A FATHER'S RESCUE
Chapter Eleven
Rose was sitting on a bench facing a body of
water. Waves lapped gently against the pilings of the pier; mist hovered over
the peaks of not-too-distant mountains. It was a calm, serene afternoon...until
wild screams tore Rose from her reverie. Startled, she looked back over her
shoulder, then relaxed. It was only the roller coaster.
"When are you gonna ride, huh?" The
sound of Jack's voice seemed normal here--this was, after all, where he lived
once, where he'd wanted to bring her. "When are you going to do the things
we talked about?" He didn't sound angry with her, like he'd been that last
time, when she was sick. But wait, how could she be here, unless...
"Jack, it's too late," she said.
Sudden melancholia threatened to weigh her down, to drown her. "You were
right. I'm sick. And this time you can't save me."
"And what about me?" That wasn't
Jack. Rose jumped from the bench and spun around, but no one was there. She
began to pace the boardwalk, nonplused, but neither her father nor Jack
appeared.
She searched anyway, running the length of
the pier, shoving her way through crowds, ignoring the indignant stares and
comments from those she pushed out of her way. And then she saw a head of
thick, curly brown hair standing at a ticket booth, and her face broke into a
giddy smile, and she approached him from behind, spreading her arms wide, ready
to hug him, to tell him how much she'd missed him. But then he turned and it
wasn't her Daddy, as much as it looked like him. This skeletal stranger with
the tattered coat and the unshaven face could not be her father. Rose backed
away, letting out a shriek of horror.
Rose was totally unaware of it, but by now
she was tossing fiercely in her bed. It was enough to attract the attention of
the duty nurse, who often paid little mind to the patients at such an hour. But
Rose looked so distressed and sickly that she could not help herself.
At the same time, the nurse had no idea what
to do to help. The doctor had told her everything that could be done to lower
the girl's fever had already been done. It was clear also that she was not even
sweating yet, her body was still holding in all that heat.
The nurse could only stand over her, with
nothing she could do to help. It seemed this girl was not much older than
herself, but there was nothing...the nurse just shook her head and walked away,
hoping that there would be friends or relatives coming to visit in the morning.
But, when Rose was still tossing restlessly
forty-five minutes later, the nurse returned to her bedside. She had to try
something. She prepared a cool cloth and placed it on the girl's forehead.
After repeating this several times, she began to calm and truly seemed to rest.
But after a few moments, the nurse could tell by her breathing that she was not
asleep. She was unconscious.
*****
In a cramped room not more than five miles
from where his daughter languished, Michael Bukater awoke and slowly,
reluctantly, faced his dreary surroundings. He instantly regretted waking up at
all, for in his dreams he'd been with his Rose. The details of the dream were
already escaping him, but for some reason she'd seemed unhappy.
Of course she's unhappy, you miserable
lout, he chided himself. You
abandoned her. But something about her appearance in the dream disturbed
him more than any dream he'd had about his daughter in the past year--and there
had been many. She looked downright sickly. He felt a pang of worry and
immediately attempted to squash it. She was a healthy girl, strong of body as
well as spirit.
That was before you left her in her mother's
care, the inner voice reminded him sternly.
Michael closed his eyes and squeezed the
bridge of his nose between them. "Don't punish yourself," he spoke
aloud. "You can't go back to them, not like this, so there's no point in
looking back. Just concentrate on getting an edible meal." At the mere
mention of food, his stomach rumbled. It was as if it could smell breakfast being
prepared downstairs before his nose could.
Michael rose wearily from bed, and tried to
make himself as presentable as possible before going downstairs. When he went
down, he was surprised not to see the landlady at the table. Michael inquired
of the one other person he recognized as to where she was.
"She had to go to the hospital this
morning. One of the tenants is there. She said she would be back around
lunchtime."
Michael just nodded, not knowing what to say,
and turned his attention to his food. Soon, he was warmer, more comfortable,
and his stomach satisfied. At the completion of the meal, everyone else headed
off to work. Michael, of course, had no job to go to, which left him too much
time to think.
He wondered if Mrs. Wallace needed a
handyman. She must; the building was in such a state of disrepair, and the lady
was getting on in years. As he climbed the stairs, he noticed one of the
banisters was wobbly--not the safest condition, especially since so many of the
tenants seemed to come and go at night. And the young woman on the top floor
had so many visitors...
As if she'd spoken her name aloud, Frances
descended the staircase, dressed in what Michael could only assume was
appropriate wear for someone in her occupation. She paused and appraised him, a
smile forming on her heavily painted lips. "Well, pardon me. I was hoping
to get you alone sometime. Didn't know it would be so soon. Don't you have a
job, or are you taking a holiday, because I could sure use--"
"Actually," he interrupted her,
"I was wondering if the landlady needed someone to fix things around here.
Do you know when she might be returning?"
Frances frowned. "I dunno. Seems like
she spends all her time lately at the hospital with the princess."
"Who is this young lady you keep referring
to as the princess? What's the matter with her?"
"It's a figure of speech," Frances
said, making a face at the thought of the mysterious tenant on the floor below.
"But for all I know, she could really be royalty. Sure puts on enough
airs."
"Forgive me, but if this girl were a
rich person, I don't think she would choose to live here."
"You know, you're right about that.
Anyway, I have to go out. Don't get too lonely. The old lady might be home
sometime today."
Michael barely said a good-bye as Frances left.
For a while, he just wandered through the building. Soon though, he did tire of
being inside, and being alone, and set out on a walk. He didn't know yet, or
really care, where he might end up.
After a short wile of walking, Michael found
himself in front of a hospital. He wondered if perhaps this was where the
landlady had come. Hopes of finding her and discovering what handy things he
could do around the apartment sprang to his mind again. It was the middle of
the day now, nearly. Perhaps she would be taking a lunch break, and they would
have time to talk. Gathering all his courage, Michael went to the door and
stepped inside.
The corridors were not nearly as crowded as
they had been the night before, yet no one paid much attention to Michael as he
wandered aimlessly. He couldn't quite figure out why he'd chosen to walk all
the way here and search for the woman, as she was probably just visiting the
sick tenant out of a sense of obligation and would no doubt be in a hurry to
return home. Still, here he was, in the last place he wanted to be. He was
certain to encounter one of his doctors.
But today he was in luck. He encountered the
landlady first, nearly colliding with her bulky figure as she exited one of the
wards. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, fanning herself with one hand.
"What are you doing here? You haven't taken ill, have you?"
For a moment, he didn't know how to
respond--then decided that he could simply say he was looking for her. That at
least was the truth. "No, ma'am, but I am currently unemployed and do not
enjoy being idle. The other tenants told me I could find you here. Are there
any repairs that need to be done around the house?"
If she found his seeking her out in the
hospital odd, Mrs. Wallace chose to say nothing about it. Instead she sized
Michael up for a moment, obviously confused. "Lord knows I can use the
help, but forgive me if I say you don't exactly look like you're in any
condition to do heavy lifting, or anything of the sort."
"I'm sure I don't, but I'll manage. I
need the work to keep me busy, and your building could use the repairs.
Please?"
Mrs. Wallace was silent, thinking, then gave
a small nod. "All right, you've got a deal. But before you head back to
get started, I need a different kind of favor." Michael said nothing,
waiting for her to ask it.
"I haven't eaten all day. I need to go
down and get something. I know you don't know her yet, but my tenant is in this
room right here and I don't like leaving her alone. The nurses don't pay enough
attention. Would you mind sitting with her until I get back? She's pretty much
unconscious right now. She won't give you any trouble."
"Unconscious?" The landlady was
about to answer when the expression on her face changed. "David? You
didn't have to rush over here so quickly from work. I was just asking this nice
fellow if he would be so kind to sit with Rose for a spell."
Michael had been looking at the young man who
was headed in their direction, but at the sound of Rose's name his head jerked
back toward Mrs. Wallace. What a coincidence that this poor sick girl would
have the same name as his daughter!