Chapter
Fifteen
Christine finally found the courage to visit Amber later that evening. Amber’s eyes were still red from her weeping, but she was now calm.
“I can hardly bear the thought of having to tell Henry that I have . . . have lost his child,” she said. She picked listlessly at the edge of the white blanket as she lay against the pillow.
“It was your child too,” Christine reminded her.
Amber nodded. “But Henry. He was so excited. He could hardly wait to tell you about it. He wanted to phone the very moment we were the least bit hopeful.”
Christine almost said there would be more babies, but she caught herself. She knew that was not what Amber wished to hear at the present.
“He’ll grieve,” Christine said instead. “But much of his grief will be for you.”
Amber blew her nose and took a shaky breath. Christine feared she had said the wrong thing. But when Amber lifted her eyes to Christine’s, she even managed a weak smile. “I know he will. He is so sweet. So gentle and caring. I never thought I would be blessed with a man like him. I’ve been so . . . not lucky. I don’t like that word. Blessed. Wonderfully blessed.”
“And so has Henry,” Christine stated, bringing a smile to Amber’s pale face.
“You know . . .” Amber began, “I was a bit worried . . . at first. It seems silly now, but . . . Henry was so . . . so dedicated to you, to his parents, that I wondered if he could ever love me as much. But I needn’t have worried. Henry has such a big heart. . . .” The rest was left unsaid. She started over. “I’ve no doubt that he loves me. He shows it a dozen times a day—in so many ways. He’s a wonderful man, your big brother.”
Christine could only nod, her eyes blurred with tears.
A stirring behind the curtain that divided the next bed from Amber’s got their attention. Except for the coming and going of strangers visiting their family members, it was easy to forget there were other patients in the room. Christine tried not to be distracted by the intrusion. She turned back to Amber.
“I just wish I could be with him,” Amber mourned. “It’s so hard being apart.”
Christine silently wondered how much comfort Amber would find in seeing Henry as he was now.
“Even if I could just see him. Know he’s all right.”
“He’s not really all right . . . yet,” Christine said carefully. “But the doctor assures us he will be.”
“Yes . . . I know. They have promised to let me know the minute he wakes up. It seems like it’s taking forever. If I could just speak to him, he might . . .”
“He might,” agreed Christine.
They were quiet for many moments, each deep in thought.
“I worry about Danny. Does he understand what’s happening?” Amber finally asked.
“We haven’t told him any more than necessary. We don’t want him to fret. He seemed fully involved in play when I left the house.”
“Wasn’t it gracious of God to arrange for all those cousins to be here just when Danny needed them?”
Christine had not thought of it that way. She had been thinking their plans had all been totally spoiled.
A nurse entered. “Mrs. Delaney. How are we doing? Have we been able to get any rest? It’s time for another shot.”
Why do they do that? Christine complained to herself. Why do they always say “we” like they are actually part of it all? Well, perhaps that’s the answer. Maybe they want the patient to feel they are in this together. They have a companion in their pain.
“I think I’ll slip back and check on Henry,” Christine said, giving Amber’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”
There had been no change in her brother’s condition that Christine could see. Wynn and Elizabeth still talked to him, still touched him, still coaxed him for some response, but there was nothing. Just the occasional fidget or moan.
“Why don’t you go on back to Aunt Mary’s and have something to eat and check on Danny?” Christine suggested. “Then I’ll take a break when you come back.”
“You’re right,” her father agreed, standing up. “If this is going to take a while, we should work out some kind of system. No one can be on duty twenty-four hours a day.”
Elizabeth looked reluctant, but when Wynn brought her coat to her, she did not argue.
Christine settled in the chair by the bed and took Henry’s hand. “Hey . . . wake up,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Enough sleep. Open your eyes. Blink. Squeeze my hand. Do something.”
She squeezed his hand. There was no response.
“Good evening.”
The voice and the step brought Christine’s head around. A man in a white lab coat, a hospital chart-board in his hand, stood in the doorway.
“I’m Dr. Carlton,” he said, moving toward the bed. “And you are . . . ?”
“Christine. Christine Delaney.”
“His sister?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry to meet you under such unpleasant circumstances, Miss Delaney,” he said, shaking her hand. He sounded sincere. “It was nice to hear that the little boy was discharged. Danny, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Christine again.
Christine stood and moved her chair so the doctor had free access to the bed. He worked quickly, checking instruments and charts and talking to Henry the entire time as though the man was fully awake.
“Your wife, Amber, is doing fine, Henry, but she is anxious to see you. And Danny has gone on to Grandma’s house.”
Christine did not attempt to correct him. There was no need for him to try to untangle the gaggle of relatives who had gathered for the weekend.
“Now we just need to get you going again, Henry. Can you open your eyes for me? Think, Henry. Concentrate hard. Can you open your eyes? Can you squeeze my hand? What about the other one? Squeeze.
“Has he been doing anything?” the doctor asked Christine when there was no visible response. “Have you seen his eyes blink? Move at all?”
“He does move a bit . . . at times. Just . . . just his left hand and . . . and his head some. And he sort of moans. Not words really.”
“That’s encouraging,” the doctor nodded.
Christine could find little encouragement in the feeble description she had just reported.
“At least something is going on in there.” The doctor made some notations on his pad. “The nurses will soon be in to bathe him and change his bed linen.”
Christine assumed this was a polite invitation for her to leave the room.
“I’ll go visit my sister-in-law,” she said, moving toward the door.
“I just came from there. She’s sleeping.”
“Oh. Well . . . I’ll go on down to the lobby, then.”
“There’s a small room for family members right down the hall. Has anyone shown it to you?”
Christine shook her head.
“It’s a bit more relaxing and private than the lobby. Third door on the right. Just walk in.”
He was still writing notes on his chart. Christine murmured her thanks and left.
Third door on the right. It wasn’t at all hard to find. She was relieved to discover the room was vacant. She took a seat by the one window and laid her head back. She was so weary. So very weary and a long night stretched before them. Was Henry ever going to wake up?
She closed her eyes. Only then did she realize that soft music was coming from somewhere. It was a simple hymn. She knew it. She groped around mentally to find the words. When the song reached the chorus, she followed along silently.
Count your blessings, Name them one by one.
Count your blessings, See what God hath done.
Count your blessings, Name them one by one.
Count your many blessings, See what God hath done.
Christine let the words wash over her soul. If she were to start to count, just how many would be on her list? She hadn’t been counting blessings. She had been counting woes—but surely . . .
They were all alive—Henry, Amber, and Danny.
They were in a hospital where they could get care.
There could be more babies—painful as the loss was now.
They had family members who loved them and shared their concern.
They were still in God’s hands.
Someone at the door brought Christine’s head up. “You found it,” the doctor said with a smile. “Good. Here—I brought you a coffee. I don’t know how you take it, but it being hospital coffee, I figured it would need all the help I could give it. I put in both cream and sugar. I found a few stale cookies too.”
In spite of herself, Christine smiled. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup. “I’ll have to add that to my list.”
“List?”
“I was just sitting here counting my blessings,” she said, with a slight wave toward the corner radio that continued to play.
“That’s a great exercise for all of us.”
“It is,” she replied. “One I had temporarily neglected.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” he said.
Christine took a sip of the coffee. She didn’t normally use sugar, but it was hot and strangely comforting.
“Just how is he?” she asked frankly.
The young doctor shook his head. “These things are so hard to read. It looks like everything should be okay.” He hesitated, deep in thought. “But I wouldn’t stop praying yet,” he said just as frankly.
“So . . . there is a chance that . . . that he could be more seriously—”
“There’s always a chance. We can never be one-hundred percent sure. The X-ray looks good. Let’s hang on to that.” He smiled.
The music switched to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”
“Here, have a cookie.”
He pulled a white napkin from his breast pocket and unwrapped two cookies. “I’m not sure if the cookies are supposed to take away the taste of the coffee or if the coffee is to wash down the cookies—but it was the best I could do.”
With a smile Christine accepted a cookie.
“Are you from out of town too? I understand your brother was just coming into town.”
“That’s right. But I’m . . . well . . . I’m not quite sure where I’m from right now.”
“My folks are at Athabasca.”
“Your dad’s a cop, too, I understand.”
“RCMP. Yes.”
“Does he not like being called a cop?”
Christine shrugged. “I’ve never heard him say. But my mother doesn’t care for the term.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He grinned. “But you’re not living at home, I take it.”
“No. No, I’ve been working here in the city.”
“Here?” His eyebrow rose again. “So where do you work?”
Christine told him.
“And you live . . . ?”
Christine explained about coming to help Aunt Mary and staying on as a boarder.
“And if I’m not being too bold, what else do you do—besides work?”
“I . . . I help out at the Hope Canteen . . . as a volunteer.”
“I’ve heard of it. It sounds like a great ministry.”
“And I go to church.”
“I’ve never seen you at mine.” She could tell he was teasing.
“And yours is?”
“Community Fellowship.”
“No . . . no, I’ve never been there. I attend a mission on Third Street with my aunt and uncle.”
“Small?”
“It was. It isn’t small anymore. They are planning to build.”
“That’s good.”
He finished his coffee and stood. “By the way, I poked my head into your sister-in-law’s room on my way by. She’s awake now.”
Christine rose as well. “Thank you. I’ll . . . I’ll go right in.”
He nodded and held the door. “You may use this room anytime,” he told her. “It’s here for the families of our patients.”
“Thank you,” she said again. Then added, “And thank you for the coffee—and cookie too. It was—”
“Don’t say delicious,” he joked.
“I was going to say ‘very thoughtful.’ I appreciated it.”
He nodded and was gone.
When Christine reached Amber’s room, she found that her father and mother had returned. “I was about to send your father out to look for you,” Elizabeth said.
“There’s a room. Right down the hall. They were bathing Henry, and Amber was sleeping, so I—”
“Good,” said Wynn. “I’m glad you got a little rest. Were you able to nap?”
Christine did not say she’d had a relaxing conversation with one of the hospital doctors. “No. I had a cup of coffee.”
Amber looked much brighter, her eyes clearer, since her rest. Christine exchanged relieved glances with her mother.
“A nurse is in with Henry now,” her father said. “They are giving him another dose of medicine. She said she will just be a minute.”
“I think your father should drive you home now,” said Elizabeth. “It’s your turn for a break.”
Christine was surprised at how tired she felt. The cup of coffee and cookie had mostly served to remind her of how hungry she was.
“I think I would like that,” she agreed.
She kissed her mother good-night and looked in on Henry one last time. The nurse was still fussing with the IV. Then Christine turned and followed her father out to the car.
“I think Danny would like you to tuck him in—if he’s not already asleep by the time you get there. He just had his pill before we left the house. I’ve no idea if it is a sedative as well as painkiller, but if it is, he’s probably sleeping by now.”
“I’ll check.”
“Don’t think about coming back tonight,” Wynn told her. “You need to get some rest.”
“You’re not planning to stay all night, are you?”
“I’m not sure I can get your mother away. Perhaps we’ll make use of that room you spoke of. Does it have a couch where she could lie down?”
“I didn’t even notice. I sat in a chair. But it was comfortable.”
They drove up in front of Jon’s. Christine reached for the car door handle. “Dad,” she said, turning back to him. “What happens if . . . if Henry doesn’t make it?”
“We’ve no reason to think he won’t make it,” he said, almost too quickly.
“But, what happens if . . . if he doesn’t get better? Can’t work anymore?” The words scarcely could make it passed the lump in her throat.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “We’ll just have to take it as it comes.”
“He’d hate that—not being a cop.” She used the term in spite of her mother. “That’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to be.”
“I know.”
She opened the door and slid out. The evening was still warm. She turned to watch her father drive away. She had almost forgotten—tomorrow was Easter Sunday. A day of new beginnings. A day of hope—of resurrection. A day of celebration. She wondered what the day would hold for them.
It was only the flicker of an eyelid at first. They almost missed seeing it. When it didn’t occur again, they thought perhaps it had been imagined. Then a finger twitched. Once—then twice. It was another fifteen minutes before Henry’s eyes opened partially. But they closed again, and despite their urgent coaxing, they did not reopen.
Elizabeth took the limp hand in both of her own. “Son. Son, listen to me. Son, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand. Squeeze, Henry.”
Suddenly her eyes widened, staring in shock. “He did,” she gasped. “He squeezed.”
“Do it again,” suggested Wynn. Christine knew her father thought it might merely be an involuntary reaction. Wynn leaned over the hand and watched carefully as Elizabeth repeated her command.
“Squeeze my hand, Henry. Squeeze it, son,” she implored as only a mother could.
The fingers visibly tightened around Elizabeth’s. “He did. He did,” cried Christine as Wynn broke out in a broad smile.
“Ring for the nurse,” Wynn instructed her. Elizabeth was far too engaged with talking to her son.
“Henry—we’ve been so worried,” Elizabeth said. “Open your eyes, son. Talk to us. We’re here, Henry. We’re right here. Talk to us, son. Can you open your eyes?”
Henry did.
At first they looked vacant, seeming not to focus on anything in the room. In response to the call, a nurse rushed through the door, followed quickly by two doctors. But Elizabeth refused to give up her spot, even for the medical personnel.
“It’s me, Henry. Your mother. Can you speak to us?”
Henry’s head moved slightly as though to clear his vision. He still looked confused. His eyes turned toward Elizabeth. He frowned.
“It’s me, Henry,” Elizabeth said again.
“Mother. Where am I?” were his first words, sounding husky but clear—words that brought the two doctors in closer to his bed.
“Henry,” said the older one. “Henry, how do you feel?”
“What happened?” asked Henry.
“You were in a bit of an accident. Took a bump on the head.”
Henry struggled to lift his head. “Amber? Is she—?”
“She’s fine. And so is that boy of yours.”
“Danny.”
“Yes, Danny. He’s already been discharged.”
Henry settled back against his pillow and closed his eyes again. Elizabeth leaned forward anxiously, but a doctor’s gentle hand restrained her.
“He must rest,” he advised, and she relaxed.
He nodded toward the door, and the group followed him. The other doctor remained behind, checking heart rate and writing notes on his pad.
“That’s good—very good—for a start.” The doctor seemed genuinely pleased. “He recognized you and he remembered his family. That’s a positive sign.”
“Now what?” from Wynn.
“We can only wait and see. Next time he wakes up, I expect him to be much more alert. Remember, as well as the concussion, he has also been on medication to help him rest so the healing can take place. I think we can start to ease off on that now.”
“How long?”
“What I suggest is that you all go home and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll see what tomorrow holds. We want Henry to get undisturbed sleep himself tonight.”
“But what if he wakens and asks for us?” Christine could tell her mother could not imagine not being there.
“I think we’ll keep him asleep tonight.”
“We must go see Amber,” Wynn prompted. “She’ll want to know all about—”
“Yes.” Elizabeth turned to head for Amber’s room. “We have such good news to share.”
But was it actually good news? Christine wasn’t sure. There hadn’t been time to bring Amber to Henry’s hospital bed before he had slipped back into unconsciousness again. But he had, for those brief minutes, been able to remember—able to reason. Perhaps that would be enough to give Amber hope.
Christine followed her folks from the room. She thought of the morning service in the little church where they had all worshiped together before coming to the hospital. There had been earnest prayer as the congregation knelt together. “Lord, on this Easter Sunday of deliverance and restoration, we ask for another miracle from your hand,” the minister had prayed. “If it is your will, place your healing touch on Henry. Touch his body and his mind. Bring him back to his family, Lord, we pray.”
It seemed that their prayers were beginning to be answered.