M. Jean Pike

Overhead, maple trees, already tinted orange by the first, crisp winds of autumn, sprinkled his windshield with fat drops of
rain. The chilly air that blasted through the cab did little to stave off his fatigue.

Good God, what a night.

The weather had been terrific; thunder slamming against the house while rain drummed an elegy against the window panes. Long after the lamps in Will James’ house flickered into darkness, Don held Eva’s hand, his ear trained to each frail, rattling breath she took. The memory of her ashy complexion and hollowed-out eyes filled him with something close to despair. He’d known Eva James for most of his thirty-six years.

Damn it, he wasn’t ready for her to die, not at fifty-three, not like this. He sighed. Without a doubt, death would come, and probably before the day was done. His medical degree didn’t allow him to perform miracles, as much as he’d sometimes like
to. As he crawled around a sharp bend in the road, the pitched roof of Joel Samuels’ farm house emerged from out of the fog.

He had one last obligation to fulfill, before sleep. The thought made him weary. He briefly considered not stopping, but at the

last moment, his deeply ingrained sense of duty drove him into the rutted driveway. Pushing all thoughts of rest from his sleep-starved brain, he turned his attention to the matter at hand; a cow that wouldn’t eat. He climbed from the truck, and though he was a medical doctor and not a veterinarian, began to ponder the possible reasons.

He shot a glance at the darkened barn before walking toward the house, where he saw Joel’s wife, Cora, peering out the

kitchen window. Seconds later the screen door opened and Cora’s cheerful greeting shattered the morning stillness.

"My goodness, Don. You’re up with the chickens this morning." As he drew nearer he noticed her fretful glance move over his wrinkled shirt and his unshaved face. "You’ve been up all night."

He propelled himself up the porch steps. "Has Joel gone out yet?"

"No, not yet. Come in." She ushered him into the kitchen and pulled a chair back from the table. "Sit down. Gracious, you look
exhausted." She poured a cup of coffee from the nearby urn and pressed it into his hands.

"Eva James took a turn for the worse last night," he told her.

"I don’t know how much longer she can hold on."

Cora made soft clucking sounds. "The poor lamb. How’s Will

holding up?"

"Not good."

"Oh, dear. I’ll drop by later with a casserole."

"That might not be a bad idea." Don took a swallow of coffee.

"Mmmm. Anyway, seems Doc Waterman’s at a veterinary

convention up in Binghamton, so Joel asked me to drop by and

take a look at one of his cows."

"That could have waited."

"Ah well, seeing I was in the neighborhood…"

"And you should have kept right on going." Cora flapped her

hands in the direction of Don’s own farm, a quarter of a mile

farther up the road. "Home and straight to bed. You can’t save

the whole world, Don. Why do you push yourself so?"

Don considered this. To say that he pushed himself was

putting it mildly. He hurled himself, perpetual motion, through

every available inch of daylight. Keeping busy was the best way

he knew of to keep his demons at bay. Cora already knew that.

"This is my last stop," he said. "For now, anyway."

"Well, I should hope so."

He imitated her stern expression, and Cora cracked a smile.

"I’ll go and get Joel."

As her plump figure disappeared through the doorway, Don

took another swallow of coffee. His gaze swept over the familiar

room, drinking in the yellow checkered curtains and matching

oilcloth, the colorful mugs that hung in orderly rows in the

Hoosier cabinet that had belonged to Cora’s mother, Hannah.

He inhaled the soothing scents of cinnamon and spice, and

thought, not for the first time, how perfectly the room reflected

its woman.

His musing was interrupted moments later when Joel’s voice

boomed out from the doorway behind him. "Mornin’ Don,

‘preciate you coming out. Old gal wasn’t looking too lively

yesterday."

Joel Samuels was a grizzly bear—big, lumbering, and loud.

Around town folks whispered of his weaknesses for whiskey

and for women, but Don had neither the time nor the patience

for small-town gossip. He shoved back his chair and stood.

"Can’t promise you anything, Joel, but I’ll do what I can."

They stepped out into the crisp morning air, shuffling

through the fallen leaves in the comfortable silence of men

that’d known and respected each other for a very long time.

When they reached the barn, Joel stooped to retrieve a wooden

latch from a pile of leaves beside the door. He studied it for a

moment before sliding it back into the catch. "Must’ve been one

hell of a storm. Tore her clean off." He shook his head and

stepped inside the barn with Don following.

"She’s here in back. Thought it would be best to separate her

from the others. Hang on while I get the light." Joel proceeded to

the back of the barn, where a tattered gray string was suspended

from the ceiling. When he yanked on it, a shaft of pale yellow

light pooled around him. Joel walked to the nearest stall. He

stopped cold, and peered inside.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed.

"She dead?" Don asked.

"It isn’t…" Joel’s breath whistled through his teeth. "Jesus, I

hope not."

Don walked toward the rear of the barn, curious to see what

had put the struck-dumb expression on his friend’s face. A

bovine carcass, no doubt, he thought, grotesque with rigor mortis. He

peered over Joel’s shoulder into the stall, expecting the worst.

What he saw caused his heart to jolt inside his chest. He might

have thought it a cruel apparition, straight from the belly of his

own, private hell, had Joel not seen it too. He shot the other man

a questioning glance before squinting back into the shadows at

the girl. Her long, dark hair was matted, her cheeks, bruised,

and smudged with soot. Her face was haunting. Horrible. It

knocked the breath from his lungs.

He pushed open the catch and slipped inside the stall.

Dropping to a squat, he laid his hand across her forehead. It

burned with fever. He turned back to Joel. "Any idea who she is?"

"Never seen her. Pretty banged up, ain’t she?"

With a tentative hand, Don traced the swollen line of her

cheek. Her eyes flew open. Glassy eyes. Beautiful. Wild with

fear.

"Please," she murmured through swollen lips. Her hand

moved to shield her face. "Please don’t."

"It’s all right, darlin.’"

She jerked away from his touch, her face contorting with pain

at the effort.

"Hey, take it easy," Don said. "We only want to help you.

What’s your name?"

She stared at him. He held her gaze and firmly repeated the

question. After several moments passed, she wet her swollen

lips with her tongue and answered. "Angel."

"We’d better get her in the house," Don told Joel. Returning

his attention to the girl, he said, "Angel, my name is Don. I’m

going to lift you now, all right?" Without waiting for a reply he

lifted her and carried her from the barn. She felt fragile in his

arms, like a small child, though he judged her to be at least

seventeen years old. He hitched her closer, and detected the

faint odor of diesel fuel.

"Please," she moaned, "don’t kill me."

He stared into her chalky face, a delicate face, heart

wrenchingly familiar.

Donny, please don’t let me die.

He tasted bile, choked it back, and looked away. "I won’t hurt

you, darlin.’"

Cora flitted across the porch as he approached, wringing her

hands. "Bring her inside, Don. We’ll lay her right on the couch."

With a glance at Angel’s face Cora’s hands flew to her lips.

"Sweet Lord!"

Don shoved past her. "Joel, I’ll need my bag and some cool

cloths. Cora, you go and find her some dry clothes." His tone

softened as he deposited the girl onto the sofa. "All right, Angel,

there we are."

He removed her rain-soaked clothing and wrapped her in a

blanket, noticing for the first time that her ankle was purple and

swollen. He puzzled over the bits of crushed gravel that were

embedded into her skin. Railroad ballast? He pulled a hankie

from his pocket and went to work on her wounds. "Where have

you been, little darlin’?" he murmured.

She moaned in reply.

"Is it broke?" Joel stood behind him, clutching Don’s medical

bag and a pair of dripping dish towels to his chest.

"No, I don’t think so," Don answered, reaching for the bag.

He wrapped Angel’s ankle in one of the cold towels Joel had

brought and propped it on a pillow, and then placed the other

cloth across her forehead. He stood back when Cora returned

with a nightgown, turning away as she eased it over Angel’s

head. Once she was dressed again, he sat beside her and placed

a thermometer beneath her tongue. Within seconds it registered

one hundred two degrees.

"Angel, I want to give you something for your fever," he told

her, "and for pain."

She opened her eyes, staring at him as though he’d spoken in

a foreign language.

"Try and think for me, Angel. Are you allergic to anything?"

She shook her head.

"Do you use any medications, any drugs of any kind?"

Again, she shook her head.

Cora bustled into the room again, carrying an ice pack and a

tall glass of water. Don opened his bag and extracted two pills

from his supply. He held Angel’s head while she swallowed

them. Within moments she slept.

A half hour later Don and Cora sat at the kitchen table, still

discussing the girl. "I wonder where she came from," Cora said,

"and how she happened to be way up here in our barn."

"She couldn’t have climbed this road, the shape she was in,"

Don said. He was still thinking about the ballast. "My guess is

she jumped off a cargo train and came across that field." He

gestured toward the window. "That’s probably how she got that

sprain."

"Good Lord, Don, I’ll bet you’re right. But I wonder why?"

"Runaway, maybe." He shrugged. "Could be a lot of

reasons."

"So young," Cora murmured, "so pretty." Her eyes locked on

his, saying more than he wanted to hear. She reached across the

table for his hand. "Don, I…"

Mercifully, the sounds of hearty laughter outside the

window cut her short. "Oh, dear. That will be the men, looking

for their breakfast." She hustled to the refrigerator and pulled

out a bowl of eggs, then carried them to the stove and cracked

them open in a skillet. When Joel and his three farm hands

blustered in, she gave them an apologetic smile. "It’ll be a late

breakfast today, men. What with the girl and everything,

gracious, the morning just got away from me."

Joel muttered something under his breath, and then shifted

his gaze to Don. "Cow didn’t make it."

Don raked his fingers through his hair, all at once

remembering why he’d come. "Damn. I’m sorry, Joel."

The farmer shrugged. "Probably wasn’t anything you

could’ve done anyway. I know you ain’t no vet."

Cora turned from her work. "Will you stay and eat, Don?"

He heaved himself from his chair. "I don’t think so, darlin.’

I’m all in." He glanced through the doorway into the living

room, where Angel moaned in her sleep. "Keep plenty of ice on

that ankle of hers, all right, and here," pulling a bottle of pills

from his bag, he added, "She’ll need two more of these when she

wakes up. Not before noon, though. I’ll look in on her later, but

call me if her fever goes any higher."

"All right, Don," Cora said, tucking the bottle into the pocket

of her apron. Don had hoped for a smooth getaway, but Cora

followed him out to the porch. "Donny, are you all right?"

"I’m all right, Cora," he said, with a conviction that didn’t

quite reach his core.

"It’s uncanny," Cora whispered. "I mean, I could barely

believe my eyes. Why, it was just as though…"

"I’ll be back this afternoon. See you then, Cora." Don stepped

from the porch and beat a hasty retreat across the yard. Cora

was right. It was uncanny. In fact it was downright chilling, but

he couldn’t let himself think about it. Not today. Not ever.

It wasn’t until he’d turned his truck toward home that Don

allowed himself to come unglued.

"My God," he whispered. His hands trembled on the steering

wheel as a tidal wave of memories rushed past his defenses,

unfettered by Angel’s pale, beautiful face. A haunting face, like

one that tormented his dreams. He fought to push it from his

mind, but stubbornly, it remained.

"My God," he whispered again. "Mary."