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Elvira brought a fresh glass of water and Winifred sipped it and went on talking. Hours later, she stopped to draw a breath and heard a strident voice in the hallway outside.
“I must see Zane! Where is he?”
Winifred’s heart stuttered. Darla Bledsoe. What was she doing here? Zane’s hold on life was tenuous at best; Darla would only disturb him.
She rose quickly, walked through the door of the hospital room and stepped into Darla’s path.
“Stand aside,” the young woman snapped. “I know he’s in there.”
“I will not stand aside,” Winifred replied calmly. “Zane is unconscious. Dr. Graham says he needs complete quiet, and no visitors.”
“But you’re here! I want to see him.”
“No.” Winifred put as much steel in her voice as she could muster. “You may not see him.”
Darla’s face grew mottled. “Why not? I’m closer to him than you are!”
Winifred ignored the comment. “Go home, Darla. If you want to help Zane, then pray for him.”
The widow made to push her way past, but Winifred stepped in front of her. “Zane does not want to see you.”
“You don’t know that,” Darla shouted.
Winifred took a deep breath. “I do know that. I am not letting you past this door. You will leave him in peace.”
Dr. Graham arrived, took hold of Darla’s arm and brusquely ushered her away. Shaking, Winifred returned to Zane’s bedside and again took his hand in hers.
Suddenly she felt a gentle but definite pressure against her palm.
“Elvira! Elvira, come quick!”
The nurse barreled into the room, her angular face white. “What’s wrong?”
“Zane squeezed my hand! I’m sure of it, he pressed my hand.” She began to cry. “D-does that mean he’s better?”
“Maybe. Let me get Doc Graham.”
Less than a minute later, Zane’s partner stepped into the room. He lifted Zane’s eyelids and studied his pupils, then slapped his stethoscope onto his bare chest.
“Hmm. You say he squeezed your hand?”
“Y-yes,” Winifred sobbed. “I know I didn’t imagine it. I stepped outside to speak to Mrs. Bledsoe... I’m afraid our voices were very loud, and when I came back—” She couldn’t go on.
“Hmm,” Dr. Graham said again. “Glad you got rid of Darla Bledsoe.” He bent again over Zane’s body.
“Keep talking to him if you can manage it, Winifred. Even if he is very deeply comatose, he can still hear.” He shot her a look. “But before you do, I want you to go home and get some rest. You’ve been here most of the day. Eat something. You’re not going to do Zane much good if you collapse.”
Winifred nodded. “I will. Just let me stay a few more minutes.”
Dr. Graham pulled a gold watch from his pocket. “Five minutes, Winifred. Or I’ll come back and carry you up the hill myself.” He laid his hand briefly on her shoulder on his way out.
She waited until the door closed behind him. “Zane,” she breathed. She lifted his hand again. “I’m going to keep talking to you, and maybe it will drive you crazy, and maybe I will run out of things to say, but I’m going to keep talking until you can answer me.” She drew in a shuddery breath.
“Oh, Zane, I refused to let Darla see you. I hope I didn’t overstep, but, well, even if I did, I don’t care.”
She pressed his hand to her forehead and brushed tears off her cheeks with her free hand.
And then he squeezed her fingers again.
Four hours later Winifred returned to the hospital to find Elvira Sorensen waiting for her in the entryway, mopping at her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. Winifred’s heart rolled up into her throat.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Oh, God, she couldn’t bear it.
Elvira enfolded her into her muscular arms. “Oh, no, dear, he’s not dead. An hour ago he opened his eyes. He really did! I think he was disappointed to see my face and not yours, but he looked right at me and tried to smile.”
* * *
Zane cracked open one eyelid and immediately snapped it shut. Blinding sunlight poured in the window and waves of pain washed over the back of his head. Where the hell was he?
Then he heard Elvira Sorensen’s scratchy voice. “Zane? Zane, can you hear me?”
A groan was the only sound he could produce. He hoped she understood.
“Zane, you’re in the hospital. There was an accident at the sawmill and Ike Bruhn was pulled into a belt saw. When they stopped it, you pulled him away and the log rolled over onto you. Do you remember any of this?”
