Counting Coup, page 31
part #1 of The Benediction of Paul Series
Katie is right, thought Karl, part bear. He would miss Bear. They could come on Sundays and have dinner with Ambrose.
Bear’s dark eyes focused on him. Karl’s heart leaped. What had he done wrong? As he stood, the furry head jerked to one side, a clear sign he wanted Karl to follow him. His chair scraped on the floor. Ambrose headed to the exit, grabbing Joannicus by the shoulder and dragging him along.
Brother Mellitus cleared his throat and scowled, obviously disgruntled at not knowing what was transpiring. Karl felt his cheeks burn as he rose, shrugging his shoulders at Brother Mellitus. The man would question him later.
The outside door stood open, and the cold April wind blew in as Karl approached the two men.
“Get a set of car keys and meet us in the parking lot,” Brother Ambrose told Joe.
“Shouldn’t we…” Father Joannicus stammered, seemingly unable to finish the sentence, his arms flapping as if trying to fly away.
“Go.” Ambrose’s voice reverberated in the hall. Joannicus jumped and took off running toward the monastery. Ambrose turned to Karl.
“Come with me.” Ambrose’s tone softened.
Karl’s lunch balled in his stomach. Ambrose only barked orders when things were out of control. Something was wrong, but what?
“Where are we going?” Karl asked, walking fast to keep up with Ambrose, who moved as if the devil were pursuing him. They reached the parking lot just as Joannicus came out of the monastery.
“Get in,” Ambrose barked, opening the passenger door for Karl. “You, too.”
“Me?” Joannicus croaked, his eyes wide with uncertainty.
Ambrose leveled a glance at Joannicus, who ducked into the back seat, his face paling.
“Where are we going?” Karl asked again as Ambrose climbed into the driver’s seat.
“To the Mother of Perpetual Help Hospital,” Ambrose intoned over the engine’s roar.
“Is Rebecca okay?” Karl asked, getting into the passenger seat, his sense of doom mounting.
“Buckle up. It’s not Rebecca. It’s your family,” Ambrose said as he tore out of the parking lot, stones flying, Karl’s door slamming shut with the acceleration.
The hospital loomed so large that it blocked out the April sun. Karl entered the crowded emergency waiting room as doors swished and people rushed by. Karl looked for a familiar face.
Ambrose spoke to a woman. “This is Karl Mackenzie.”
Heads turned, staring at the two in black habits and the confused, blue-eyed Indian. The automatic doors opened with a hiss, sucking the oxygen out of the air. The walls wavered. Karl stared blankly as the lady behind the desk handed him a clipboard.
“Where’s my wife?” Karl asked, keeping his voice at a normal level.
“Sir, I need you to fill out the—”
Ambrose shook his head and waved the scapular of his habit in front of her like a flag. “Saint Alberic’s Monastery. We have an account. Look it up.”
Ambrose snatched a pen and scratched the paper before handing her the clipboard. The woman stared at him. Her mouth opened and then closed.
The power of monkhood.
Karl scanned the room. His family was not in this waiting space. The doors—they were behind those doors. He bolted to the entrance as the nurse shouted, “Sir, you can’t go back there.”
It was not a big hospital. Rebecca worked here. He knew his way around.
Karl’s vision blurred as he rushed to the automated doors. They opened with a whoosh. And he stepped out of the silence into the chaos of sounds, squeaking gurneys, cries of pain, and shouts of dismay.
Doctors and nurses in scrubs moved in all directions.
“Faith, where are you?” Karl called, feeling the air being squeezed from his lungs.
A man stepped forward, blocking Karl. “I’m Doctor Thomas.”
Karl tried to step around him. The man maneuvered to block him again.
“Where is Faith? Where are my kids? I want to see my family.”
Doctor Thomas put his hands on Karl’s shoulders. His look was firm and focused. Karl felt drawn into the man’s kind eyes.
“Mr. Mackenzie, we need to talk. The accident killed your son. He is gone. I’m sorry,” Doctor Thomas said, not hiding behind etiquette.
Gone. Gone where? The words floated like a feather on a gentle breeze. What was this man saying? He had spoken to Elias this morning before he had left. They were planning to go fishing.
Dr. Thomas paused, then continued. “Faith is unconscious. The oldest is in surgery. The younger girl, her internal injuries were severe. I’ll take you to her.”
“My son. Elias, I want to see him.”
Karl turned, seeing Ambrose and Joannicus standing a few steps away, talking to the nurse.
He needed to find Elias.
Through the chaos, he saw Elias in a curtained room on a large gurney. A nurse was pulling a sheet over him. Karl darted to the space, pulled the curtain, startling the nurse, and yanked the sheet off of Elias’s face.
“Sir, you can’t do that,” the nurse said.
“My son, my boy, my love,” Karl said, the words moving from anger to tenderness as he picked up his son’s body. Gone were the twinkle and the crooked, mischievous smile.
“Elias, come back to me,” he pleaded as Ambrose closed the curtain around them.
“Who are you?” the nurse said. “You can’t be in here. I have things to do.”
“That is the child’s father. The dead can wait,” Ambrose said.
The nurse scowled and turned. Her rubber soles squeaked.
Karl sat down on the floor, cradling Elias. He pushed the bloody, matted hair from the soft face and kissed the boy’s forehead. He could see Joe’s feet and black skirts below the curtain.
“Father Joannicus, get in here,” Ambrose said, opening the curtains. “I know you carry a kit in your pocket. Baptize this child.”
Puzzlement slid across Joe’s face, and he slowly shook his head.
“Brother Ambrose, the boy is dead, it’s too late, and he’s…”
“He is sleeping. Wake up, son. Ask me why. I will answer all your questions. Just open your eyes and ask me.” Karl’s voice splintered with emotion.
“This is a moment of action. He told me he wanted baptism,” Ambrose said, glaring at Joe.
Karl looked at Elias. He could hear the boy asking for the sacrament. Elias never wanted to be left out. Then he remembered that he and Katie had baptized all the newborns at lambing. He was such a sweet boy. He hugged the broken body to his chest.
“Seriously, there are protocols,” Joannicus said.
Protocols? Then Karl remembered. Yet only thirty minutes had passed since the spirit had left the body. The boy was still warm.
Ambrose snarled. “He’s a child. Explain exactly what grave sin he has committed that would prevent his baptism?”
Joannicus knelt next to Karl. “Do you want me to do this?”
Karl nodded. If Elias had asked, then why not? What else could he give to his son now?
Karl watched as Joannicus baptized Elias with holy water and then anointed him with oil.
The curtains opened and light from the open hall spilled in, framing Rebecca as she stood still in her white uniform, like an angel before him.
A smoky scent tickled Karl’s nose as if they were sitting around a campfire. A dark figure stood next to his sister. Todd.
Becca will fix this.
Karl sniffled and stood. Elias’s limp body flopped unnaturally. Karl kissed Elias again. There wouldn’t be another question.
A nurse paced behind them; her squeaky soles stomped an unnatural rhythm.
“Our son,” Karl said as he handed Elias to Todd. The man was an uncle and father. They had both lost a son.
Rebecca snatched scissors off the medical tray and clipped a wisp of Elias’s hair, tucking it into her pocket. Todd stood cradling the body of his nephew, murmuring in Lakota.
“Mr. Mackenzie, come quickly,” called a nurse, and all heads turned.
Karl moved swiftly, disappearing into a small room a few steps away.
“Rosie.” Karl’s anguished shout flooded the hallway.
“Oh no, no, no,” Ambrose muttered as he grabbed Joe’s sleeve, yanking him down the hall to the room.
“Rosie, my baby, our baby,” Karl cooed as he scooped her up from the large table that dwarfed her.
The child’s eyelids fluttered. Karl smeared the blood like war paint across her cheeks and kissed her face as he held and rocked his daughter.
“Stop. We need…” the nurse said and then paused as Rebecca appeared. Living legends had power.
Doctor Thomas nodded to Rebecca, escorting the on-duty nurse out of the room. Her protests dwindled as she went. Karl watched Rebecca read the monitor and then disconnect the device.
No. Not our Rosie. Karl listened to the faint breaths. Closing his eyes, he sang her favorite lullaby. The same one he had sung to Katie so long ago.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Ambrose poking Joe’s chest.
“Anoint her. She’s already baptized. I did it the day she was born. Wasn’t taking any chances,” Ambrose confessed.
He knew it. Ambrose and this child were spirit-bonded. Both viewed the world in awe. How could life sparkle without Amber Rose? How would Ambrose go on?
“How could you?” Rebecca sputtered, her face turning red.
It’s okay, Becca. What is done is done.
He and Faith recognized that Amber Rose was a gift to share with all. Rosie knew no bonds in her love. Like her namesake, she bear-hugged the world.
“We will argue later,” Ambrose said, pushing her to one side.
Joannicus reached into the pocket of his habit for the second time and smeared oil on the child’s bloody forehead.
The aroma of cinnamon oils and the metallic odor of blood filled Karl’s nostrils, mingling with the antiseptic smells that lingered around him.
Rosie opened her eyes and smiled. “Até, Bear. Elias.”
Ambrose beamed back. The little fingers reached out to Ambrose, and his large hand encompassed hers. Ambrose’s face scrunched, and his eyes watered his beard.
Rosie made a soft sigh, and her body went slack. Karl groaned as if crushed by her weight. His tears mingled with the blood and oil.
He and Rebecca glanced at the clock on the wall: 4:10 p.m. He knew she should write it down. Recorded or not, it changed nothing. The winds had blown through his life and scattered the dandelion seeds out of his reach.
Karl stood cradling Rosie and kissed her again. Rebecca put out her arms. His heart ached, but he knew this one belonged to the Bear. He handed the extinguished ball of energy to Ambrose. He watched Rebecca’s shoulders slump as if he had punched her in the gut.
“Sorry,” Karl whispered to her as he touched her arm. She turned away from him, took out her stethoscope, and listened. She frowned as the stern, giant monk sobbed and blubbered incoherently. Rebecca picked up the chart and penned the time. Then she took the scissors from her pocket and cut a piece of Rosie’s braid.
Karl noticed Todd standing inside the doorway, empty of his burden, lips tight and still in his firefighting uniform, hand clutching his helmet.
There was a gentle knock, and heads turned.
“Doctor Thomas needs to speak with Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Seriously? Now?” Joannicus asked, his voice creaking.
“I’ll be back, Rosie,” Karl croaked.
Karl followed the nurse. A man limped by him and latched on to his arm, his breath heavy with alcohol.
“So sorry, so, so sorry,” the bandaged man murmured.
Echoes of Lucian’s deathbed confession haunted Karl’s mind. It was the right thing to do.
“Not now, Mr. Davis,” the nurse said.
Karl turned to the handcuffed man, leaning on the uniformed officer. This man changed his life. Anger like a spring creek melting poured into him. A warrior’s revenge rose.
He doesn’t deserve your empathy. He is bound, one life for another.
“You, you’re the one?” Karl’s voice echoed in his chest. This man has nothing to give but his contrition. Mr. Davis. He is the one who, for the rest of his life, will wake up knowing he killed my family.
“I’m so sorry,” Mr. Davis muttered.
Karl swallowed. He had nothing to give him but his forgiveness. Without that, death blocked their lives. A burden too heavy for anyone to bear. A surge of compassion filled Karl. Forgiveness was all that was left.
“It will be okay,” Karl offered.
Mr. Davis sobbed.
The nurse gently pushed the two apart, forcing Karl into a room.
Karl almost didn’t recognize her. Faith looked so serene in her coma. Karl pinched himself. Was he asleep in this nightmare? He moved to her side and grasped her fingers. They were icy.
“Elias has gone, and Rosie followed him. What will we do without them?” Karl asked as if she would respond. The words fell haltingly as if from a story he wished not to tell.
“Karl, you need to decide which life to save,” Doctor Thomas explained.
Karl stared at the doctor.
“We can work on saving Faith or the baby. She’s about five months along…”
“You want me to choose?” Tears cascaded down his cheeks. “What kind of question is that to be asking me?” Karl gripped his braid. He couldn’t. He wanted them both.
Karl grabbed the doctor and pleaded. “I want my wife and child. Fix this.”
Doctor Thomas stood stiffly, taking all the anger like a blade of grass in the wind.
Karl released his grip on the white jacket, then sat beside Faith, holding her hand and rubbing her slender fingers on his damp cheek.
Chapter 34
Hope Dies Slowly
And while I stood there. I saw more than I can tell, and I understood more than I saw.
Hehaka Sapa (Black Elk). 1863-1950. Wichasha, cultural educator, Wakan Medicine man, and Heyoka of the Oglala Lakota.
Rebecca entered the chapel. Colored squares dotted the pristine floor. She found him alone with his precious God in this sterile room, isolated, praying for the impossible. He was nothing like Ambrose, who had sat with Rosie’s body for an hour while the nursing staff fretted. Rosie was gone. He was with her when she entered and left. Nothing was right about this day. Rebecca cleared her throat.
“Ambrose needs you. I had to take Amber Rose away,” Rebecca said.
Joannicus raised his head. Were his eyes red? Had he been crying?
“He loved that little girl as if she was his own,” Joannicus said, rising from kneeling in front of the altar.
“Karl’s with Faith, in surgery. They are taking the baby who will not live because it is too soon.”
She watched his face. An eyebrow raised. He doesn’t approve.
“You don’t know that. Karl was a preemie. He lived.”
“He was older. And he lived because of the care he got.” Rebecca’s chest constricted. “Even a baby needs a mother. The child will not survive. We don’t have the means to help.”
“Faith is in a coma. Why are they taking the child now?” Joannicus shook his head.
“So that Faith has a chance. Didn’t your God explain it to you?”
Joannicus gasped. Her words cracked the holiness of the chapel.
“Katie’s still alive. So is Faith,” Joannicus said. He traced the squares of light on the floor with his foot. “I’m praying for them and Karl.”
“What good is a prayer to the dying? The doctors are trying to save lives here,” Rebecca’s voice thundered. “I fear they won’t succeed. And then what? He may be a widower with a child. What is left for him?”
Joannicus shuddered, and his cheeks flamed as he held on to the back of the pew.
“He has us, the living,” Joannicus said.
Rebecca gripped the pew’s back. “I don’t like your God. And I don’t hold your faith.”
“That’s okay. I have faith for us all,” Joannicus said, standing straight as if his burden had been lifted.
Rebecca balled her fists. She didn’t want his holy beliefs. She wanted them to live.
She had witnessed death creep in. She could do nothing but watch as death paraded around her, snatching heartbeats from everyone she loved.
“Why do you keep cutting their hair?” Joannicus asked.
“Why do you keep baptizing them?” Rebecca snapped.
“I need to do something. Can’t they be Catholic and Native? Won’t they find their way to the Creator, whether heaven or someplace else?”
“I don’t know. I want them with the ancestors. It’s what we believe. I can’t believe Karl allowed you to baptize Elias. Rosie, well, that was Faith’s choice.”
Joannicus nodded. “I believe Ambrose when he said Elias wanted it… Um, where are the ancestors, if not in heaven?”
Rebecca assessed his sincerity.
“They are all around us,” Rebecca said, marveling at his lack of knowledge of the beliefs of others. “The nuns claimed there were many rooms in heaven.”
“Perhaps that is true,” Joannicus said, a weariness permeating his words.
The door to the chapel opened a grief-stricken body crept in. Joannicus moved to the exit.
“Haven’t you been around death?” Rebecca asked, following him out into the hall.
“Of course I have, but not like this. But all those deaths were peaceful. All the rituals are uplifting with hope and joy for the union with God. This is heartbreaking.” Joannicus wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Rebecca had to agree as they walked to the elevator. This young, naïve monk should hold Karl up. She wondered if he could.
“All death is heartbreaking for the living.”
Rebecca pushed the button, and the doors opened with a ding.
“You must have some hopeful ceremonies,” Joannicus said. A nurse rushed into the elevator. Her chest heaved as she punched the third-floor button several times.
“Death follows life, follows death, and so on in a circle. Our ancestors gave us life, and we live for our children and their future.”
“Similar to us, just not as concrete,” Joannicus said.
