The Sound of Rain Page 4

“Jam sandwich,” Chuck said with a sigh. “Sometimes she gets in a hurry and just jams two pieces of bread together.” He grinned and slapped his thigh again. “But she’s awful purty and she takes good care of the young’uns, so I just eat what she gives me.”

  Judd offered Chuck a cracker with a sausage on top, and the other man took it with a wink.

  Chuck slowly climbed to his feet. “You sit here for a spell. I’ve gotta get back over there and see can’t we get that new skidder sorted out. It’s been acting up.” He shook his head. “Give me a good team of horses any day.”

  “I know a thing or two about mechanical parts,” Judd said. “Be happy to give you a hand.”

  Chuck shrugged. “Can’t do worse than the rest of us. Come on and give it a look-see.”

  Judd washed his last sausage down and followed Chuck over to the piece of equipment used to snake logs out of the woods. It looked like a bulldozer with tractor tires and a winch in back. He’d never worked on anything quite like it, but the prospect of getting some grease under his nails made him smile.

  “Hydraulics quit on us,” Chuck said. “Fellas took the floorboard up to make an adjustment this morning and can’t get it working again. I’m afraid they’ve fouled it up good, but I hate to tell Mr. Heyward. We haven’t had it even a month yet.”

  Judd watched several men wrangle with the machine, cussing and using tools in ways not strictly intended. Chuck watched with him.

  “Whatcha think?”

  “Mind if I take a closer look?”

  Chuck hollered at the men, “Make a hole and let West Virginia take a look at it.”

  One fellow who’d been beating on the skidder with a wrench looked particularly aggravated and made a sweeping Help yourself gesture. Judd checked the floorboard, poked around under the dash, noticed the hydraulics lever was up, and flipped it back down.

  “Try ’er now.”

  The aggravated man hopped in the seat with a skeptical look, fired the skidder up, and lifted the front blade with ease. He looked surprised, then glared at Judd. “Coulda figured that out in another minute.”

  Judd shrugged and limped back to Chuck. His leg hurt from all the activity, but he was bound and determined not to show it. “Good as new,” he said. “Easy to forget to put the disconnect lever back down.”

  Chuck grinned. “Say, you wouldn’t want to take a look at a chainsaw I’ve got in the back of my truck, would you?”

  Judd spent the rest of the afternoon tinkering with various pieces of equipment and getting most of them into working order. Chuck slapped him on the back when quitting time came. “You, sir, are a prize. I told Hank he did alright bringing you on the crew. Now I’m gonna tell him he needs to make you a mechanic. You’re wasted limbing trees and loading logs.”

  “Motor’s a motor, more or less.” Judd scuffed a boot in the sandy soil. “Always did have a knack with moving parts. Been making things go since I was old enough to hold a wrench. Will it matter that I’m not what you’d call formally trained?”

  Hank walked over from the foreman’s shack. “Hear the good Lord did us a favor sending you down south. I’ll talk to Mr. Heyward this evening and I don’t think he’ll be opposed to promoting you to mechanic.”

  Chuck elbowed Judd. “There you go.”

  Hank headed for the truck. “Ready to call it a day?”

  Judd nodded and swung into the passenger seat, trying to focus on the fact that he might get paid to use his talents at last—Joe would be proud. He melted against the seat inside the stifling truck. Leaving the windows down hadn’t made much difference that he could tell. He felt utterly wrung out but didn’t want Hank or any of the other men to see it. Once the truck started moving, Judd appreciated the breeze, warm as it was.

  “First day go alright?”

  Judd nodded and wished he had more water. He’d drained his thermos hours ago and had been almighty grateful for the jugs Chuck had ready for the men. Tomorrow he’d drink the company water and save his own for the trip home. Maybe to pour over the top of his head.

  Hank chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. You’re not the first one to come down from the mountains and find our weather sucks the marrow right out of your bones.”

  Judd grinned in spite of himself. “Thought maybe I was hiding it pretty good.”

  “Son, you look like a half-drowned hound dog. Give it a year, you’ll go back home and wonder how you ever stood the cold.”

  Judd stiffened at the mention of going home. “Don’t aim to go home, so that won’t be a problem.”

  “No? Not even for a visit?”

  Judd rubbed his palm down his dusty pant leg. “Got a brother and his family back there. Not much else. Parents died a time ago and my . . . well, not much to pull me back anymore. Thought I’d let you’uns make a Southerner out of me.” He’d almost mentioned Joe, but couldn’t bring himself to say his baby brother’s name.

  Hank nodded and seemed to sense this was uneasy territory. “So how come they call you Judd?”

  “It’s short for judge. My name’s Uriah, but when I was a tyke, everybody said I was solemn as a judge and it stuck.” He didn’t add that the g was dropped because Joe couldn’t say it right.

  “And now you’re a regular barrel of laughs.” Hank quirked an eyebrow at Judd, who fought the smile tugging at his lips.

  “I suppose I’m still a bit on the solemn side. Took after my ma that way.” He tilted his head back against the seat, enjoying being still for a moment. “She was a fine woman.”

  “Well, we sure are glad you decided to come south. We’ll try not to kill you your first week out.”

  “Appreciate that,” Judd said.

  Chapter

  6

  Nothing was going right at the hospital today. Larkin flounced into the nurses’ station with her empty tray. Mr. Wilson was cranky, the new patient in room 126 wasn’t even awake, and the other candy striper on duty was hogging the maternity ward.

  Nurse Enright gave her a disapproving look. The head nurse could freeze a fresh cup of coffee with that look of hers. Larkin offered a weak smile in return.

  “Do you need help with anything? Seems my usual tasks have run out already.”

  Nurse Enright exhaled sharply through her nose. “As usual, there are bedpans to clean and floors to disinfect. And I suppose you could carry out old flowers and water plants since you’re supposed to have a green thumb. That peace lily in the waiting room is near about dead.” She looked over her glasses. “If you can stoop to do such as that.”

  Larkin pasted a smile on her face. “I’d be happy to.” She grumbled to herself as she went to fetch the watering can and a trash bin. She’d start with the plants, that being the least offensive task. Although it meant refilling her can umpteen times, and patients often didn’t want flowers removed no matter how dead they were. She should probably just go on home, but that would give Nurse Enright too much satisfaction.

  She started with the lily, kneeling down to remove dead leaves, aerating the compacted soil, ruffling the few remaining leaves, and adding water. Why people seemed intent on killing houseplants was a mystery to her. It really wasn’t hard to keep them healthy at all. Then she headed for the rooms to remove spent bouquets. She tried to cheer herself by counting how many vacant rooms there were. It was a good thing when people didn’t need to be in the hospital. Absorbed in her work and her thoughts, Larkin almost missed hearing the small voice coming from room 126.

  “Nurse? Can I have some water?”

  Larkin looked around. She was the only one within earshot and getting some water certainly fell within her duties. She set down her watering can and trash bin and stepped into the room.

  “I’m not a nurse, but I’ll be glad to get you some water.”

  The frail woman who looked to be in her thirties smiled up from her pillow. “That’d be fine.” Her voice was whispery and soft like a breeze through pine branches.

  Larkin grabbed the little pitcher from the table an
d went for ice, then added water. She bustled back into the room and poured some into a cup with a bent straw. She held it for the woman to sip. She raised her head and drew on the straw, closing her eyes as the cool liquid slid down her throat. “Oh my. That is delicious.” She patted Larkin’s hand with fingers dry and fragile as corn husks. “I thank you.”

  Larkin set the cup down but didn’t want to leave just yet. “What’s your name?”

  “Lillian Ashworth. I’d be glad if you’d call me Lill.”

  “I’m Larkin Heyward and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Lill smiled and glanced toward the window. “Look at me. Have to come all the way to the hospital just to meet someone new. I have hardly been out of the house since I got sick.”

  Larkin pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. “Where do you live?”

  “Over in Daisy—been there since my grandmother died and left me the prettiest little house. I loved visiting her there—she was just about the only family I had.” Lill rubbed her shoulder like it ached. “I’m not sure what will happen to the place once I’m gone.”

  “But you can go back there when you’re well,” Larkin said, patting her new friend’s hand.

  Lill wrapped her fingers around Larkin’s in an iron grip. “Honey, I don’t much expect to get well.”

  Larkin wanted to ask what was wrong with her—usually she found out from the nurses, but Lill was new and no one had filled her in.

  “Are you wondering what’s wrong with me?” Lill’s dark eyes sparkled even though they were sunken above high cheekbones. “Cancer. Scared the stuffing out of me when the doctor first told me, but turns out you can get used to just about anything. And now I’m just tired.” She released Larkin’s hand. “And ready to tell this bad old world goodbye.”

  Larkin wasn’t sure what to say to that. She’d faced patients who were intent on giving up before and had tried to encourage them, but Lill seemed different. She fought an urge to tell this woman who should have decades ahead of her that maybe it was all right to let go—to wave goodbye and move on to—what? Larkin had been to church often enough, but she wasn’t all that clear on what came after a person died.

  Standing, Larkin began to tidy the room, chattering on about how nice it was to live at the beach and how hot the weather had been this summer.

  “Honey, you need to light a minute.”

  Larkin froze as she fluffed the curtains. She turned to look at Lill. “What?”

  “Just sit back down here and be quiet with me. You’re wearing me out just watching you flit around.”

  Larkin laughed uneasily and sat in the chair, tucking her striped pinafore around her legs. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lill laughed and it sounded like wind chimes in a soft breeze. She pinned Larkin with her gaze. “I might be older than you are, but I’ll thank you not to ‘ma’am’ me. Now, what do you want out of life?”

  Larkin cocked her head. “Life?”

  “I don’t have time to talk about things that don’t matter, so I thought I’d cut to the chase.” She waved a feeble hand in the air. “You’re young yet. Unmarried, I’m guessing. Your whole life ahead of you. What do you want?”

  Larkin leaned forward, suddenly glad to have been asked. “I want to help people.” She talked with her hands. “Not just bringing people water or cleaning the floors, I want to really make a difference. Educate children, feed people who are starving, make sure everyone has a roof over their heads—things like that. My brother, Ben, gave up a good future with our family business so he could go be a missionary, and I can’t think of anything better.”

  Lill watched. She had wiggled her way a little higher in bed. Larkin noticed her scalp through her thinning hair.

  “Then you’d better go do it.” Lill pointed at Larkin and kept that unsteady finger in the air.

  “What?”

  Dropping her hand back to the white sheet, Lill repeated herself. “Go on and do whatever it is you think you’re meant to do. I wanted to be a WASP, but I let friends talk me out of it.” She sighed and plucked at the sheet covering her thin frame.

  “A what?”

  “WASP—Women’s Air Force Service Pilot.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “Can’t you just imagine? Flying planes from factories to air bases during World War II. Some of those women even flew simulated missions. I got to ride in an airplane one time and I just knew flying is what God made me to do.”

  Larkin could picture Lill in an aviator’s helmet with a white scarf in stark contrast to her tan skin and dark hair. “Why didn’t you do it?”

  Lill refocused on Larkin. “Fear. Fear of giving up the good job I had. Fear that I might not be accepted or, if I was, that I might fail.” She gazed out the window as though picturing herself soaring among the clouds. “The only thing I wasn’t afraid of was dying, and now here I am, doing that anyway.”

  A nurse came into the room with a blood pressure cuff and thermometer. She smiled absently at Larkin and spoke to Lill. “Time to take your vitals. Won’t hurt a bit.”

  Larkin squeezed Lill’s hand and moved toward the door, but not before she thought she saw Lill roll her eyes at the nurse. “You remember what I said.”

  Larkin picked up her watering can. Indeed. She was going to remember this for some time. Who needed Judd Markley’s help? If she was meant to serve the poor of Appalachia, then nothing and no one could stop her.

  After a week on the job, Judd felt like he was adjusting to South Carolina. Of course, being switched to mechanic was a big help. Not only did it mean a little more pay, it was also a heck of a lot easier on his leg. And it gave him satisfaction to know that he was doing the job the mine foreman had refused him. He guessed he was living Joe’s dream, but it didn’t satisfy the way he’d expected. He still woke up in a pool of sweat every few nights, fighting to shake a dream about crawling around in mine-deep darkness looking for Joe. Maybe there was something more Joe wanted, and once he figured that out, he’d find peace.

  Hank ferried him around between several jobs, and then on Friday afternoon, the third of September, he ended up back on the job where he started. One of the trucks needed tuning up. From his perch under the hood, Judd noticed the men were livelier than they had been. He guessed it was the start of the weekend. He understood their enthusiasm, but in his short time on the crew he learned that cutting timber was no time to let your guard down. He wished they’d save the horsing around for later.

  “Great Caesar’s ghost,” Chuck hollered. “Show some care, man.”

  Judd glanced at the foreman and saw him standing as though frozen, face ashen. Ducking out from under the hood, Judd looked toward the crew. The skidder operator, a man named Pete, was notching a tree. Didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary to Judd. Pete was just cutting a tree. Except, as Judd looked toward the top of the tree Pete was working on, he saw that an already-felled tree was hung in its top. Then, as though a giant hand tipped it, the already-felled tree swung suddenly free and plummeted to the ground. One minute Pete was there with his chainsaw, and the next there was nothing but treetop. It was like a magic trick Judd had seen once. Only he knew this was no trick. The whole crew ran toward the downed tree.

  Judd drew up next to Chuck, who was panting. “He knew better than to jump in there like that. Who gave him a saw?”

  Mike, one of the regular cutters, hung his head. “Told him it weren’t a good idea, but he hopped off the skidder and grabbed my chainsaw when I hung that first tree. Said he’d show me how it’s done.”

  Chuck cursed and began directing men to cut away branches. “Mike, see can’t you get on in there and find Pete. We’ll start cutting in case we need to carry him out.”

  The look on Chuck’s face made Judd feel carrying Pete out was the likeliest scenario. Mike shoved through the branches and hollered back after a couple of minutes. “He’s breathing.” There was a softer exclamation that Judd could barely hear.

  “What’s that, son?” Chuck called
back.

  “Better make a stretcher.”

  The men cut away the bulk of the treetop. Once exposed, Judd could see that Pete’s right leg was bent at an unnatural angle. He swallowed down bile and the memory of his own broken leg. Pete moaned. Blood ran down one side of his face where a branch had scraped the skin away, and he cradled his right wrist against his chest.

  “Hang in there, Pete. We’ll get you to the hospital lickety-split.” Chuck rubbed his forehead and turned to Judd. “You can fix machines. How are you at fixin’ men?”

  Judd swallowed. “We had fellers get hurt in the mines a time or two.” He tried hard not to think about the men who’d died in the mines. “I’d get some cloth and wrap that arm he’s favoring tight to his chest.” He looked at the bent leg, closed his eyes, and looked again. “From what I understand, you don’t want to move that leg any more than you have to. Get a straight stick and lash it there so it’ll keep things from moving around. Hold a handkerchief up tight against his head. That’s gonna bleed and bleed.”

  Two men came running up with a makeshift stretcher. Chuck laid a hand on Judd’s arm. “Sounds like a good plan. We’ll gather the supplies; you get on in there and get started.”

  Judd blanched. “Me? I was just giving advice. I’d rather not . . .” He trailed off as he looked into Chuck’s tight face. “Yes, sir. I’ll do what I can.”

  Judd picked his way through the pine branches and crouched down beside Pete, who was repeating a string of curses like a mantra. Judd shook out a clean handkerchief, made a pad, and gave it to Mike to press against the worst of the cuts on Pete’s head. Pete cursed louder and looked at Judd like a coyote with one foot in a trap.

  Judd licked his parched lips. “Pete, just so you know, I broke my leg maybe worse than this once and, well, it hurts like the dickens, but I reckon you’ll live. Now, if you’ll let me, I’m gonna get you situated so we can haul you to the hospital.”

  The fire went out of Pete’s eyes. “That why you gimp around?”

  Judd nodded as somebody handed him torn strips of fabric.