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“I still don’t like people moving behind me, if that’s what you mean.” As for medications, she was extremely wary about anyone who might be on drugs.
“Have you had any more correspondence from the hospital?”
“I told you about the last email. I haven’t heard anything since.”
“I’m sure they want you back,” Dad reassured.
But Lexi was equally sure she didn’t want to return.
Whoa. She stilled as the truth resounded in her spirit, like a gong in her soul bringing fresh awareness.
“Let us know when you make a decision, okay?” Mum said.
Lexi nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Especially not when this revelation was so new. She needed to think about it a little more, knead it in her mind, pull out the possibilities about how the shape of her future could look.
She slowly made her way up the creaky stairs to the room she’d claimed as her own. This section of the house was like a private wing, complete with its own bathroom. It was separate from her parents’ rooms—they had a kitchenette and living area as well as their own bedroom and ensuite bathroom—and separate from the dormitories where the students stayed. Whoever had designed this house seemed to have added a variety of rooms higgledy-piggledy, but they knew how to capitalize on the view. Her window looked out toward boats sailing on the blue shimmer of Lake Wainscott, the largest of the three lakes that gave the town its name. It was a perfect summer afternoon for someone to be down on the lake with their friends, making the most of the sunshine. And while she felt she might finally have made friends with Ellie and Jackson, her parents’ caution about the family drew hesitation. She’d always trusted them, for both their godly wisdom and practical guidance. But this felt different, maybe a little—dare she admit it—judgmental. Or was it judgy to even admit that?
“Lord.” She settled at the window seat, looking up at the gentle hills. “Help me to see clearly, and not through the lens of the past or through the prejudice or preconceptions of others.”
A Psalm ticked into memory. “I lift my eyes to the hills, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.”
She drew in a deep breath of sun-warmed air and let the verse settle into her spirit. The Lord was faithful, had proved himself faithful so often, especially over the past few months. She could’ve died, but God had saved her. She could’ve bled out, but the cut hadn’t severed anything major. She could’ve lost her voice, but God had protected her. Apart from the scars on her skin and in her mind, she was practically the same as before.
Except maybe not. At least not according to her mother.
She moved to her laptop and found the email the hospital board had sent her, along with a promise of compensation. She hadn’t wanted a lengthy court case and had been willing to settle out of court, but the nurse’s union representative had begged her to be the figurehead of a campaign for better nurse safety. If her actions could protect another nurse from going through what she had, well, wasn’t that worth doing?
A bird’s call drew her gaze outside, and her mind flicked to the promise of God’s word. God was her helper, her protector, her strong tower. While trusting in people might prove fallible, trusting in God would always see her safe. Not that it would mean she would never see trouble, but at least she knew she wasn’t alone.
She touched her throat, thanking God for the thousandth time that He’d protected her. That He’d proved himself strong on her behalf.
But she never wanted to be put in that situation again. Never wanted to feel that fear, feel that pain, feel her life slipping away, pooling on the floor in a sticky, bloody mess.
Another glance at the email, and she flagged it to check on later, then tapped open the tab she’d saved from her restless Googling yesterday.
Transferring qualifications for nurses in Washington state.
* * *
Jackson exhaled slowly,pressing his fingers deep into his forehead. Jess’s latest tests confirmed the first batch. Brutus seemed to be sterile, and all Jackson’s hopes were shot.
He’d have to email the ranches he’d set up for Brutus’s stud work and let them know. He’d have to decide whether to keep the bull or send him to the slaughterhouse. He’d have to find another way to fund the ranch expenses, to generate the income they so desperately needed.
“God, what do I do?” His voice cracked as he prayed. Thank God Ellie wasn’t here to see her big brother so close to breaking. “Show me what to do, please Lord.”
An internal nudge throbbed, like a splinter swallowed into skin. He’d noticed it ever since Sunday, a prodding that lay just beyond his consciousness. Whether it was the devastating news about Brutus or general busyness, he didn’t know. It remained hard to grasp, buried under layers of fears. But he didn’t have time to chase it down now.
His phone bleeped a message and panic rose again. An automated “kind” reminder of the vet bill payment that remained outstanding.
Outstanding it certainly wasn’t. Unless it was another outstanding testimony to his utter stupidity. He pushed the thought to one side, and concentrated on writing to those he’d promised Brutus’s stud services. Perhaps it wasn’t too late in the season for them to make other arrangements.
He sent the emails off, then squinted at the wages. Thank God his workers were few, so that it hadn’t reached a point yet when it was a choice between paying them or paying the electricity—
A ping alerted him to an incoming email. He glanced at it, his spirits sinking as he read the terse reply to his apology about Brutus. Words like “incompetent” and “inadequate” and “second-rate” sure made a guy feel good. But he couldn’t blame them. He felt the same way.
He switched off email notifications—who needed more discouraging interruptions to their day?—and tried to wrap his brain around the orders for feed and forage. Thank God for Denny, who could keep eyes on the animals. He was deep into wrestling numbers when a knock preceded an opening door.
“Jackson?”
