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Authors: Janette Oke

[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm (26 page)

BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm

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“Yes, you can. We can all pray.”

“I ... I turned away.”

Henry leaned close to catch the whisper.

“Then turn back. Do you remember the story of the Prodigal Son?”

The head nodded ever so slightly.

“The father was waiting. Waiting for the son to come back. It’s not just a nice little story. It’s truth. Jesus told the story so those listening would know that they can come back. It only takes a willingness to ask for forgiveness. To confess where we’ve gone wrong.”

Henry feared Laray was slipping into unconsciousness. He dared not do more than stroke the young man’s head. He did not know where the injuries were in the mass of blood. He dared not shake him. Who knew what might have happened to his neck? His spine? Henry leaned over close and spoke above the roar of the truck. “Laray, listen to me. If you can’t fight, then pray. Pray—so that if you leave this life, you’ll be safe in the next. Please, Laray. Pray.”

The man on the blood-soaked blanket did not respond. He had slipped into unconsciousness. Henry crossed the unsteady truck box and leaned over to shout into the rancher’s window. “Floor it. We’ve got to get there pronto.”

The truck lurched forward, reeling and careening as it hit potholes in the washboard roadbed. Dust was so heavy Henry had to fight for breath.
We’ll be lucky if we don’t all perish,
he thought, steadying himself while he fought to hold Laray in place.

He breathed a prayer of thanks when they screeched to a stop at the Emergency entrance. Two white-coated attendants were already there with a stretcher. The first one took one look and turned as white as the coat.

“What happened to him?”

“A bear,” Henry said, his tone clipped. “Get him in there—quick. There’s not much pulse left.”

Henry stepped back and watched, hoping and praying they were in time, but fearing it might already be too late. Hanging on to the stretcher, the attendants disappeared through the doors on a run.

The rancher refused to go home until he knew the outcome. Together they waited, both men somber, hushed.

At last the rancher had to talk. “We took saddle horses and started out to where the cattle were grazing. We talked about whether to split up to cover more ground or stick together in case there was trouble. We decided to stick together.” The rancher stared with a glazed look at the opposite wall.

“We’d gone two or three miles when I heard a cow bawling. That’s how I’d been tipped off before. Cows bawling, looking for a nursing calf. We rode toward the sound, and sure enough, we hadn’t gone too far when we spotted this carcass in a wash.

“The Mountie handed me the reins to his horse and decided to take a closer look. There was about a four- or five-foot cutbank at the spot, and we didn’t want to take the horses down. He slid over the edge and walked over to the calf. He called up to me. Said it was a fresh kill. Looked around for tracks. Could have been wolves. But it was the bear. He found one clear track in some mud.

“I was watching from up top. He was just turning to come back up when out of the brush this fella came, charging straight for him.

“The horses spooked. By the time I was able to get clear of them and pick up the rifle I’d dropped, that bear was all over him.” He stopped and blew out a long breath. “I managed to put it down with one shot. I was scared to death. I knew if I just wounded it, it would be all over for him.”

He was shaking so hard he could barely speak.

“Fell right on him. It was all I could do to drag the carcass off enough to get the Mountie freed up. He was a mess. Worst sight I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You did a great job,” Henry tried to assure him.

“We shoulda been prepared for that bear. They’re very protective of their kill. I shoulda known better than to let him go down there.”

Henry had nothing to offer. It was true. With a fresh kill they should have known the bear wouldn’t be far away. He was likely sleeping off his first meal in the shade. But he still would have considered the carcass his possession.

“What say we go find ourselves a cup of coffee? Maybe a sandwich?” asked Henry. The rancher slowly got up to his feet.

“We are most concerned about his arm,” the doctor informed them later. Henry was relieved to know Laray was still alive.

“The facial cuts aren’t too deep. They’ll heal. ’Course he lost a lot of blood—but we hope we have him stabilized. But the arm—it was broken and mangled pretty badly. We’re thankful the muscle was still intact. It’s going to be a while before we know how much use he’ll have. We’ll just have to wait and see and pray for the best.”

Henry wondered if the doctor had simply used a figure of speech or if he really would be praying.

“You can see him if you like, but we have him heavily sedated.”

They decided to see him.

Though he was paler than his hospital pillow and there were tubes and instruments sticking out all over like trees in a forest, Laray looked much better than the last time they had seen him. The blood was all washed away. His scalp and facial cuts were now covered with white gauze.

“Sixty-two stitches in total,” the doctor remarked from somewhere behind Henry. “And that was just his head.”

Henry winced. “His arm—we didn’t even count.”

The arm was swathed in bandages. The bone had been carefully realigned but without a cast. It was strapped to a board to prevent movement, but the lacerations needed time to heal.

“When will he waken?” asked Henry.

“We’ll keep him sedated for a while. We’ll be giving him transfusions overnight and see what shape he’s in by morning. He’s going to need quite a bit of help. Lost a good share of his own blood.”

Henry was all too aware of that.

“I’d like to be kept informed. If he wakens I’d like to be notified,” Henry said.

The doctor nodded. “Just leave your number. I’ll have you called.”

It was a quiet ride home through the darkness. Henry was exhausted, and he knew the rancher was also. “Thanks for the lift,” Henry said as he climbed from the truck. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

As tired as he was, Henry stopped to pray for Laray one more time before he climbed into his bed.

“Hello,” said Henry the next day, trying to keep his voice even and controlled.

“Hello,” murmured Laray from his swath of bandages.

“How’s it going?”

Laray tried a smile, but it was crooked because of one of the cuts near his chin. “You tell me,” he answered. “I’m not sure what’s real and what’s a nightmare.”

Henry nodded in understanding. “Well ... you’re here. And that’s real enough.”

“Yeah ... I guess I’m pretty lucky, eh?”

“You could say that. I like to think it was more than that.”

Laray closed his eyes. When he looked back at Henry, they seemed to shine with tears. “Prayer, huh?”

Henry nodded.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about prayer ... while I’ve been lying here.”

Henry waited.

“You talked to me about prayer on the way in, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“You ... you said something about the... the prodigal... coming home.”

Henry was surprised that he remembered. That he had even heard. He nodded.

“It made a lot of sense. I’ve been thinking about it since... since I can think again. I decided you were right. That I should come back ... so I asked for that forgiveness you talked about.”

Unable to speak, Henry reached out to squeeze the young man’s shoulder.

“I was wondering,” Laray went on, “I mean... I think my mom would like to hear that. Could you maybe drop her a line? Let her know?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll give her a call. She’s waiting for another report anyway.”

Laray managed another lopsided smile. “Tell her I’ll be fine. Once I’m on my feet again I’ll call her myself. Can’t move too far yet with all these tubes and this bunged-up arm.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“Just tell her ... I’ve come home. She’ll be glad to hear that.”

“I’m glad to hear it too.”

Henry decided he’d better get out of there while he still had control of his emotions. It was enough to know that the young man’s wounds would heal. It was even more wonderful to know that the inner person was healing too.

“I’ll check back tomorrow,” he promised and gave the man a pat on the shoulder.

Henry returned to the street and paused to get his bearings. He needed to find a store that sold Bibles. Laray was going to be needing one, and Henry determined that he’d find one to bring with him on his next visit to see the young man.

Laray’s recovery happened far more quickly than they would have dared hope. In two weeks he was released from the hospital, and after a week of recuperating in his simple officer’s quarters, he insisted he was bored to death and wanted to get back to work. Henry hesitantly agreed to his returning to the office, even though there was still much repair to be done on his mangled arm.

The small amount of scarring on the young officer’s face was nearly miraculous. Two of the cuts to his scalp were a bit deeper, but they would be covered by hair.

“Hey, Buddy,” joked Rogers, “you can never go bald or you’ll look like a baseball. All those crisscross stitches.”

Laray laughed as heartily as any of them.

He insisted he was up to handling a desk job, and they put him to work, more to keep him occupied than anything.

But Henry soon learned how helpful it was to have a man stationed in the office. Laray took the calls, relayed messages, and did a lot of the paper work. He needed only one arm to perform most tasks. This freed the other two men for patrolling and investigating complaints. Henry made sure Laray had plenty of time to do the therapy required for the arm. And every day they breathed a little prayer of thanks that the young man had actually made it back. Henry was reminded again of the power in a mother’s prayers.

CHAPTER
Twenty

Christine patted her hair in place and checked the mirror once more. It was not a smiling face that stared back at her. She looked strained. Tense.

BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm

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