Читать книгу Winter Soldier - Marisa Carroll, Marisa Carroll - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

LEAH RESTED HER HEAD against the back of the old, canvas chaise longue and closed her eyes. They had been in Vietnam ten days. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. There would be turkey, dressing and cranberry sauce, of a sort, freeze-dried and foil-wrapped. This was the first Thanksgiving she’d spent away from home since Desert Storm, but she was almost too tired even to be homesick.

Kaylene Smiley joined her in the screened hospital veranda, two cans of soda in her hands. “You look like you could use a drink,” she said, handing Leah one. Kaylene had come straight from the surgical suites. She was wearing green cotton scrubs and a paper surgical hat that framed her round, good-natured face like an old-fashioned mobcap.

The soda wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm, either. Leah accepted it with a grateful smile, popped the top and took a long swallow. “Thanks, I needed that.”

Kaylene sank into the chair next to Leah’s. “I’m getting too old for this. I should be thinking about retiring and playing with my grandchildren, not hiking off to the back of beyond to play Florence Nightingale.”

“I thought you told me you came on the mission to get away from your adorable crumb crunchers.” Kaylene had five grandchildren, all under the age of seven and all living within a few miles of her home. Leah had gathered from the pictures Kaylene showed her that the little ones spent as much time as possible at Grandma’s house.

“I did. But now I miss them. I even miss my husband.” She grinned and settled into the chaise with a sigh of relief. “Sixty-eight surgeries in eight days. It might not sound like an awful lot back home, but under these conditions we must be setting some kind of record. How’s your pituitary tumor doing?”

Early that morning Adam had operated on one of the Vietnamese nurses whose infertility was likely caused by a tumor of the pituitary gland. The tumor was benign and the surgery had gone well. Their patient was already awake and alert “Adam thinks she shouldn’t have any trouble conceiving now.”

“Another little miracle. Justifies my aching back and feet.”

Leah murmured agreement. The sun had dropped from sight behind the mountains that surrounded the valley where the hospital and several small villages were located. The air had already begun to cool. At dusk the church bell would ring to call Father Gerard and the sisters and their flock to prayers. Evening here was the most pleasant time of day. It reminded her a little of Slate Hollow with the smell of wood smoke in the air, the laughter of children at play and dogs barking in the distance.

“I really should bestir myself to take a shower before the hot water’s gone,” Kaylene said a few minutes later.

Leah lifted her hand and brushed back a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her braid. “That does sound like a good idea.”

“The only problem is I’ll have to get out of this chair to do it.”

“You know you hate cold showers.” The hotwater heater that supplied the showers was ancient and unreliable.

Kaylene took another swallow of her soda and swung her feet off the chaise with a groan. “You talked me into it. I also have to do some laundry. I’m not celebrating Thanksgiving with dirty undies. Hello, Doctor.”

“Good evening, ladies.”

Leah turned her head, but she didn’t have to see him to know it was Adam. She nodded hello, not trusting her voice.

“Is there something you need in the operating room, Doctor?” Kaylene was from the old school of nursing. She didn’t call any of the doctors by their first names.

“Everything’s perfect in the OR and you know it,” he said with one of his rare smiles.

“Just making sure, because once I get out of these scrubs, you’re not getting me back into them for forty-eight hours.” There were no surgeries scheduled the next day in honor of Thanksgiving.

Kaylene went back into the hospital, leaving Leah and Adam alone on the veranda. Leah stared down at her soft-drink can. Adam stared out into the compound. The church bell began to chime.

“It’s time for mass,” Leah said unnecessarily.

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“I wasn’t planning to attend.”

“Then would you care to come with me to the orphanage?”

The nursing sisters ran a small orphanage together with a school in another building about half a mile away. Leah, Kaylene and one of the doctors made the trip down the road at least once a day to visit the children and check on their patients.

“Has something gone wrong with My Lei’s shunt?” The six-month-old girl had been born with a condition that caused fluid to build up on her brain. Five days ago Adam had implanted a shunt, a tube to redirect the excess cerebrospinal fluid. She had been doing well ever since, but any kind of surgery was risky for an infant, especially brain surgery.

“She’s fine,” Adam said quickly. “But I promised Sister Grace I’d check on her today. If you’re too tired or you still don’t want to be alone with me, just say so.”

She’d hesitated too long in answering his invitation. He was impatient with personal interaction, she was learning, as though he spent little time in idle conversation. It was only a few minutes’ walk. Surely she could keep her feelings under control and her hands to herself for that length of time. “I’m always tired,” she said. “But I’m not worried about being alone with you.” It was the first mention he’d made of that afternoon in the OR. The first for her, too. She stood up and walked to the screen door.

Adam stepped in front of her and held it open. Leah searched for a topic of conversation. “Have you seen B.J. today?” she asked as they passed the church and headed for the roadway.

“Not today, but it’s obvious by the sound of your voice he’s hatching some new scheme, and he’s got you as excited about it as he is. Am I right?”

“You seem to know him very well.”

“We’ve been friends a long time. What is it? A new program to revolutionize the Internet? Although I didn’t have you pegged as a computer geek.”

“I’m not.” She laughed. “I use one, but I don’t understand it.”

“Don’t tell me he’s planning to try and fly a hotair balloon around the world. No, that was last year.” He smiled. “I give up. What is it today?”

“He told me he has a new project he’s working on—containerized hospitals. They’ll fit on the back of a semi-rig or you can sling them under a helicopter and drop them just about anywhere in the world. Pod-Meds, he wants to call them. Completely selfcontained and fully equipped operating rooms with labs, X ray, physical therapy and even water and electricity.”

“What about a stable blood supply and competent follow-up care?”

“I didn’t say there weren’t problems. Big ones. But that’s where people come in,” she said. “To donate blood, solve the problems and teach others how to care for themselves.”

He looked at her and smiled, but it didn’t lighten the shadow behind his eyes. “Never underestimate the power of a dreamer. You and B.J. are two of a kind.”

“I think it’s a great idea.”

“I do, too. I hope he brings it off.” This time his response seemed more genuine, heartfelt, and his smile took her breath away.

They walked in silence, listening to the sound of children’s laughter carried to them on the smoky air. “I always marvel at how wonderfully happy these children are—except for love, they have so little,” Leah said as they moved into the shade of the tall stands of bamboo that grew beside the road where the humid air felt ever so slightly cooler.

“Family is important to the Vietnamese. They’ll do just about anything for their children. Even children like My Lei who haven’t got much of a future.”

“I wish there was something I could do,” Leah said, thinking aloud.

“You’ve done plenty already.” Adam’s tone sounded harsh, resigned.

Leah kept her eyes on the track. “But it isn’t enough.”

“With a case like My Lei it’s never enough.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his head.

“Are you sorry you operated on her?” Leah asked. If he said yes in that same stony voice, she would turn around and go back. She thought of the happy, smiling baby. Her life was precious even as imperfect as it was.

“No,” he said at last. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t make her well and whole. There’s still so much we don’t know about the human brain. So much that can go wrong.”

“And some things that can be put right.”

They’d come to a place where a small runnel crossed the road. It wasn’t deep, but too wide to step easily across. Adam held out his hand to help her. Leah hesitated. She didn’t want to touch him. She remembered all too well the feel of his hands on her arms, the heat of his body, the taste of him in her mouth. A craving for his touch was part of what kept her awake at night.

A bird called somewhere off in the distance, another answered, calls as strange and exotic as the setting. She and Adam would be together only a little over a week longer, then he would go back to his world and she to hers. She would remember that and keep this attraction between them in perspective. She put her hand in his and jumped across.

“If Vo’s family can’t be located, perhaps I could sponsor them,” she said, hoping he’d attribute her breathlessness to the steepness of the rise they were now climbing. Vo was My Lei’s father, a young widower.

“You can’t take on a responsibility like that. The child has no mother. Vo doesn’t speak English. He has no marketable skills.”

Leah thought of the dying old woman she’d befriended back in Slate Hollow, along with the woman’s pregnant great-granddaughter, Juliet Trent, She had already made herself responsible for the two of them. Adam was right. She couldn’t do the same for My Lei and Vo. “I was only thinking—”

“With your heart, instead of your head.”

She turned on him, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, when it blinds you to the realities of the situation.”

She started walking again. “I’d rather be blind to reality, if it keeps me from seeing things as callously as you do.”

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around to face him. “I’m not blind, Leah. I’ve only learned the hard way how it tears you up inside when there’s no more you can do than what’s been done. I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.”

“You did work a miracle for My Lei. For the others, too. The old man whose pain you took away, so he can enjoy his last months with his family, and the nurse who will have babies to love and cherish now.”

“Those weren’t miracles, just damned good surgery. If they were miracles I could have cured the old man’s cancer and given My Lei back what a misplaced gene took away from her.”

Suddenly they heard the unmistakable sound of squealing tires followed instantly by a crash. “Oh, God, an accident!” Leah started running.

Adam was faster. He passed her within the first ten feet. The school came into view. Leah stopped at the gate for a moment to catch her breath, but Adam just kept running toward the sound of children’s screams. “What happened?” she asked a Vietnamese nun on her knees in the roadway, her simple white habit torn and bloodstained, her arms around two crying, mudsplattered little girls.

“Our bus. It crashed,” she said in French-accented English. She started to cry, just like the little girls clinging to her sleeves. “There.” She pointed toward the road just out of sight beyond the high brick wall surrounding the school. “It is in the ditch. We came for help. Sister Grace is hurt. Hurry, please. The other children are still inside.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the nun replied. “I only hurt my shoulder.”

Leah dropped to her knees, ran her hands over the little girls’ arms and legs. “Can they tell you where they hurt?”

“They are okay. Just cuts and bruises. Go to the others. I’ll take care of them.” She began to talk soothingly to the little girls in Vietnamese.

“Send someone to the hospital. Tell them what’s happened!” Leah yelled over her shoulder and started running again. “Tell everybody to come.”

The orphanage bus, an old Volkswagen van, had gone nose first into a marshy ditch in front of the school. It had already sunk halfway into the mud by the time Leah arrived. Sister Grace and three more children were huddled by the side of the road. The nun was dazed and bleeding from a cut on her forehead. One little boy was crying lustily and holding his wrist. His hand was twisted at an awkward angle, the wrist obviously broken. The other two appeared uninjured, although they were wet and muddy and very frightened.

“How many are still inside?” Leah asked Sister Grace just as Adam braced his foot against the frame and literally tore the side door of the van from its hinges.

“I... there was nothing I could do. The tire blew out. I’m sorry. So sorry.” She looked up at Leah with unfocused eyes.

“It’s all right,” Leah said. “It wasn’t your fault. How many children were with you?” The nun was in shock. She would have to be checked for a concussion, but at the moment getting the rest of the children out of the wrecked van was the most important thing to be done. “Sister Grace?”

“I...”

“Adam, how many children do you see?”

“Two. Both girls. Are there any more, Sister?” Adam called.

Sister Grace responded to the command in his voice. “There were eight, no, seven children, and Sister Marie.”

There were two little girls on the road with the sister and three more children here. That left two unaccounted for. Leah relayed the information to Adam as he hoisted himself through the door of the van. She watched the vehicle settle deeper into the mud. One of the children inside screamed weakly. Leah realized Adam would need help getting them out of the van, so she left Sister Grace and stepped off the shoulder of the road, immediately sinking into muck over her ankles. “I’m here, Adam. What can I do to help?”

“I’ll hand them out to you. This thing is filling up with muck.”

“I’m ready,” Leah said.

“Come on, put your arms around my neck, honey,” she heard Adam croon. “Thatta girl. Here we go.” Adam shifted his weight and leaned out the door to hand a child to Leah. “Abrasions, contusions and possible broken ankle,” he said. The van settled deeper into the mud. “This stuff’s goddamned quicksand.”

Leah held the little girl close, murmuring soothing nothings. The child’s clothes were covered with mud. So were her face and arms. Marsh water dripped from her long black hair. She was conscious and whimpering with pain. “What about the other one?”

Adam’s face closed down, and it was as though Leah were confronting a machine. “It’s bad. She’s unconscious and trapped under the seat. I’ll stay with her until the others get here. We’ll need a backboard and we’ll need an OR. She has a compound fracture of the left tibia and, God help us, I think she may have a broken neck.”