Chapter Twenty-Eight

Damon had given Belle a father’s blessing when he and Tanner had gone in to see her. A comfort spread through his heart. He’d done all he could do mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The rest was left in the Lord’s careful hands.

After the initial visits, he and Mickelle had stayed alternately with Belle and with their sons in the waiting room. They were not alone. Other families were also gathered, and took turns with their critically injured or sick loved ones. One particular couple caught Damon’s attention. Their three-year-old daughter was near death, caused by a fall from a balcony. His heart went out to them and to the grandparents who’d also gathered. The girl was the couple’s only child, which increased Damon’s gratitude for Tanner and for Bryan and Jeremy. And for Jennie Anne, though that was a difficult direction for his thoughts to take. They’d still heard nothing from the police.

All the families in the waiting room prayed in their huddled groups, and talked quietly of hope and the hereafter. Hours ticked by.

Near midnight Mickelle emerged from the corridor leading to Belle’s room, and Damon arose for his turn. Neither he nor Mickelle was willing to let Belle be alone for very long . . . just in case.

She hugged him, and she felt warm and alive in his arms as he breathed the scent of her freshly washed hair. “No change,” she said wearily.

He wondered how long they could keep up this schedule. How long it would be until one of them would have to go home to take care of the other children. How long before Belle awoke. Or died.

“Mom!” Bryan’s voice penetrated Damon’s thoughts, urgent and demanding.

In his arms, Mickelle stiffened. Her hand went to her mouth and then fluttered to her side. Damon turned. “Jennie Anne!” Mickelle’s voice was a strangled cry. She ran across the room to the elevator where two police officers had emerged, one carrying a blanket-wrapped Jennie Anne in his arms. Damon hurried over.

“Mickelle!” Jennie Anne said weakly.

“Careful,” one of the men urged as Mickelle reached for the child. “Her shoulder’s dislocated. She needs to go to the emergency room, but we knew you’d want to be with her when she did. You’ll have to hold her on this side.”

They gingerly made the switch. Mickelle cradled Jennie Anne in her arms, kissing her and then pressing her face against the little girl’s head. “Oh Jennie Anne, you’re safe! Thank you, oh, thank you, Father.” Her eyes focused on the officers. “And you—thank you for finding her.”

One of the men shook his head. “It was her who found us, ma’am. We were outside the farmhouse, wondering how to get inside without endangering her, and then she comes wandering out, running away from what we can gather. We gave her a little fright sneaking up on her, but we didn’t want to risk the kidnapper hearing. He did come out of the house. Almost got her, too. But we were quicker. We have him in custody now. He’s going away for a long time.”

“She fainted,” added the other man. “Though that was probably because her shoulder hurt so bad. On the way here she kept muttering something about a wagoner and Hercules, or something. Couldn’t make sense of it.”

Jennie Anne nuzzled closer to Mickelle and then moaned with the pain. Damon caressed her forehead with his hand and kissed her cheek. “Good girl, Jennie Anne. You did good. Really good. We’re proud of you. What a strong girl you are!”

She gave him a smile that was strained but that showed her contentment.

Damon looked at Mickelle. “Why don’t you go down with her, and I’ll stay here with—” He stopped, not wanting to talk openly in front of Jennie Anne until she had been prepared for the news of Belle’s accident.

Mickelle nodded. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

She turned to leave, but Jennie Anne’s good arm shot out to Damon. “Why don’t you call me a nickname like everybody else?”

It was true. Damon used a nickname for everyone close to him—Tan, Belle, Jer, Kelle. He even called Bryan Bry. For Damon, the shortening had come naturally, so why did he still call Jennie Anne by her full name? It was probably the nature of her name—two complete words. She was not Jennie, which could be shortened to Jen, or Anne, which was already short. She was Jennie Anne. But how could he explain this to her?

Jennie Anne’s eyes fixed on him, awaiting his answer. Silently he tried out the possibilities. Jen Anne. No, still too long. How about J.A.? He grimaced mentally at the thought. That simply didn’t describe this freckled-face angel who had been tougher than anyone he knew.

“Well, you know,” he said at last, “some people are too special to have a nickname.” He saw the disappointment in her eyes and quickly amended his statement. “What I mean is that it takes a long time to come up with the perfect name because they’re so special. So I have to think and think of a name that will be just right for you.”

In her brown eyes he saw she wanted to believe him but didn’t quite. So he searched for something to help her believe. “I think I need to wait a little longer to settle on a special name, and I was wondering if I could tell you on a special day, the day Kelle and I become your official parents. Two specials in one.”

Joy sprang to Jennie Anne’s eyes, scattering the disbelief. “Okay,” she agreed.

Mickelle smiled at him, her eyes shimmering. She mouthed, “Thank you.”

Damon watched them go, feeling much happier than he’d felt since the ordeal began. Jennie Anne was back and safe. He directed a prayer heavenward, Thank you, Father.

Leaving Tanner and Bryan in the waiting room, he went to sit by Belle’s bed. He couldn’t wait to tell her about Jennie Anne. They hadn’t mentioned her before, not wanting to upset her in case she could hear them, but the good news should only improve her chances of recovery.

Just inside the ICU Damon stopped to get a drink from a fountain in the hall, but he froze as he heard a scattering of murmuring voices. “She’s gone . . . nothing more we could do . . . didn’t expect it so sudden like this . . . . usually more warning . . . tell the parents . . . not looking forward . . . they’ve been here so long . . . just left her side for a few minutes . . . faithful . . . praying . . . wish we could have done more . . .

Damon straightened as a doctor and a nurse rounded the corner. They came toward him, every step sluggish as though slowed in a sports replay. Damon’s attention riveted on the doctor. Ever so slowly he continued his approach, solemn at the news he would be forced to divulge. Damon saw the dark stubble on the man’s face, the harsh pain in his eyes, the finality, and his gut tightened with the fear, although he knew it was already over. All that remained was the pronouncement. The doctor took a few more steps. He seemed to go so slowly, it made Damon angry. “Tell me!” he wanted to shout. “Just tell me!”

The torturous steps also made him glad. Slowly! Walk more slowly! Don’t tell me my daughter’s dead!

Their eyes met. A brief, acknowledging smile appeared on the doctor’s face . . . and then . . . he walked past Damon.

Damon turned, following the doctor’s progress with his eyes. He saw the couple with the injured three-year-old daughter come through the wide door from the ICU waiting room, no doubt on their way to sit with their daughter. Damon held his breath, willing the doctor and nurse to walk by them as well.

The doctor stopped. Damon was too far away to hear their voices, but he saw the instant agony on the couple’s faces and felt it profoundly; only seconds earlier he’d lived their pain.

The nurse was comforting the distraught couple, and Damon forced himself to look away, to turn the corner. He made it a few steps to a single chair that seemed to have been placed against the wall for such an occasion. He felt a tremendous urge to run to Belle’s side, to assure himself that she was breathing, but his limbs had lost all strength.

A nurse came down the hall, her face similar to all the many other kind faces he’d seen in the past two days. “Ah, Mr. Wolfe, I’ve been looking for you. Your fiancée asked me to stay with your daughter until you traded places. But guess what? Your daughter’s showing signs of fighting to wake up despite the medication, and her color is really good. That means the infection is possibly leaving. I’m going to get the doctor now to see what he says, so keep your fingers crossed. If the tests check out, I think he’ll want to lower the drugs and see what happens. If we can get her awake and fighting, that should help a lot.”

Damon’s heart beat heavily and painfully for several seconds before he realized he was hearing good news. Belle was getting better, not worse!

Damon felt tears of relief and joy streaming down his face. He recalled the other parents who sobbed in each other’s arms around the corner. The roles could have been reversed so easily. His Belle could have been the one to die. His heart filled with a thankfulness that knew no bounds. Not one, but both of his daughters had been saved!

He felt a deep compassion toward the couple who had not been so fortunate. They were good, worthy people who had loved their daughter as much as he loved Belle. He prayed that they would find comfort and felt that they would.

“Please,” he said to the nurse through his tears of relief. “Can you help me up? I seem to have forgotten how to walk.”

She smiled and pulled him to his feet. “I’ll help you to your daughter’s room. You’ll want to be there in an hour or so when she wakes.”

* * *

Jennie Anne’s dislocated shoulder had scarcely been returned to its proper place when a nurse appeared in the room to speak to Mickelle. “Mrs. Hansen?”

“Yes?”

“Your sons are out at the desk asking for you. They say it’s important.”

Mickelle’s heart seemed to stop. Did Bryan and Tanner have news of Belle? She glanced at Jennie Anne, who eyes silently begged her not to leave. “Could you tell them we’ll be right out? The doctor went to write a pain prescription.”

A short while later Mickelle carried a nearly sleeping Jennie Anne out of the emergency room.

Bryan and Tanner sprang up from their seats. “It’s Belle!” Tanner said, nearly shouting.

Bryan grinned from ear to ear. “She’s waking up! Damon told us to come tell you.”

Mickelle hurried to intensive care with the boys, excitement and gratitude renewing her energy and her spirit. Jennie Anne was asleep when they arrived, and she arranged the child on the couch in the waiting room, tucking a blanket around her sleeping form.

Admonishing the boys to watch Jennie Anne, she hurried past the nurse on ICU duty and down the hall to Belle’s room. Damon met her halfway across the room, his arms going around her in a triumphant hug. “She was awake just now—I talked to her! The doctor says she’s going to be okay. Her insides are healing better than he’d hoped.”

His lips met hers in an urgent kiss that spread like fire through Mickelle’s veins. “I love you so much,” he murmured, “and I want to do anything to make you happy. To make our family happy. Beginning with the surgery.”

Mickelle laughed until the tears came. “But Damon, don’t you see? Jennie Anne is ours together! She is what I need—my special rose that only you and I share. I didn’t see it until you told her we were going to adopt her!”

“Of course we’re going to adopt her—weren’t we always? But Jennie Anne or no Jennie Anne, you have to believe that I will always love you.”

He kissed her again, and suddenly there were no doubts in Mickelle’s heart. Whatever happened next, wherever they ended up, she knew they shared a love that would exist forever.