New Beginnings (14 page)

His grin dimpled his cheeks. “You bet I am, sweetheart. I’ve been worried sick about you being on your feet so much, given your delicate condition.”

“
Shh
.” She glanced around, relieved that no one had been close enough to hear his remark. “Let’s not tell the whole world until after we tell the children.”

“Right. Let’s waggle our wings and fly south, as one Canada goose said to another.”

So exhausted she couldn’t find enough energy to laugh at his silly bird-watcher joke, Candace headed for the locker rooms.

“You know,” she said, “I think we ought to wait until I’m not so tired before we talk to Brooke and Howie. I don’t think I could keep my eyes open long enough to be coherent for more than two seconds.”

He slipped his arm around her waist. “Whenever you’re ready will be fine with me even though I’m busting to tell the whole town.”

She smiled. The Lord had been so good to her, bringing Heath and his love into her and her children’s lives.

In just over four hours since the UNOS call, the sprawling, snow-covered campus of St. John’s Hospital appeared as though out of the low-lying clouds. James parked in front of the Emergency entrance and called Dr. Anthony Duffin, the head of the organ harvesting team.

“James Bell from Hope Haven Hospital,” James announced when the doctor answered. “I’m at your Emergency entrance.”

“You made better time than I expected. Come inside and warm up. I’ll be right down.”

Every muscle in James’s body ached from the strain of the drive from Deerford. He’d passed dozens of cars stranded or off the road. He stretched, rotated his neck, and walked inside through the double set of doors. The overheated air stung his chilled cheeks. The familiar scent of antiseptic and floor wax filled his nostrils, reminding him of Hope Haven and every other hospital where he had worked.

He tugged off his fur-lined leather gloves and unzipped his parka. It felt good to stretch his legs after so much time trapped behind the wheel.

A dozen or more patients and their families filled the ER waiting room, one mother pacing with her crying baby on her shoulder.

A doctor in a white lab coat hurried into the waiting room. “James?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me.”

James followed him through the automatic doors into the ER where doctors, nurses, and orderlies worked with patients on gurneys in curtained examining cubicles.

“There’s always paperwork with these transfers.”

On the desk where the doctor halted stood a white plastic container about two feet tall and eighteen inches square with a handle, resembling an ultramodern twenty-first-century, temperature-controlled picnic basket. Inside, James knew there was a viable liver kept chilled with subzero nitrogen gas. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost six hours left to get the liver back to Hope Haven and the surgery begun to replace Trisha Witten’s failing liver.

Plenty of time, assuming the interstate was plowed going north and James didn’t run the truck off the road.

Dr. Duffin handed James a clipboard. “I need your signature in three places. They’re marked with a red X.”

With a sense of hope, James signed the forms indicating he had received the liver and it was to be used for a transplant in accordance with UNOS rules. In this case, Mrs. Witten had risen to the top of the transplant list because her condition was so dire. UNOS had strict rules that forbid a transplant team from skipping over the sickest patient in favor of someone who could trade hard cash for a new liver.

He handed the clipboard back to the doctor.

“Perfect. Do you need to take a break, get something to eat? We have a sandwich shop near the main entrance.”

“I’d love a coffee refill for my thermos, but otherwise, I’d like to get back to Deerford before it gets too dark.” Although the overcast sky had turned daylight into dusk the entire trip to Springfield, night would come even earlier than usual.

“Okay, James. Take good care of that liver. It’s precious cargo.”

“Yes, sir. I know.” For the recipient, it meant the difference between life and death.

When he climbed back into the truck, he said, “Stay with me, Lord. We’re on the final leg home now.”

The snow continued to fall, building up on the windshield and accumulating in drifts along the highway. Fortunately, the towns along the interstate had once again plowed a lane for James to pass.

He turned on the radio to listen to the weather.

“During the next twenty-four hours expect periods of heavy snowfall and high winds, bringing blizzard conditions to much of northern and central Illinois,” the weatherman intoned in a deep, concerned voice. “Thus far, twenty deaths have been attributed to the storm, most of them vehicle accidents. Dozens, if not hundreds, of trucks and cars are stranded on the interstate. The state police are making every effort to reach those who are stranded, and the National Guard has been called out.

“On a better note,” he continued, “the storm should pass by tomorrow afternoon and we’ll have clearing skies.”

Tomorrow afternoon would be too late to help Mrs. Witten. She needed the liver now.

When James passed Tiskilwa in better time than he expected, he heaved a sigh of relief and called Dr. Drew. “I should be there within a half hour.”

“That’s wonderful and none too soon. I’ll tell the nurses to prep Mrs. Witten for surgery. We’ll be ready as soon as you arrive.”

At the southern boundary of Deerford, James ran out of a plowed lane on the interstate.

No plow had come this way. A good two feet of snow covered the highway, which was surrounded by gullies, hills, and thick layers of trees. The truck floundered through the snow up to the hubcaps on the oversize tires. The thick tread barely found traction.

“Come on, guys. Where’s the plow?” James hit the steering wheel with the heel of his palm. “This is no time to take a break.”

Just miles from the hospital, he wasn’t sure he’d make it.

He crested a hill. Hardly a blip in the landscape on a summer day. Scarcely noticeable.

Except now, as he started to descend, the truck began to slide. In slow motion, the truck canted sideways, slipping toward the invisible verge at the side of the road and the gully beyond.

“No! Don’t go there!” The tires locked, and there was nothing James could do to right the truck’s cockeyed path.

He put out his hand to hold the precious plastic container upright as the truck continued its determined route.

Down.

Slowly. Inevitably. Down.

Down into a snowbank, finally stopping with a thunk.

Tipped at an angle, the right side of the truck buried itself in the snow. Only half of the hood remained visible. Soon that and the rest of the truck would be shrouded in white. Completely concealed from view.

“Lord, I need Your help.” He had a shovel in the back of the truck but it seemed a feeble tool to challenge the mountain of snow around him. How could he possibly dig the truck out of all that snow? Dig it out in time?

Maybe he could get some help out here. He wasn’t far from town.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and held it up to check the number of bars he had.

None. Zero. Not a single bar.

He shook the cell and blew on it. Maybe it had gotten cold in his pocket. Only a few minutes ago he’d talked to Dr. Drew. The call had gone through without a problem. But the heavy cloud cover and irregular landscape made cell reception challenging.

If he couldn’t call for help, he was on his own. Gritting his teeth, he vowed he wasn’t going to let his patient down.

Or Fern and the boys.

Somehow, with the Lord’s help, he’d work himself out of this mess. With the donated liver.

Unbuckling his belt, he started to get out of the truck.

Behind him, a horn blared.

He swiveled to look out the back through the cab window. Through the covering of snow, he could barely make out the silhouette of a huge snowplow creeping up close to him.

“Now that’s what I call service.”

Once again he started to get out, but the snow had jammed the door closed. He laid his shoulder into the effort. The door didn’t budge. The lock had frozen.

Looking back through the window, he saw the hulking figure of a man trudging through thigh-deep snow. Dressed in a fur parka that hung down to his knees and his face covered with a black ski mask, he dragged a towline over his shoulder.

When he reached the truck bed, the guy ducked down out of sight. Metal rattled on metal. Standing again, he waved his gloved hand at James and then trudged back up to the snowplow.

Guessing the stranger was about to pull him out of the ditch, James shifted into neutral and took his foot off the brake.

The towline pulled taut. Metal screeched against metal. The truck began to move. Slowly. Backward up the incline. Inch by straining inch, the truck righted itself. The tires worked their way into the tracks the truck had left only minutes ago.

Once again the driver got out of the plow and walked forward to disengage the towline. He held up one finger as though asking James to wait until he could get the snowplow clearing a path in front of James’s truck.

Was this guy the driver of the Deerford plow? James couldn’t see a name or city logo on the lumbering vehicle as it rode past him and then cut into the right lane. Snow shot up out of the plow, blowing an arcing fountain of white fifteen feet into the air and over the side of the interstate.

James pulled his truck in behind the plow, following at a safe distance. Whoever the driver was, James wanted a chance to thank him for the rescue. Without that driver coming along when he did, James would’ve been in deep trouble.

As they approached the off-ramp to the hospital, a fog of snow and ice enveloped the truck. Visibility dropped to less than twenty feet. James could no longer see the plow. He could only follow the faint track left by the heavy vehicle.

He eased off the interstate onto the off-ramp. The cloud lifted. He expected to see the snowplow right ahead of him. Although the surface road had been recently cleared of snow, there was no sign of the plow that had led him the last few miles home.

Stopping and idling the truck, he rolled down the window to listen for the sound of the grinding snowplow somewhere up ahead.

Only the keening cry of the wind and hum of his own truck engine greeted him.

His forehead pulled into a frown. How could something as large as a snowplow simply vanish into the fog?

He glanced at the white plastic container settled securely on the passenger seat. No time to worry about the plow now. He’d get the liver safely to the hospital. Then he’d go in search of the man who had saved him.

The word had spread by the time James arrived at Hope Haven that he was en route. He walked into the main entrance carrying the white container and was met by applause.

Eddie Blaine had a big grin on his face. James dug the truck key out of his pocket and tossed it to Eddie, nodding his thanks.

The entire food service staff had stepped out of the cafeteria and clapped as he walked to the elevator.

Invariably stoic, Leila Hargrave actually smiled at him. “Well done, James.”

Her words of praise, so rare, boosted his spirits and his energy after the long, tense drive.

Elena popped out of the chapel and gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re back safely.”

Pastor Tom, the hospital chaplain, caught up with Elena and James. “Welcome home, James. We’re all glad you made it.” The quiet faith shining in his sky-blue eyes warmed James after the long, cold journey.

“I had a lot of help along the way.” Thinking of the stranger in the fur parka, in particular, he punched the button for the elevator.

“I know. We’ve all been praying for you,” Elena said. “Have you called Fern yet?”

“Haven’t had a chance.”

“I’ll call her to let her know you’re back,” Elena said. “You call her when you get a free minute.”

He half smiled, grateful for her thoughtful gesture. Fern would be relieved to hear he’d made it safely home. “Thanks.” Stepping into the elevator he rode up to the third floor.

Neil and Tammy Witten, and a young man James took to be Tammy’s fiancé, greeted him when the elevator door opened.

His expression somber, Neil’s gaze slid to the plastic container. “Is it in there? The new liver?”

“Yes. I’m taking it to the operating room now.”

“They’ve already taken my mother in to get her ready.” Tammy’s chin trembled.

The younger man slipped his arm around Tammy’s waist. “Hang on, honey.”

“It’s a long surgery,” James warned them. “I’m sure the nurse will keep you apprised of the progress when she can.”

Neil extended his hand. “No matter what happens, I want to thank you for—” His voice faltered and tears appeared in his eyes.

James shook the man’s hand, finding it damp with perspiration. “We’re all doing whatever we can to help your wife, Mr. Witten. I’m just one small part of that effort.” The Lord, James was sure, had carried most of the burden so far. He’d keep on carrying it as long as it was necessary.

With a determined stride, James transported the donor liver the last few steps to the operating suite.

“Thank goodness you made it.” Dr. Drew had on his scrubs and looked ready to go. “I was worried about you when the Deerford Street Department called right after I talked to you. They told me their snowplow had broken down, and they wouldn’t be able to clear the last few miles of road for you.”

“They wouldn’t—” James’s mouth remained open, his thought unfinished. A shiver of unease sent gooseflesh rippling down his spine. If it hadn’t been the Deerford plow, then where had it come from?

“Someone driving a snowplow pulled me out of a snowbank when I went off the road,” James said.

Leaning over the sink, Dr. Drew set about scrubbing his hands and arms for the surgery. “It wasn’t anyone from Deerford. The street guy said it would take two days to get the part that was broken before they had that plow working again.”

“Then some other town sent a plow? The state police?”

“Not that I know about.” Straightening, he held his hands in the air. “All that counts is that you got here in time. Now it’s up to me to put that liver to good use.”