Hannah Alexander - Silent Pledge

“Said the woman was Marla Moore. She stayed inside a lot. I guess the landlord’ll have to come down and make identification or something. The police haven’t found any relatives yet.”

“But the baby,” Lukas said, “what about the baby?”

Carmen shrugged. “If it’s a newborn, it couldn’t’ve crawled off. Somebody’s got to be taking care of that baby.” The telephone buzzed again, and she turned back to the desk.

“Hey, Dr. Bower?” came a quiet male voice from behind him.

Lukas turned to find Quinn standing there, head bowed, arms folded across his chest. “I shouldn’t have given you such a hard time in there. I guess I was pretty nervous.”

“You don’t walk out on a code, Quinn. We needed you. Where did you go?”

“I…I’m sorry. I nearly lost my cool for a little bit. I mean, we were fighting for a young mother’s life, and Tex made it sound like I’d really blown it.” He shot a quick glance toward Carmen and Tex, who were both on the telephone at their desks. “What are you going to put on your report?”

“What do you mean?”

Quinn shrugged. “I need this job bad, and I can’t afford to lose it. What are you going to say about me?”

Lukas felt the fresh weight of grief sharpen his tongue. “The truth usually works.” He turned away and left Quinn standing there.

He went into the call room for a moment. He had reports to fill out, work to do, but he knew from experience that if there were no other patients who needed him, it was best to spend some quiet time after a painful event like this one. If there was any time he needed prayer more…

And then he realized something. During that whole code, in all the confusion and angry words and difficult decisions, he’d forgotten the most important thing. A habit that he’d developed in his first E.R. rotations years ago was to pray on the run while treating victims of severe illness or trauma. Praying had become second nature for him; he did it without thinking. But this time…this time he’d been caught off guard. He’d allowed his anger at Quinn to divert him from the most important treatment.

“Forgive me, Lord.” He covered his face with his hands. He knew God didn’t need his permission to save a life or to guide the hands and minds of the staff when they were working with patients. Still, he had no doubt that prayer was an energizing touch, a powerful connection between God and the caregivers. Yes, prayer operated on a spiritual level, but weren’t human beings as much spirit as body?

And what if Marla Moore did have a baby? Was there a husband? She was so young….

Just three months ago Lukas had lost a drowning victim, a young woman like this one. Some fishermen had found her at the shore of the lake and had contacted him by car phone as they raced with her from the lake to the hospital. They’d been devastated when they couldn’t save her. So had Lukas. The loss always hurt the worst with the young ones, as if fresh new canvas had been ripped from the center of a painting in progress. With Marla it looked as if an even newer life was involved.

“Lord, please take care of Marla’s baby. When they find her family, touch them with Your healing power and give that baby an earthly mother. And help me not to push You to the side next time.”

He paused and took a new breath. He had to return to work, but he might not have a chance to get back here soon, and he needed to eat something to keep his strength up and his mind sharp—he hadn’t eaten for eight hours, and he’d barely slept.

Quickly he pulled open the top side drawer of the desk and reached in for the peanut butter sandwich he’d packed yesterday before coming to work. He unwrapped the aluminum foil and pulled it back, then recoiled with disgust. Someone had taken several bites out of his sandwich—he could see the teeth marks clearly. In place of those bites was a dead fly.

He smashed the foil back together over the sandwich and threw the whole thing into the trash can.

He was beginning to hate this place.

A soft call reached Mercy through the darkness, indecipherable through the haze of the drug she had used so she would be sure to get some rest before returning to the hospital. But in spite of the drug, her eyes flew open. She listened. Had her mysterious visitor at the clinic followed her home?

“Mom?” Her bedroom door slid open, and a glow came through from the hallway night-light to reveal the dark outline of Tedi’s sleep-mussed hair. “Can I sleep with you?”

Automatically Mercy scooted over and pulled the covers back. Tedi came forward quickly and climbed into the nest of warmth Mercy’s body had generated. She placed her icy feet on Mercy’s legs, then giggled when her mom gasped.

“Nightmares?” Mercy asked, grimacing at her daughter’s late-night-snack breath. She should have let Tedi say at Mom’s for the rest of the night instead of waking her again and dragging her out into the cold air to come home. She felt so lonely without her…but that was a selfish motive.

“Yeah.” Tedi paused a moment, then said more softly, “And I missed you.”

“I’m right here.” Mercy reached out and gathered her daughter close, bad breath and all.

Tedi snuggled against her. “You’re gone so much, though. Can’t Lukas just come back and help you at the clinic until the E.R. opens up and you don’t get as many calls?”

“I don’t think so, honey.” Mercy sighed and glanced at the clock. She’d only slept three hours. This was going to be another tough one. Now she would lie awake and worry that she wasn’t giving her daughter enough attention, that too many of her patients were falling through the cracks, and that if she did get back to sleep she might miss another emergency call. Had she done the right thing keeping Odira and Crystal here at the community hospital?

And if she continued to worry like this, would she ever sleep again?

Tedi’s rhythmic breathing deepened and her body relaxed. Mercy couldn’t even close her eyes. So she started doing what she’d been practicing lately when the nagging specter of insomnia attacked her—she prayed. And she began with a prayer for Lukas to return.

Lukas struggled with his frustration as he returned to the E.R. proper. All his life he’d wanted to be a doctor, although when he was growing up he envisioned himself as the faithful family practitioner who had an office attached to his home, who made house calls and whose wisdom and compassion alone could make people feel better. He’d watched too many Marcus Welby, M.D. reruns. By the time he reached his third year of premed, he’d been forced to acknowledge that medical practice wasn’t what it used to be. Still, being a doctor was all he’d ever wanted to do.

It wasn’t until his first experience in an emergency room during fourth-year rotations that he felt the adrenaline rush of life-and-death decisions. He’d been addicted ever since. He could get high on a successful pediatric code. His heart could break at the death of an elderly nursing-home patient. And it was still all about people.

People were also what made the job difficult. There were so many extremes, and so many burnouts, and he kept in mind that it could also happen to him. His first burnout with people had come before his ninth birthday.

When he was a skinny, shy kid of eight, he’d had to get glasses. His two older brothers picked on him and teased him when their parents weren’t watching. Because of that, he remembered backing further and further into a shell until he barely spoke to anyone at all, and their teasing only grew worse.

One day Dad took him on a walk, just the two of them, out through their vegetable garden to a small grove of apple trees that always produced the crispest, sweetest apples in the farming community where they lived.