Page 14 of Unwanted Vows

“Let’s get his clothes off, and check for other injuries,” I say. “David, please page Dr. Lane. This looks like one for him. Then, if you will, please take the front, and keep the minor casualties moving.”

“Will do,” David says, heading back out.

“Giles, Henry,” the stocky security guard said, “go with him. Just in case someone decides it would be a good idea to finish the job, or to carve up someone else. Until we know why this man was injured, we need to be on alert.”

A man with a surfer tan and a shaggy mullet, and a lanky guy with close cropped hair, both in Moor Security uniforms, ease out of the room, closing the curtain behind them.

Ramey snaps on gloves and approaches the patient with a pair of medical shears while I’m busy directing traffic. Starting at the neckline, she begins cutting away the man’s white dress shirt and his under shirt.

“What are you doing?” he protests weakly. “This is my good suit.”

“You can get another,” I soothe, giving the area around the knife a quick visual. He's not bleeding much, so I leave the knife in place until Dr. Lane can see him. “Right now, we’re worried about what someone did to your birthday suit. Looks like they put a hole in it. Any idea why?”

“I told ‘em I wouldn’t do it,” he says. “I told ‘em they couldn’t pay me enough to pull off shit like that. So they says, ‘Hey, we’ll just take it outta your hide. We can tan it for shoe leather.'"

“That’s terrible,” I say, holding the cloth so Ramey can cut it without jiggling the knife. “Did they do anything else?”

“They hit me with their fists,” he says. “At first, I thought that was all they’d done—hit me with their fists. But then it hurt like fire and I went down on my knees, and I couldn’t get up.”

“That’s dreadful,” I say, thinking furiously. Would a knife wound to the gut cause him to fall? What else might be wrong?

I might not have wanted Dr. Lane back in my life, but at that moment, I hoped he would hurry and show up. This man was in a bad way, and an extra pair of hands would be more than welcome.

CONNECTIONS

ANDREW

The street vendor food is not appealing to me. I decide to look for something more appetizing, especially since I was hoping to bring some back for Ms. Northernfield.

Where have I seen her before? Even her name seems familiar. But I just can't quite place the time or the event where we might have met.Too many years and too much trauma have put a heavy fog over my last months in the States and everything that happened while I was gone.

Giving up, I walk out of the fairgrounds, past the row of cottages, and into the relatively cool shade of an orchard. Bees buzz among the trees. There is a scent of green growing things, overlaid with a sharper, more pungent aroma.

As I walk out of the trees on the other side of the small orchard, I see raised beds, lightly shaded with gauzy white cloth, and filled with a variety of herbs.

The bees hum over these spicy offerings, stirring the leaves and blossoms into releasing a nearly heavenly smell.

An elderly woman looks up from one of the beds and smiles at me. “You must be one of the Lane children,” she says.

“I am,” I say.

“Richard introduced me to Leland and his wife, so you have to be Andrew,” the woman said. “There’s a look about all of you. Gives it away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I confirm politely, wondering who this person can be. “I’m taking a break from the first aid tent. I’d like to find a place to buy some lunch and where I can get something good to take back to Ms. Northernfield.”

“You don’t have to buy anything,” she says, nodding toward a cottage that seems to have a steady stream of people going in and out.

“We’ve got a buffet set up in there for the children and for the workers. You just go on in and get a plate or a box, and there are cups of grape juice and cider at the end. They’ll help fix you up with some lunch for you, Maddy, and your assistants.”

Maddy. Maddy Northernfield. Something about a children’s book, and lions in a zoo. I almost catch hold of the memory for a moment, but then it is gone again.

“There you are, long-lost brother,” Rylie, my sister, exclaims as I step into the long, cool dining hall. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the interior lighting after the blazing sun outside. Rylie is babbling along by my side, just as I remember she always used to do. “There’s queso fresco, queso de cabra, cottage cheese, gouda, cheddar, fruit salad, green salad . . .” While she is chattering, Rylie is loading up four trays. By the time we reach the end of the table, she has them filled, and she has a drink carrier with four cups in her other hand.

“There,” she says. “Specialty of the house. Good for restoring energy. Go take care of your people.”

Take care of your people . ..take care of my people . . .these were things that Leland would say. It sent a chilly tingle down my spine as if a goose had walked over my grave.

“Go on,” Rylie says cheerily, noting my hesitation. “You’ve got the best food around on those trays. Just don’t trip and spill the drinks.”

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