteen, almost nineteen. I got held back in the first grade because I had the measles bad and lost a lot of school." They chatted about a lot of things, getting to know one another on a deeper level.
"Before we get in any deeper, I need to know if you like me enough to be in love with me, and then in enough love to marry me?" Ben asked very seriously. "The reason I'm asking is, that this won't be easy living in the same house and being together and not touching." Ben explained he was going to be a mechanic to have a job and support a family while he studied to be a minister.
"I want very much to be a minister, and I have to do things right. Because I respect you more than I do myself; this is the last time we can be alone together. I have to have your help with this Resa, I won't be able to resist you unless you decide to help me be strong. It's gonna take the two of us working together to get our life headed in the right direction." They talked and planned until sleep overtook them. Long, lanky Ben totally uncomfortable in the small cramped cab.
Sweetie was mooing her discomfort when they woke in the morning. She was a touch indignant at the treatment she was getting, but Toby brought her and Lady and the dogs more water and was looking for something to milk into when Mark woke up and went rushing into the restroom. They looked into the cab of the Datsun at Ben all folded up like an accordion bellows and Mark grinned evilly.
"No room in there for hanky panky," Toby heard him say. Personally Toby thought the old man couldn't remember what it was like to be young, and he had his own evil chuckle. He did.
Toby had the only working cell phone and the gypsy troop of mismatched people and animals stopped at the last rest stop before entering Raleigh and they cooked oatmeal on the camp stove and served the fresh milk. Toby called the church affiliated with the retreat and got the address, asking pertinent questions concerning the price and buildings.
The secretary took his number and told him the directions. "Reverend Scott will meet you out there in an hour, he's at the hospital visiting a sick parishioner."
They drove to the retreat. It was a gorgeous place, with dark brown sided buildings circled around an open parking lot. The shake roofs blended with the towering pines in the shady and bird singing dense forest of trees. They were halted by the gate, but what they could see looked amazing.
"Oh my," was all Clora could say. Benny got Lady and Sweetie out of the trailer and let them graze on the winter grass along side the drive. Lou had Gladys, but she was being pesky and it took both Lou and Gary to hold her on the tether rope. The acreage was fenced tight into several different pastures and there was a shed used as a barn.
The young kids were out running up and down the driveway, playing in the cooling air. They were definitely going to have a storm. Close to the time the Rev. Scott was due, animals, children, dogs and whatever was reloaded so they looked as presentable as possible.
Mark, Toby, Benny, Mandy and Tess were standing talking; when the minister drove up. If he was shocked at the sight of such a rolling menagerie, he managed to hide it well.
Reverend Scott unlocked the gate and they drove in. It was easy to see how careworn the parents were, and my heavens there were kids everywhere. Allen Scott unlocked the main house and noted that every child carefully wiped their feet before entering. It was big, roomy and most likely so expensive they couldn't afford it.
The Rev., Mark, Toby, Benny, Vic and Chilly, Mandy, and Tess and Teresa all sat in on the negotiations. The only one not there was Clora and she had gone to the Carry all and fallen asleep. Mark carefully warned the children they were not to wake Ma up, that she was very tired, and soon the younger kids found an older brother or sister to hold them.
When Allen gave the Dad in charge, the figure the congregation wanted for the retreat, the man declined, saying they didn't have enough money. Allen had figured that by the looks of them; but then he dropped his bombshell. The church was willing to forgo half the price, if the buildings were used for Christian purposes. Looking at the assembled kids, Allen was willing to bet almost all of them were orphans, as only two of the small kids resembled the Dad.
Mark was thinking quick. Half price they could afford. "Well Sir, we have always called ourselves Clora's house for gathered up children. I don't know if that qualifies us or not, but that's what we are."
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Just wonderful Pac. Thank you so much.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#39
Allen excused himself to call the council of Deacons. He was certain they would agree to the sale, they had been working together for many years, but he did nothing without going through the chain of command. He invited the men and one woman out to meet the family, and all said they trusted his judgement, to go ahead and confirm the sale.
That was how Clora's house for gathered up children got to the place, God intended them to be.
Mark and the Rev. Scott shook hands on the deal, and then the Rev. was surprised when the younger youth also lined up to shake. The only exceptions were the two older, and suspicious appearing boys that looked like they were newly acquired into the family.
The Dad went to the bus to get paper and his check book, and Rev. Scott questioned the tall, gangly youth standing close. Ben was friendly, and gave the interested man the rundown on the family. It was as the good Reverend suspected; only three of the children were natural born and the rest were orphans. Three new ones within the week.
Mark never differentiated between his and Clora's children, natural or of the heart, they were all the same to the careworn couple. By creating such a strong bond, many problems were settled without much fuss.
Mark carefully woke Clora, getting her approval on the sale and wiping away a few tears of relief that he pretended not to notice. Mark was fairly certain Clora was ill; sick with a reoccurring bout of Rheumatic fever, and he helped her gently from the bus. Mark figured to ask Toby if Dr. Bruce would come check on her, if possible this afternoon.
While they walked into the main house, Clora was busy praying, thanking God for the opportunity He was blessing them with.
The paperwork was started and Mark learned that a lot of banking functions were up and running and that his account on a major bank was accessible. That bit of news was a glorious beginning to the day. If they didn't have to go into their stash of Rhodium and cash, they would be better off.
Then God provided the second major blessing of the day. Hank and Lemmie were driving by and Lemmie was busy hollering for Hank to turn in the long driveway. Only one group of people in the world would travel in a bus with three crosses on one side and Daniel and the lion's den on the other. To say that Lemmie was excited, was the truth.
Lemmie was so shocked when she got a glimpse of Clora, that she had to fan herself over the 'vapors' as she liked to call them. Tall and thin Clora was so gaunt, she looked almost not alive. Mark wasn't much better, but he didn't appear ill.
As there was no one that had to move out of the retreat, the clan was asked to wait until Mark and the Rev. Scott finished business at the bank and the check was at least OK'd to be processed. Lemmie and Hank walked in and took over, sending Clora to bed despite the agreement to wait. Lemmie wanted to know if Warren was still around, listening to what Ben had to say and pursing her lips. "It's a good thing he ain't with you guys" she forcefully declared, "that man's a load of rhinoceros snot if I ever seen one." Vic and Chilly stared at her like she was crazy. Lemmie walked close to the two Wilson boys and yelled "Boo," just to see them jump.
Mark had asked Toby to call Dr. Bruce, they needed the man's ability. Toby had nodded, not going into the long explanation that yesterday was Wednesday and that nasty Bruce might be cooling his heels in jail.
Toby texted Warren as the fastest way to get a response. Bruce wasn't in jail...yet. But if he kept on behaving like such a jerk, his chances were looking better all the time. The Judge in the case was a pretty tough lady and she outranked Bruce by a mile. The two men were still in court, and the next break, Warren would let Toby know what was happening.
Reverend Scott brought Mark back to the compound, and the clan started unloading the sums of their riches.
Allen excused himself to call the council of Deacons. He was certain they would agree to the sale, they had been working together for many years, but he did nothing without going through the chain of command. He invited the men and one woman out to meet the family, and all said they trusted his judgement, to go ahead and confirm the sale.
That was how Clora's house for gathered up children got to the place, God intended them to be.
Mark and the Rev. Scott shook hands on the deal, and then the Rev. was surprised when the younger youth also lined up to shake. The only exceptions were the two older, and suspicious appearing boys that looked like they were newly acquired into the family.
The Dad went to the bus to get paper and his check book, and Rev. Scott questioned the tall, gangly youth standing close. Ben was friendly, and gave the interested man the rundown on the family. It was as the good Reverend suspected; only three of the children were natural born and the rest were orphans. Three new ones within the week.
Mark never differentiated between his and Clora's children, natural or of the heart, they were all the same to the careworn couple. By creating such a strong bond, many problems were settled without much fuss.
Mark carefully woke Clora, getting her approval on the sale and wiping away a few tears of relief that he pretended not to notice. Mark was fairly certain Clora was ill; sick with a reoccurring bout of Rheumatic fever, and he helped her gently from the bus. Mark figured to ask Toby if Dr. Bruce would come check on her, if possible this afternoon.
While they walked into the main house, Clora was busy praying, thanking God for the opportunity He was blessing them with.
The paperwork was started and Mark learned that a lot of banking functions were up and running and that his account on a major bank was accessible. That bit of news was a glorious beginning to the day. If they didn't have to go into their stash of Rhodium and cash, they would be better off.
Then God provided the second major blessing of the day. Hank and Lemmie were driving by and Lemmie was busy hollering for Hank to turn in the long driveway. Only one group of people in the world would travel in a bus with three crosses on one side and Daniel and the lion's den on the other. To say that Lemmie was excited, was the truth.
Lemmie was so shocked when she got a glimpse of Clora, that she had to fan herself over the 'vapors' as she liked to call them. Tall and thin Clora was so gaunt, she looked almost not alive. Mark wasn't much better, but he didn't appear ill.
As there was no one that had to move out of the retreat, the clan was asked to wait until Mark and the Rev. Scott finished business at the bank and the check was at least OK'd to be processed. Lemmie and Hank walked in and took over, sending Clora to bed despite the agreement to wait. Lemmie wanted to know if Warren was still around, listening to what Ben had to say and pursing her lips. "It's a good thing he ain't with you guys" she forcefully declared, "that man's a load of rhinoceros snot if I ever seen one." Vic and Chilly stared at her like she was crazy. Lemmie walked close to the two Wilson boys and yelled "Boo," just to see them jump.
Mark had asked Toby to call Dr. Bruce, they needed the man's ability. Toby had nodded, not going into the long explanation that yesterday was Wednesday and that nasty Bruce might be cooling his heels in jail.
Toby texted Warren as the fastest way to get a response. Bruce wasn't in jail...yet. But if he kept on behaving like such a jerk, his chances were looking better all the time. The Judge in the case was a pretty tough lady and she outranked Bruce by a mile. The two men were still in court, and the next break, Warren would let Toby know what was happening.
Reverend Scott brought Mark back to the compound, and the clan started unloading the sums of their riches.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
You are amazing Pac Thank you for sharing your Blessing with us. Love your story!
Wayne
Wayne
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#39b
Dr. Bruce Ammons was having a perfectly respectable, rotten day. He couldn't find a way to sit comfortably in the chair behind the defendant's table, the hole in his side causing him considerable pain. He had already been charged with one contempt of court for a five day stay at the crowbar hotel. But moving was the only way to ease the discomfort.
Listening to Vickie's lawyer drone on and on about how irresponsible he was, never sending the money on time and causing his client undue stress in managing her affairs and paying bills. It was so phony and trumped up, Bruce wanted to shout that the witch had only married him for the intended money that would be available.
Three weeks after they got married, she had convinced him to put money down on a expensive house and when the mortgage had been signed and he was committed, she moved into the spare bedroom and had a lock installed on the door.
In a fit of rage, Bruce broke the door down, leaving the splintered wood hanging by the lock, which had proved quite effective. Those pictures of the door were now prominently displayed on the overhead screen, as the council for the grievously frightened ex wife called attention to the man's frightening temper.
Bruce could tell he was getting madder and madder, and sicker and sicker. He leaned over to whisper to Warren, "I'm gonna pass out with the pain; should I just do it here or get up and leave?"
"Dr. Ammons, if you have something to say," the Judge halted the opposing lawyers litany of Bruce's sins, expecting him to sit and be quiet with the rebuke.
"Yes Ma'am I do," Warren looked up afraid, motioning Bruce to sit down, all in vail.
"I got up out of a hospital bed this morning and I'm going to pass out. Where do you want me to be?"
The Judge really looked at Bruce, noticing for the first time the white pain lines around his mouth, and the paleness under his ruddy complexion.
"Before you do, why don't you tell me the nature of your problem," she said dryly, expecting a hangnail.
Bruce turned to her, brushed aside the expensive suit coat and lifted the tail of his now blood red stained shirt and let the Judge see for herself. There were gasps in the courtroom as the camera recording the proceedings focused on the standing man as he began a slide to the floor. Broadcast on the overhead screen, the hole that wouldn't heal in Bruce's side was shown in all it's technicolor glory.
The Judge had to cover her mouth, bang her gavel and order the bailiff to secure medical attention for the defendant all at the same time. "Explain," she ordered Warren when the EMT's finished taking Bruce out of the courtroom.
Warren had all the facts carefully researched and in the folder he opened. The extensive alimony Bruce was paying went to fund a five thousand dollar a month apartment, the expensive house had been sold at a profit, Ms. Vicki rented a Porche for another two thousand a month and had spending habits in the curtailed and miserable economy of another five thousand. There was dead silence in the courtroom.
Warren produced the time sheets from the hospital, proving Bruce had worked day and night to fund his obligations. The newspaper report about his shooting and robbery made for additional sensational Press when it was reported a second time.
Warren calmly presented the facts, and when he was through, Ms. Vicki was looking like the shameless gold digger she was. In a surprise move, the Judge cut Vicki's alimony to five hundred a month for the next year and then halted it altogether.
BANG, went the gavel and the charade was over. The Judge motioned Warren to the bench and inquired about Bruce, why in two months hadn't his wound started to heal.
"The Doctors don't know, and they have done every test possible. My client is not a patient man, he is driven to practice his trade and is up working when he should be resting." It was the truth, and Warren didn't mince words.
Judge Giselle Gereard had heard about Warren, and was a intrigued woman, wanting to know why such and internationally known man would be defending a doctor in an alimony suit. Small potatoes compared to his usual International Maritime expertise.
"He is a friend of the family," was Warren's smooth reply, as he replaced the notes in his briefcase.
The Judge said in French, "he is an irresponsible, impetuous man, and probably a horrible lover."
Delightedly, Warren replied, in French, "that not all men were thus handicapped," and the interest flared between them.
Bruce was taken to a different hospital, the closest one to the courthouse. It was also a teaching hospital, holding rotations of medical students from the University of South Carolina. Tricia was on duty in the ER when Bruce was brought in; and her face was the last thing he remembered before he passed out for the third time.
Dr. Bruce Ammons was having a perfectly respectable, rotten day. He couldn't find a way to sit comfortably in the chair behind the defendant's table, the hole in his side causing him considerable pain. He had already been charged with one contempt of court for a five day stay at the crowbar hotel. But moving was the only way to ease the discomfort.
Listening to Vickie's lawyer drone on and on about how irresponsible he was, never sending the money on time and causing his client undue stress in managing her affairs and paying bills. It was so phony and trumped up, Bruce wanted to shout that the witch had only married him for the intended money that would be available.
Three weeks after they got married, she had convinced him to put money down on a expensive house and when the mortgage had been signed and he was committed, she moved into the spare bedroom and had a lock installed on the door.
In a fit of rage, Bruce broke the door down, leaving the splintered wood hanging by the lock, which had proved quite effective. Those pictures of the door were now prominently displayed on the overhead screen, as the council for the grievously frightened ex wife called attention to the man's frightening temper.
Bruce could tell he was getting madder and madder, and sicker and sicker. He leaned over to whisper to Warren, "I'm gonna pass out with the pain; should I just do it here or get up and leave?"
"Dr. Ammons, if you have something to say," the Judge halted the opposing lawyers litany of Bruce's sins, expecting him to sit and be quiet with the rebuke.
"Yes Ma'am I do," Warren looked up afraid, motioning Bruce to sit down, all in vail.
"I got up out of a hospital bed this morning and I'm going to pass out. Where do you want me to be?"
The Judge really looked at Bruce, noticing for the first time the white pain lines around his mouth, and the paleness under his ruddy complexion.
"Before you do, why don't you tell me the nature of your problem," she said dryly, expecting a hangnail.
Bruce turned to her, brushed aside the expensive suit coat and lifted the tail of his now blood red stained shirt and let the Judge see for herself. There were gasps in the courtroom as the camera recording the proceedings focused on the standing man as he began a slide to the floor. Broadcast on the overhead screen, the hole that wouldn't heal in Bruce's side was shown in all it's technicolor glory.
The Judge had to cover her mouth, bang her gavel and order the bailiff to secure medical attention for the defendant all at the same time. "Explain," she ordered Warren when the EMT's finished taking Bruce out of the courtroom.
Warren had all the facts carefully researched and in the folder he opened. The extensive alimony Bruce was paying went to fund a five thousand dollar a month apartment, the expensive house had been sold at a profit, Ms. Vicki rented a Porche for another two thousand a month and had spending habits in the curtailed and miserable economy of another five thousand. There was dead silence in the courtroom.
Warren produced the time sheets from the hospital, proving Bruce had worked day and night to fund his obligations. The newspaper report about his shooting and robbery made for additional sensational Press when it was reported a second time.
Warren calmly presented the facts, and when he was through, Ms. Vicki was looking like the shameless gold digger she was. In a surprise move, the Judge cut Vicki's alimony to five hundred a month for the next year and then halted it altogether.
BANG, went the gavel and the charade was over. The Judge motioned Warren to the bench and inquired about Bruce, why in two months hadn't his wound started to heal.
"The Doctors don't know, and they have done every test possible. My client is not a patient man, he is driven to practice his trade and is up working when he should be resting." It was the truth, and Warren didn't mince words.
Judge Giselle Gereard had heard about Warren, and was a intrigued woman, wanting to know why such and internationally known man would be defending a doctor in an alimony suit. Small potatoes compared to his usual International Maritime expertise.
"He is a friend of the family," was Warren's smooth reply, as he replaced the notes in his briefcase.
The Judge said in French, "he is an irresponsible, impetuous man, and probably a horrible lover."
Delightedly, Warren replied, in French, "that not all men were thus handicapped," and the interest flared between them.
Bruce was taken to a different hospital, the closest one to the courthouse. It was also a teaching hospital, holding rotations of medical students from the University of South Carolina. Tricia was on duty in the ER when Bruce was brought in; and her face was the last thing he remembered before he passed out for the third time.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thank you Pac for more of your story.
Wayne
Wayne
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
Rabbit,
that's cowboy slang for jail, the same as hoosegow, the adobe palace. I could put a lot of slang in here and boy would that get me in a lot of trouble. LOL.
that's cowboy slang for jail, the same as hoosegow, the adobe palace. I could put a lot of slang in here and boy would that get me in a lot of trouble. LOL.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#39c
Bruce got to the ER fifteen minutes ahead of Mark and Clora. When Mark got back to the retreat, Clora was having difficulty breathing; and Lemmie urged Mark to take her to the closest hospital. "That ain't no rhumy fever, that's heart problems," the experienced cook announced. "Go on, git with her, everthing is OK here."
Tricia was walking back to the admissions desk when Mark rolled Clora in, the woman looking almost bloodless. "I'll take her," Tricia mobilized, with Mark a half step behind. They got Clora on the Gurney and got the oxygen on pronto.
All kinds of monitors were strapped on, lead wires going everywhere. "Feeling better Clora?" Tricia inquired, as Clora settled down and was able to breathe. She nodded.
"Help me set her up and we'll get her clothes off." Mark was busy working the buttons on Clora's shirt, when who should come around the divider curtain but Dr. Bruce with his hospital gown flapping.
Tricia was listening to Clora's heart when Bruce pulled the earpieces out of Tricia's ears, snugged them in his own and began to listen to Clora's heart. He opened up her shirt and stared at the jagged two line surgery scars and them went still as his ears picked up the shullbing sound of a faulty valve.
"Is there a heart man here?"
At Tricia's nod, he snapped, "get him, this woman has failing valves." Around and around Clora's heart he went with the stethoscope, listening to the heart rhythm. "Put your arms above your head, help her," he snapped again at Mark when Clora wasn't quick enough to suit him. Putting a different strain on the heart gave the experienced doctor the clue there were more than two bad valves.
"Excuse me," Clora tried to cover her self up, "this isn't public art, to be viewed by everyone."
Bruce looked at her blankly, so focused on listening to Clora's heart he wasn't comprehending what she was protesting for.
"Oh, you mean breasts, I don't even notice them anymore. If you've seen one, you've seen them all;" he said absently. "There I caught it again, upper chamber and lower left are letting blood seep back through, hear the shulb, sound." He directed at Tricia.
"No I can't, you have my scope," she said tartly. It made not one iota of difference to Bruce. "Well, is the heart man coming, or what?" he demanded.
"He's in surgery," Tricia responded, "approximately another hour to go."
Bruce frowned, leaning over to inspect Clora's previous surgery scars. When he did, all of his glorious backside was exposed to the elements, as the tied at the top hospital gown slid forward on each side.
"Ahh, Dr. Bruce," Tricia said in a strangled sounding voice, "Sir, your gentlemanly attributes are showing." and Bruce was deep in concentration and it phased him not in the least. "There, I heard it again, that's definitely three valves." he talked over Tricia's attempts to preserve his modesty.
Bruce couldn't hear exactly where he wanted to and he roughly pushed against Clora. She flinched, and he straightened up to push on the tissue and got the same response from her. "What the hell, how old are your babies?"
"Four and a half," Mark replied for Clora.
"Well this isn't a communal spigot," the focused doctor snapped. "Turn it off. Tricia, you need to order a bone density test."
"Already done," Tricia replied, more tartly than before.
"Did you know about this," and Bruce gestured toward Clora's chest.
"It's difficult to miss," Mark responded dryly. Mark had to clamp his hand on Clora's wrist as her hand was sliding toward her pocket. He could see she was furious, and ready to shoot Bruce to get his attention. "Wait until after the surgery," he stage whispered, "Maybe they'll transplant some be nice parts in him."
"I doubt it," Clora pursed her lips as Bruce kept trying to move parts of her that weren't moving. "That hurts, you jerk," Clora said, out of breath and gasping with pain. "I'm gonna kick you right below the belt if you don't stop that."
Bruce wasn't listening. However when Tricia walked behind him and delivered a stinging slap to his bare behind, Bruce ripped the scope from his ears and had a indignant look of outrage on his face.
"Get in bed, Dr. Bruce," she ordered and deftly removed her scope from his hand.
Clora snickered, Mark laughed and Tricia had a stare down contest with Dr. Bruce. Only he was looking over the top of her head and Tricia was looking at his chest. "NOW!" she commanded, "Your bleeding again."
Clora raised her hand as Bruce side stepped by, keeping his open backside to the curtain and out of Tricia's reach.
"Stop," Clora ordered, as she passed her hand in front of the good but indignant Bruce. Bruce suddenly realized he was in a very compromising position, if she intended to harm him.
"Tricia, he has Devil's Sulphur in his wound and there is a bullet fragment still in there. Where and how did you get sucked in by the Devil?" Clora demanded in her very best mother's voice that said 'answer me now!"
"The Devil," Bruce scoffed as he unobtrusively inched further away from Clora as a protective measure, "You need more oxygen lady, you're out of your head." and he turned around and fled back to his cubicle.
Clora beckoned to Tricia and whispered where to look for the sign Clora was sure would be there. Tricia got wide eyed and choked a little. "I can't do that," she protested, "he's a doctor."
"Are you two women plotting against me?" Bruce demanded from behind the curtain, angry they were talking about him. It did feel good to lay down, but Bruce didn't cut Tricia any slack. "Get in here and tell me what it is you can't do. You've already struck me, what more do you need?"
Tricia looked at Clora, "let me go wash my hands in the coldest water here, then we'll see how mouthy he is."
"What do you mean?" Bruce kept demanding from behind the curtain, "Tricia get in here."
"Just I minute Dr. Bruce, I have to wash my hands in between patients." Tricia sweetly responded, "that's the number one rule."
Tricia ran the water until it was good and cold, washing as hospital protocol demanded she use hot soapy water first.
She went to professionally evaluate Bruce's wound, sweeping the sheet a little lower than absolutely necessary. It was there, the tattooed lines in the shape of a pentagram. Tricia stepped back to the curtain divider and nodded at Clora.
"What are you doing?" Bruce had a nasty snarl that changed to a "Oh my God your hands are cold," as Tricia lifted the gauze pack covering Bruce's nasty, open wound. Now that Clora had mentioned Sulphur, Tricia could smell it.
Bruce got to the ER fifteen minutes ahead of Mark and Clora. When Mark got back to the retreat, Clora was having difficulty breathing; and Lemmie urged Mark to take her to the closest hospital. "That ain't no rhumy fever, that's heart problems," the experienced cook announced. "Go on, git with her, everthing is OK here."
Tricia was walking back to the admissions desk when Mark rolled Clora in, the woman looking almost bloodless. "I'll take her," Tricia mobilized, with Mark a half step behind. They got Clora on the Gurney and got the oxygen on pronto.
All kinds of monitors were strapped on, lead wires going everywhere. "Feeling better Clora?" Tricia inquired, as Clora settled down and was able to breathe. She nodded.
"Help me set her up and we'll get her clothes off." Mark was busy working the buttons on Clora's shirt, when who should come around the divider curtain but Dr. Bruce with his hospital gown flapping.
Tricia was listening to Clora's heart when Bruce pulled the earpieces out of Tricia's ears, snugged them in his own and began to listen to Clora's heart. He opened up her shirt and stared at the jagged two line surgery scars and them went still as his ears picked up the shullbing sound of a faulty valve.
"Is there a heart man here?"
At Tricia's nod, he snapped, "get him, this woman has failing valves." Around and around Clora's heart he went with the stethoscope, listening to the heart rhythm. "Put your arms above your head, help her," he snapped again at Mark when Clora wasn't quick enough to suit him. Putting a different strain on the heart gave the experienced doctor the clue there were more than two bad valves.
"Excuse me," Clora tried to cover her self up, "this isn't public art, to be viewed by everyone."
Bruce looked at her blankly, so focused on listening to Clora's heart he wasn't comprehending what she was protesting for.
"Oh, you mean breasts, I don't even notice them anymore. If you've seen one, you've seen them all;" he said absently. "There I caught it again, upper chamber and lower left are letting blood seep back through, hear the shulb, sound." He directed at Tricia.
"No I can't, you have my scope," she said tartly. It made not one iota of difference to Bruce. "Well, is the heart man coming, or what?" he demanded.
"He's in surgery," Tricia responded, "approximately another hour to go."
Bruce frowned, leaning over to inspect Clora's previous surgery scars. When he did, all of his glorious backside was exposed to the elements, as the tied at the top hospital gown slid forward on each side.
"Ahh, Dr. Bruce," Tricia said in a strangled sounding voice, "Sir, your gentlemanly attributes are showing." and Bruce was deep in concentration and it phased him not in the least. "There, I heard it again, that's definitely three valves." he talked over Tricia's attempts to preserve his modesty.
Bruce couldn't hear exactly where he wanted to and he roughly pushed against Clora. She flinched, and he straightened up to push on the tissue and got the same response from her. "What the hell, how old are your babies?"
"Four and a half," Mark replied for Clora.
"Well this isn't a communal spigot," the focused doctor snapped. "Turn it off. Tricia, you need to order a bone density test."
"Already done," Tricia replied, more tartly than before.
"Did you know about this," and Bruce gestured toward Clora's chest.
"It's difficult to miss," Mark responded dryly. Mark had to clamp his hand on Clora's wrist as her hand was sliding toward her pocket. He could see she was furious, and ready to shoot Bruce to get his attention. "Wait until after the surgery," he stage whispered, "Maybe they'll transplant some be nice parts in him."
"I doubt it," Clora pursed her lips as Bruce kept trying to move parts of her that weren't moving. "That hurts, you jerk," Clora said, out of breath and gasping with pain. "I'm gonna kick you right below the belt if you don't stop that."
Bruce wasn't listening. However when Tricia walked behind him and delivered a stinging slap to his bare behind, Bruce ripped the scope from his ears and had a indignant look of outrage on his face.
"Get in bed, Dr. Bruce," she ordered and deftly removed her scope from his hand.
Clora snickered, Mark laughed and Tricia had a stare down contest with Dr. Bruce. Only he was looking over the top of her head and Tricia was looking at his chest. "NOW!" she commanded, "Your bleeding again."
Clora raised her hand as Bruce side stepped by, keeping his open backside to the curtain and out of Tricia's reach.
"Stop," Clora ordered, as she passed her hand in front of the good but indignant Bruce. Bruce suddenly realized he was in a very compromising position, if she intended to harm him.
"Tricia, he has Devil's Sulphur in his wound and there is a bullet fragment still in there. Where and how did you get sucked in by the Devil?" Clora demanded in her very best mother's voice that said 'answer me now!"
"The Devil," Bruce scoffed as he unobtrusively inched further away from Clora as a protective measure, "You need more oxygen lady, you're out of your head." and he turned around and fled back to his cubicle.
Clora beckoned to Tricia and whispered where to look for the sign Clora was sure would be there. Tricia got wide eyed and choked a little. "I can't do that," she protested, "he's a doctor."
"Are you two women plotting against me?" Bruce demanded from behind the curtain, angry they were talking about him. It did feel good to lay down, but Bruce didn't cut Tricia any slack. "Get in here and tell me what it is you can't do. You've already struck me, what more do you need?"
Tricia looked at Clora, "let me go wash my hands in the coldest water here, then we'll see how mouthy he is."
"What do you mean?" Bruce kept demanding from behind the curtain, "Tricia get in here."
"Just I minute Dr. Bruce, I have to wash my hands in between patients." Tricia sweetly responded, "that's the number one rule."
Tricia ran the water until it was good and cold, washing as hospital protocol demanded she use hot soapy water first.
She went to professionally evaluate Bruce's wound, sweeping the sheet a little lower than absolutely necessary. It was there, the tattooed lines in the shape of a pentagram. Tricia stepped back to the curtain divider and nodded at Clora.
"What are you doing?" Bruce had a nasty snarl that changed to a "Oh my God your hands are cold," as Tricia lifted the gauze pack covering Bruce's nasty, open wound. Now that Clora had mentioned Sulphur, Tricia could smell it.
I just about don't breathe when I am reading the chapters lately! They are so very all consuming and capture one's attention to the nth degree. My goodness! How do you dream up these situations and get everyone into the proper place for the events to roll down on them like they do? And I love Tricia's attitude towards Bruce. She just may take him down a notch or two. Good thing she listens to Clora! Whew!
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#39d
Tricia stepped over to the kiosk to log in Bruce's blood pressure and pulse. She also made note of the Sulphur and bullet fragment, as that was valuable information to the surgeon who would be patching Bruce's wound.
Tricia honestly didn't know what to think about the tattoo she had discovered, the note on the monitor said they were almost ready to come get Bruce, so she might be able to talk with Clora as soon as he was gone.
As usual, Bruce was running his mouth about something he didn't approve of, and Tricia gave him a puzzled and worried stare. That shut him up faster than anything else could have done. Tricia D'Amatto looked with different eyes and attitude at the man she thought she was in love with. Playing with the Devil was a big no no to a good Italian Catholic girl. Tricia shook her head and walked out on Bruce.
Taking Clora's BP and pulse and charting the numbers, Tricia listened to the older woman's heart and drew the sheet up to preserve Clora's modesty. "Thank you," Clora said softly. "I am not used to being treated so roughly and put on display."
"I'd apologize for him, but it wouldn't do any good. He thinks he is a law unto himself." Tricia said sadly, and shook her head again.
"I can hear you, you know." Nasty Bruce was back, firmly in control.
"It's probably a good thing not to listen," Mark said quietly, "you might not like what you hear."
There was silence from next door. Then a "Mark, what did Tricia find? She changed in an instant over something?"
Mark went to the curtain. "She found a tattooed pentagram on your lower groin, a mark of the Devil used to designate you belong in his stable."
"The hell, what is with all this devil talk? Toby has one of those, but I don't, I don't have time to fool around with that kind of garbage, and I've never had a tattoo." Bruce snarled out.
"You do now," Mark said quietly, as he went back to sit with Clora. They could hear Bruce rustling around trying to disprove Mark's claim. There was a terrific groan when he compressed his wound and several gasps of pain. "Would you come show me where it is," Bruce asked through the curtain and Clora shook her head no when Mark would have complied.
The surgery nurses came to get Bruce at that time, and Mark was saved by the bell.
Mark and Clora had to wait while the surgery suite was cleaned and sterilized, and Dr. Hoffman the heart man didn't have time to come talk with them, as he rested a few and then scrubbed for Clora. Mark went to the family waiting room, and found himself calling Wayne.
Wayne was aghast that Clora's previous repairs had failed, and he promised to be right over. Two of the boys had colds, so Millie wouldn't be coming. Mark called Toby to let him know what was happening, both with Ma and Bruce. It was a long night's wait. Over six hours worth of sickening worry and stress.
Finally Dr. Hoffman came through the swinging doors and into the conference room.
"She's alive, but not in good health," the exhausted surgeon dropped in a chair. "She almost waited too long. Who did her previous surgeries?"
"Ahhh, Bethany Wallace did the first one and a doctor by the name of Sanjay the second one. The same as what happened to Wayne here, as he is Clora's half brother."
"I'm not familiar with either of those names, would it be possible to get their notes to compare?" Andrew Hoffman tiredly rubbed his face.
"The surgeries all happened in Portland, where the Doctor's were based." Mark passed on the information.
"Oh, well we all know how that went. Is that where you folks are from?"
Wayne and Mark nodded. "When can I see her?" Mark asked.
"As soon as she stabilizes, they'll take her up to ICU, then probably an hour. Just remember, she's alive." the doctor warned as he shook hands with the two men.
Tricia stepped over to the kiosk to log in Bruce's blood pressure and pulse. She also made note of the Sulphur and bullet fragment, as that was valuable information to the surgeon who would be patching Bruce's wound.
Tricia honestly didn't know what to think about the tattoo she had discovered, the note on the monitor said they were almost ready to come get Bruce, so she might be able to talk with Clora as soon as he was gone.
As usual, Bruce was running his mouth about something he didn't approve of, and Tricia gave him a puzzled and worried stare. That shut him up faster than anything else could have done. Tricia D'Amatto looked with different eyes and attitude at the man she thought she was in love with. Playing with the Devil was a big no no to a good Italian Catholic girl. Tricia shook her head and walked out on Bruce.
Taking Clora's BP and pulse and charting the numbers, Tricia listened to the older woman's heart and drew the sheet up to preserve Clora's modesty. "Thank you," Clora said softly. "I am not used to being treated so roughly and put on display."
"I'd apologize for him, but it wouldn't do any good. He thinks he is a law unto himself." Tricia said sadly, and shook her head again.
"I can hear you, you know." Nasty Bruce was back, firmly in control.
"It's probably a good thing not to listen," Mark said quietly, "you might not like what you hear."
There was silence from next door. Then a "Mark, what did Tricia find? She changed in an instant over something?"
Mark went to the curtain. "She found a tattooed pentagram on your lower groin, a mark of the Devil used to designate you belong in his stable."
"The hell, what is with all this devil talk? Toby has one of those, but I don't, I don't have time to fool around with that kind of garbage, and I've never had a tattoo." Bruce snarled out.
"You do now," Mark said quietly, as he went back to sit with Clora. They could hear Bruce rustling around trying to disprove Mark's claim. There was a terrific groan when he compressed his wound and several gasps of pain. "Would you come show me where it is," Bruce asked through the curtain and Clora shook her head no when Mark would have complied.
The surgery nurses came to get Bruce at that time, and Mark was saved by the bell.
Mark and Clora had to wait while the surgery suite was cleaned and sterilized, and Dr. Hoffman the heart man didn't have time to come talk with them, as he rested a few and then scrubbed for Clora. Mark went to the family waiting room, and found himself calling Wayne.
Wayne was aghast that Clora's previous repairs had failed, and he promised to be right over. Two of the boys had colds, so Millie wouldn't be coming. Mark called Toby to let him know what was happening, both with Ma and Bruce. It was a long night's wait. Over six hours worth of sickening worry and stress.
Finally Dr. Hoffman came through the swinging doors and into the conference room.
"She's alive, but not in good health," the exhausted surgeon dropped in a chair. "She almost waited too long. Who did her previous surgeries?"
"Ahhh, Bethany Wallace did the first one and a doctor by the name of Sanjay the second one. The same as what happened to Wayne here, as he is Clora's half brother."
"I'm not familiar with either of those names, would it be possible to get their notes to compare?" Andrew Hoffman tiredly rubbed his face.
"The surgeries all happened in Portland, where the Doctor's were based." Mark passed on the information.
"Oh, well we all know how that went. Is that where you folks are from?"
Wayne and Mark nodded. "When can I see her?" Mark asked.
"As soon as she stabilizes, they'll take her up to ICU, then probably an hour. Just remember, she's alive." the doctor warned as he shook hands with the two men.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Just got home again and read and can hardly wait for more.
