Stillness Page 9

  But what Mary has always liked about Bea is her amiable spirit. No matter how cruel people are to her, she’s always got a smile to share. Mary has always considered it her friend’s best quality.

  Whatever else you can say about Bea—she’s not prone to public outbursts.

  “I’m sorry,” Bea apologizes “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know why I said it.”

  “Forget it,” Mary says with a smile “If you can’t go off on your friends now and again who can you go off on?”

  An awkward silence stretches out between them as Bea continues to play with her coffee cup and Mary continues to appraise her friend.

  She knows better than to question her on her raising of Derek. Every time the subject comes up Bea becomes withdrawn and brusque. Mary supposes that she can’t blame her really, after everything that she’s gone through.

  There are days when it seems like everyone in town knows about her and Arthur. Mary shudders at the thought of having so many prying eyes going through her personal life.

  Arthur Wellesley married Beatrice Rohm some odd 18 years ago. From all outward appearances they were a happily married couple. Bea was simply over the moon for her husband. Mary can still remember how happy Bea was the day she found out she was pregnant.

  And for his part, Art played the role of doting husband well. That is until two months after Derek was born—then he simply up and vanished.

  Bea worried for days that something terrible had happened to him. He wouldn’t just leave without any word like that, she cried to any and everyone who would listen. He wouldn’t leave his child fatherless—he wasn’t that type of man.

  Mary believed that then too. She knew Art well enough to know that he wasn’t the type of man to split on his family. Like Bea, she was sure.

  Until the day, a week later, when a classified ad was taken out in The Sound. It was a letter signed by Art saying that he was sorry but he just couldn’t stand it anymore.

  He couldn’t stay with Bea just for the sake of the child he never wanted that she thrust upon him. He didn’t love her anymore and he professed that in any case, he deserved more than she could ever give him.

  All of this he said not in the privacy of his home—but splashed all across the newspaper for the whole town to read. Bea’s never been the same since.

  She folded herself up into her child and became ferociously overprotective. Though she’s never told her, Mary knows that Bea’s greatest fear is that one day Derek will leave her too.

  Like father, like son.

  Steering the conversation in another direction Mary says, “So did you hear the news about poor Zack Palmer?”

  Gasping, Bea nods saying “It’s so tragic. I don’t know what I’d do if it were me in that situation. I-I…don’t even want to think about it.”

  “I hear he’s not the only one.”

  The statement lingers between them, taking on form, growing larger with the passing of every second. The rumor mill is churning.

  Bea stops playing with her cup and leans towards Mary asking, “Who else?”

  “A few customers this morning,” Mary explains “Mentioned that the Brown’s took Matthew to the hospital last night. And of course, Tyler is already in hospital.”

  “Poor Martha,” Bea whispers.

  Rising to her feet as a customer waves for a refill, their tongues stop wagging as Mary leaves Bea alone.

  What is going on?

  At the first chords of the great organ the congregation stands as one and begins the opening hymn. Led by altar boys swinging seraphim and incense and carrying a gold inlaid cross; Father Anjou walks down the center aisle holding the Holy Bible.

  Mounting the steps of the altar Marcos Anjou walks with the purpose of a holy man to the podium and reverently places the Bible down in front of him.

  As the hymn draws to a close he scans the room and sees another full house of parishioners. Today, he knows more than most, his flock needs the comfort of the Lord.

  “Be seated.” The room sits in unison as Marcos crosses himself saying, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Peace be with you.”

  “And also with you,” the congregation replies in a single echoing voice.

  “This morning,” Marcos begins his sermon, “Many are here searching for answers. Young Zack Palmer is on all our minds I’m sure. For his family, we say prayers that they will find comfort in the Lord at this most difficult of times.

  “Many here today are probably questioning how our Lord God could take such a young child. This question is natural to ask at times of great sorrow. But think not of this in only the negative light of loss.

  “Have faith and believe that Zack is with the angels now, having been called home by the heavenly light of salvation.

  “Remember the words of Jesus himself in John 11:25-26. ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believeth thou this?’

  “Ask yourself, do you believe? Do you have faith in the Lord’s words? It is in times of great pain and sorrow that faith is tested most severely. But if we are to believe in our faith in good times we mustn’t abandon it in bad times.”

  Pausing, Marcos looks out across the ocean of familiar faces allowing his words to seep in to each and every one of them.

  Lifting his arms wide he continues, “Let us pray in memory of a lost child for a family torn asunder, that they may find peace again in the Lord Jesus.”

  Bowing his head Marcos leads the congregation in a solemn verse taken from Psalms. When finished he asks for a moment of silence and takes the opportunity to once again scan the crowd.

  In the front pew he sees Mayor Lincoln with his wife and young son in attendance. Seated beside them the hulking mass of Robert Oliver stretches out the seams of his navy blue suit coat next to his diminutive wife Judy.

  In the opposite pew he knows his own family is seated. Lovely Marie dressed in a proper black dress is on the end of the pew with Walt, Olivia, and Gaetano beside her.

  Having served the community for years Marcos knows the regulars well. This morning, more than the absence of the Palmer’s, the absence of Tom Brown and his family is causing him distress.

  Could the rumors swirling around town be true?

  Drawn back from the disturbing thought by the chords of another hymn, Marcos Anjou proceeds with his sermon saying a silent prayer for Tom and his family before moving on to tend the rest of his flock.

  Chapter 15

  Des Moines, Iowa

  Hospitals.

  Ever since their very inception they have been places of simultaneous hope and despair. But it is the nature of us that the images of despair are far easier to conjure up. Something about the cleanliness—the smell of disinfectant—reminds us of far worse days.

  In the beginning, and some say that the dawn of the modern hospital was in the Great War, but the true beginning is far older than that. Run by the order of Knights Hospitalliers, they were places of immense sickness. Many believed you went to a hospital not to get better, but to die.

  Many stories abound throughout history that contributes to the gnawing fear of hospitals. One such story took place in 19th Century Montreal during an outbreak of the much-feared Smallpox.

  The city of Montreal once gripped with this dread terror opened a hospital for just cases of Smallpox, yet relatively few of the sick and dying went to this isolation hospital. In fact many families purposely hid their sick to prevent them from being taken to the hospital—for the hospital was known as a horrible place where none that checked in checked out.

  So you see fear of hospitals may just be imprinted in us from birth—sort of a collective memory of horrors past. And while modern medicine has done much to play down the despair and emphasize the real hope offered by hospitals—it is the despair that lingers.

  Matthew Brown hates hospitals.

  In the intensive care waiting
room of Des Moines Memorial Hospital Tom and Martha Brown comfort each other as they share this insight.

  They’ve been here for close to ten hours now, since the harrowing twenty-minute drive from their home in the pitch black of night. With Tom behind the wheel it was up to Martha to care for Matthew who twice during the trip seemed on the verge of death when his fever spiked to incredible highs.

  When they arrived their son was taken immediately into a room where doctors frantically worked to lower the precipitous temperature. After roughly thirty minutes Matthew was moved to the intensive care unit and his worried parents haven’t seen him since.

  Throughout the night they’ve asked anyone they could find about their son but haven’t received any definite word about his condition. No news is good news, Tom has repeated to his distraught wife all night long.

  As they hold each other in an embrace of longing and despair they watch the frosted glass doors that lead to the intensive care ward hoping to see some positive sign in them. Each time they open and a doctor walks through they hold their breath and pray until the doctor walks past them.

  This time the young doctor in the white coat stops in front of them and asks, “Mister and Mrs. Brown?”

  “Yes doctor,” Tom answers.

  “How’s Matthew?” Martha blurts out.

  With a smile meant to be comforting the doctor says, “He’s in stable condition for now. His fever is still high but we’ve brought it down and kept it under control for most of the night. My name is Dr. Steven Kendrick and I’ve been assisting with your son all night. I know this is a difficult time but I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it?”

  “What do you need to know doc?”

  Taking a seat beside them Dr. Kendrick begins “First allow me to bring you up to speed on your son’s prognosis. When you brought him in this morning his fever was at 100 degrees and spiked to 104 before we could get it under control. Temperatures that high are a very serious matter and I’m going to be blunt with you here, Matthew is not out of trouble yet.

  “I’ll be honest with you when I tell you that we don’t know what is wrong with Matthew. We’ve taken blood and respiratory samples from him and the lab is working to isolate a virus. In the case that it’s not a virus we’ve put him on broad-spectrum antibiotics that are also helping to quell the fever.

  “Now we may not know what is infecting your son right now but we do have our theories and one of them is a foodborne pathogen. The problem with Matthew’s case is that his symptoms are non-specific to any one illness. The fever, stomach aches, and nausea could be symptoms of a thousand things. One of those though is a foodborne pathogen.”

  “You mean food poisoning right?” Tom asks.

  “That’s right Mr. Brown. Now what I need from both of you is your help in finding out if Matthew has eaten anything recently that could be the cause of these symptoms. If you could recall what he’s eaten for the past few days it would be a great help to your son’s care.”

  “Anything we can do to help doc.”

  “Great,” Dr. Kendrick pulls out a pen and pad of paper from a pocket of his coat. “Before we begin is there anything either of you would like to ask me?”

  Martha Brown clutches Tom’s hand tighter as she looks Dr. Kendrick in the eye and asks, “Is Matthew going to be okay?”

  “Mrs. Brown,” Dr. Kendrick chooses his words carefully, “I wish I had more good news to tell you right now but until we know what is attacking Matthew we can’t say for sure. But let’s try to be positive okay? His fever is down this morning and he’s a young, strong child. I can’t tell you that he will be okay but he has a good chance of pulling through this just fine.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “Of course you can. He’s resting now so how about we work our way through a few questions and then one at a time I’ll take you in for a few minutes with him. Okay?”

  “All right doc,” Tom asks, “What do you need to know?”

  “Can you describe best as you can Matthew’s activities yesterday?”

  Tom and Martha confer with each other for a few moments before Martha answers, “He got up at the usual time and had breakfast before going out to play.”

  Dr. Kendrick interrupts “What did he have for breakfast? As specific as possible please.”

  “Same thing he always has,” Martha replies “Frosted Flakes and toast with a glass of orange juice.”

  “On the cereal he had milk right?”

  “Obviously, yes.”

  “Do you know what kind of milk? 1%, 2%? Do you know where you bought it?”

  “It’s 2 % and we bought it in town at the grocery store.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Kendrick makes quick notes as he talks “The orange juice was it freshly squeezed or store bought?”

  “It’s Tropicana,” Tom answers.

  “How about lunch, what did he have for lunch?”

  “I made a lunch for him,” Martha says, “A roast beef sandwich on a Kaiser bun with mayo and an apple on the side.”

  “Anything for dessert?”

  “God I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “It’s okay Mrs. Brown,” Dr. Kendrick eases her mind, “You’re doing fine. Most people have trouble remembering what they eat. Just take your time.”

  After a moment of thought Martha answers “I gave him a pudding cup for dessert.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Kendrick begins “Let’s talk about the roast beef for a minute. Was it leftovers from another meal?”

  “Yes,” Tom answers “We had it the night before.”

  “It was kept refrigerated?”

  “Yes,” they answer together.

  “And where did you get the beef? Was it from the local butcher or was it your own cow?”

  “We don’t have beef cows,” Tom replies “We get all our roasts from Eddies on Frederick. We’ve never had any trouble with meat from there. Are you thinking that the beef made Matthew sick?”

  “It’s not likely given that both of you ate the same roast and are fine, but we can’t discount it entirely out of hand.”

  “Wait a minute!” Martha exclaims, “I just remembered that Matthew didn’t eat his lunch yesterday. I made it but he…he didn’t come home to eat it.”

  “So he would’ve eaten lunch elsewhere?”

  Tom looks to his wife before helplessly saying, “I guess we don’t know doc.”

  Nodding, Dr. Kendrick declares “Then where he ate lunch is an unknown at the moment. We need to find out what Matthew ate for lunch yesterday. Are there any friends of his you could call who might know?”

  “Zack would know,” Martha says, “Zack is Matthew’s best friend and they were together yesterday.”

  “You think his lunch is the culprit doc?”

  “It’s our best guess right now. It seems to be the only thing that Matthew ate different from you. If we’re dealing with a foodborne pathogen, than chances are it reached Matthew through his lunch.

  “And if that’s the case then there are going to be more people admitted with Matthew’s symptoms. I think I have all I need for now. Thank you both for your help. Now who would like to see Matthew first?”

  “You go ahead honey,” Tom says, “I’m going to call the Palmer’s and see if Zack knows anything and then I’ll be in.”

  Dr. Kendrick gives Tom a reassuring smile and then leads Martha away behind the frosted doors of intensive care to their son’s bedside.

  Walking to the nurse’s station down the corridor Tom asks the nurse on duty “Is there a phone around here I could use?”

  “Pay phones are down on the first floor but if it’s a local call feel free to use the phone here.” She lifts a phone up onto the counter.

  “Thank you,” Tom says, “I’ll be quick.” He dials the Palmer’s number and waits. No answer. He leaves a message and hangs up.

  Stillness, Iowa

  With his eyes closed Jacob Castle clutches the phone in his hand. He holds it with the urgen
cy of a drowning man grabbing hold of a life ring.

  Around him the offices of The Stillness Sound hum with the activity of a breaking story. Well, as much as a paper that employs four people can hum.

  Opening his tired and bloodshot eyes Jacob tries to focus on the copy in front of him that he won’t approve to be the lead story in tomorrow’s paper. The byline belongs to the only other reporter on the staff—George Marlin.

  The best way to describe Marlin’s writing is meticulous. The guy loves the details. From behind his desk Jacob looks over to Marlin’s desk—spotless as usual. In contrast, Jacob isn’t even sure he has a desk underneath the storm of paperwork strewn in front of him.

  George is alert this morning, running on the adrenaline of breaking a front-page story. He’s wearing a white shirt with a blue-striped tie with his customary silver marlin pin on it. At 28 years of age George sports a healthy physique replete with bronzed skin and a full head of jet-black hair.

  He glances over at Jacob and smiles slightly before Jacob returns to the copy in front of him. The story broke early this morning that Zack Palmer died in the night and it quickly spread throughout the community. Everyone is in complete shock at the news. You just never expect a child to die.

  George’s piece is mostly just covering at this point as details—his trademark—are still sketchy. But somehow he’s managed to capture a description of the boy’s symptoms and the brevity with which they overwhelmed him. There really isn’t much for Jacob to proofread; he knows the story won’t run as is. Slowly he replaces the phone in the cradle on his desk.

  All around him the full staff is in manning the phones trying their best to dig up some more information without seeming like ghouls gossiping over a tragedy. It’s a fine line but the people want to know.

  “Jake!” Jacob puts the copy down and looks at George. “You okay? You seem a little out of it?”

  Absently Jacob mumbles, “I’m fine.”

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  “No one,” changing the subject Jacob asks, “What have you got George?”