Stuart Woods - Palindrome

Liz sat at a light box in her darkroom, an eye pressed to a loupe, viewing a color transparency. She smiled a little, then added the shot to a stack of others and counted. One hundred even, counting the black-and-white shots. That should do for a start. She took the shots to her desk and packaged them carefully with the prospectus she had written, then addressed them to a New York publisher who had once expressed an interest in her work. It was time to find out whether anyone else thought that what she had done on the island was any good.

She got into the Jeep and drove to the inn. Germaine was issuing the morning's instructions to the chambermaids, and Liz waited until she had finished. "Hi, kiddo," Germaine said.

"Good morning, I've got a package for Federal Express; has the Aldred Drummond left yet?"

"I'll catch her," Germaine said. She took the package and ran out the back door. She was back in a moment, puffing. "Made it. Whew! I'm getting out of shape since Ron left."

Liz laughed. "I'll loan you my Jane Fonda videotape."

"Thanks, but that's not what I had in mind."

She started to say something else, but there was a roaring outside the back door and the crunch of tires skidding on gravel. Liz and Germaine walked outside to see James Moses running toward them, looking frightened. "Miss Germaine," he shouted, "it's Mister Angus! Call the doctor!"

Germaine caught him by the wrists. "Calm down, now, James, and just tell me what happened."

"He came down the front steps, and I had the gelding waiting for him, like always, and I said, 'Good morning, Mister Angus,' and he started to answer me, and he couldn't seem to say anything." James stopped and caught his breath. "Then he put his hands to his head, and he said, 'Oh, Lord,' and he fell down. I picked him up and put him on the couch in his study, and there didn't seem to be anything I could do for him, so I came to get you."

"James," Germaine said, "you go on back to the house and stay with him. I'll get some help." James ran for the jeep and Germaine headed for her office, Liz in tow.

"Is there anything I can do?" Liz asked.

"You can take me to Dungeness as soon as I've called some help." She consulted a typed list taped to the wall next to the telephone, then dialed a number. When someone answered, she said, "Charley, this is Germaine Drummond on Cumberland. My grandfather is ill, and we need a chopper at Dungeness with a doctor right now. It sounds like it might be a stroke. Yes, I'll be there in ten minutes, and don't you take much longer than that, you hear me? Bring everything." She hung up the phone and turned to Liz. "I'll meet you in the Jeep in thirty seconds." She ran out of the office and up the stairs. Liz could hear her calling Hamish. She went to the Jeep, and, shortly, Germaine and Hamish burst out of the house and ran toward her.

The drive to Dungeness was fast and silent; nobody seemed in a mood to talk. Liz screeched to a halt before the big house, and the three of them ran up the front steps, through the front door, and left, into the study. Angus Drummond was stretched out on a leather lounge, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. James sat on the floor beside him, holding his hand and talking to him. "You just rest easy, Mister Angus," he was saying, "they're all on the way." Everybody crowded around the lounge, and Germaine knelt and took Angus's other hand.

"Grandpapa, can you hear me?" she asked. Angus nodded and looked at her, seemingly uncomprehending. Then he nodded his head again. "Can you talk to me?" Germaine asked. His jaw worked, but nothing came out.

"Grandpapa," Hamish said, "make a fist with your right hand."

Germaine smiled. "That's a good grip," she said. "Now make a fist with your left hand," Hamish said.James looked up at Hamish. "He can't do it," the boy said. The four of them sat for three-quarters of an hour with Angus, while Germaine and Hamish tried to make conversation with the old man, reassuring him.

"Okay," Angus said suddenly.

"You can talk, you old faker!" Germaine said. "You're going to be just fine!" From outside came the distant chop of a helicopter's rotors. Hamish ran outside. Liz, behind him, ran down the front steps and watched as Hamish stood, both hands raised, guiding the helicopter to a spot clear of the oak trees and the house. As soon as the copter was on the ground, a man and a woman alit, and the man ran with Hamish to the house. Liz went and helped the woman with two large cases. In a moment they were in the study, and the nurse was unpacking oxygen equipment while the doctor began his examination.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd all wait outside until I'm through," the doctor said.

Reluctantly, Hamish, Germaine, and Liz left the room. James stood aside, but stayed, and nobody quarreled with him. Hamish led them across the hall to the drawing room, one Liz had only glimpsed. It was a huge salon, decorated in the Victorian fashion, and hung with family portraits. Hamish flopped onto a velvet sofa. "I can't believe this," he said. "I can't remember him being ill with anything worse than the flu."

"It had to happen sometime," Germaine said, sitting beside him. "I felt it coming, I think."

"I didn't," Liz said. "I was with him yesterday, when they were reburying his grandmother's coffin at the new plot, and he seemed just as he always has since I've known him. He took me to a carpentry shop and showed me his coffin."

"He's had a coffin made?" Hamish asked.

"He's had three of them made," Liz replied. "He said one was for Buck Moses, who he wants buried with the family."

"And the other one?" Hamish asked, looking alarmed. "He said that one was for 'just in case. Hamish looked relieved.

"Who did you think it was for?" Liz asked.

"I don't know, I just wondered," Hamish said.

The doctor entered the room. "He's had a stroke."

"I knew it," Germaine said. "He's suffered some left side paralysis, and his speech is intermittent, but I think he's fairly stable-as stable, anyway, as anybody can be who's just had a stroke at his age, even a mild one."

"What now?" Hamish asked.

"He doesn't want to go to a hospital, and I can't disagree with that. There's not all that much we could do for him there."

"That's like him," Hamish said.

"I think the best thing to do is to get him into his own bed now, and my nurse will stay with him overnight. I'll arrange for some regular care by tomorrow. I assume that in a house this size there's somewhere for a nurse or two to sleep?"

"No problem there," Germaine said. "I'll tell the maid to get something ready."

"I sent the colored boy out to the chopper for a stretcher," the doctor said. "If you could give me a hand." A few minutes later, Angus Drummond was in his bed, and the nurse, an attractive brunette, was pottering about the room, arranging her equipment.

"You staying?" Angus asked her.

"Don't mind me," the woman said.

"I don't mind at all," Angus said, managing a crooked smile.

Hamish, Germaine, and Liz burst out laughing. "You're incorrigible,"

Germaine said to him, tucking in the covers. "Watch out for him," she said to the nurse. "He'll have his hand up your skirt, first thing you know."

"I'll watch him," the nurse said.

"I'll be staying down the hall," Germaine said, "in case you need me."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," the doctor said.

"But there's no phone here," Germaine replied.

The nurse produced a small cell phone from a pocket and switched it on. "Works," she said, looking at the instrument. "Just give me your number."

The three walked downstairs with the doctor. "I'm going now," he said. "Jennifer is very good; she can do just about anything I could do for him in an emergency, so I'll get on back. I'll be checking on his condition with her, and I'll come right out here again, if I'm needed." Hamish thanked him, and the doctor walked toward the helicopter.