Tilting at Windmills (7 page)

One day, though, one day in the future, we’d have to confront the truth, settle the past before we could move on. Or was that all psychobabble?

“Here we go,” the man said, a thick file marked DECEMBER in his frail old hands. “Only February is thicker,” he confessed.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I suddenly announced.

“Eh? What’s that?”

“I’m holding onto the ring.”

He was very confused. Join the club.

“I can’t explain it,” I said, and that much was the truth. “Something is telling me to keep it.”

He smiled, showing his teeth. “Hope?”

I shook my head. “More of a talisman. For my journey.”

“Eh?”

“It’s okay—I don’t especially get it either. But someday, maybe I will, and someday, perhaps I’ll return and we can do business.” I picked up the ring box and quickly pocketed it. “Thanks.”

“Life, my boy,” the old man wisely said. “Always we must tilt at windmills. But they turn, and they turn, and you live. Remember.”

I left the jewelry store, my wallet empty but my heart somehow richer, and it was that exact feeling that took me through the crowded streets of New York City, through the Lincoln Tunnel, into New Jersey, and onto an empty road that held nothing but hope and, somewhere, someplace, my future.

F
IRST
I
NTERLUDE

B
rian slept little that first night, and by nine o’clock in the morning, he was back at the hospital. Annie lay in the slightly arched bed, silent and still in the sleep of the wounded. Her vital signs had stabilized, that was good, and the color had returned to her cheeks. That instilled within him hope that she would wake sometime soon. Perhaps today.

He’d left the farmhouse that morning under a cloud of controversy, Janey insisting she was going with him. She simply wanted to see her mother, that was all. Cynthia and Brian had exchanged worried looks, confused about what was best for Janey, and in the end had found themselves agreeing: It was too soon. Let Annie wake, let her be able to talk to her girl, assure her she was on the mend. Janey, wise beyond her years, had relented—for now, she said—freeing Brian to leave without guilt.

Except he wasn’t guiltless. Sure, maybe when it came to Janey, but Annie, that was an altogether different story. Was it his stubbornness, or hers, or just the fates or the hand of God or a freak accident? He could debate this for all eternity and probably not come up with a satisfactory answer. Perhaps, for now, it was best to let go of blame and concentrate on what was. His healing could wait; Annie’s could not.

He was back at his post, beside her bed, watching her sleep. She wasn’t breathing, not on her own, and maybe wouldn’t for a while. As a result of the accident, Annie had punctured a lung. The surgery had staved off further damage, but they had to wait for a positive sign of recovery. The other bruises were more obvious, especially this next day, purples and reds that stood pronounced on her forehead and cheeks and on her hands. Still, there was something about her, a glow of life, and that gave him—yes, he couldn’t think it enough, not in this crucial period of recovery—hope.

“Janey sends her love,” Brian said. “Actually, she wanted to bring it herself, wrapped in a tight bow, no doubt, and sparkling with glitter.” Maybe he was wrong in not bringing Janey to her mother’s side. The hospital staff, though, had their own rules, and if Janey had to follow Brian’s, Brian had to follow the hospital’s. Loving people and wanting the best for them was never easy but always worth it.

“I was thinking, Annie, of the first time we met. First time I met Janey, too. Could it really have been only six months ago? Seems like I’ve known you forever and Janey since she was a baby. She’s grown so much, even from that first moment we met—you remember, by the windmill.”

Just then a beeping filled the room, startling Brian. Fear struck his heart as he realized the machine at Annie’s side was blaring and he didn’t know what it meant. He knew it didn’t signal anything good. He was about to call for a nurse when the door to the room burst open and a team of nurses entered, one rushing to Annie’s side, another to the machine, while the third ushered Brian outside, ignoring his protests and questions. In a blur, a handful of white-coated figures flew past him and into the closed ICU.

“Annie . . .” he said, her name a whisper on his lips.

Impossible minutes passed; he tried to watch through the glass until a nurse finally pulled a curtain across it. What, he wondered, could have gone wrong, so swiftly, so . . . awfully? It took fifteen endless minutes before anyone emerged, and thankfully it was Dr. Savage, her attending physician, wearing that same comforting expression and stethoscope.

“She’s fine, Mr. Duncan—for now. We’ve got her stabilized.”

“What happened?”

He hung his head in silence, in contemplation. “We’re not sure—yet.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure? How about an educated guess? My God, we’re talking about a young woman’s life here. She’s got a daughter who needs her. We need to know, Doctor. Is Annie going to make it?”

He grimaced, as though reluctant to share his thoughts. “Are there next of kin?”

“Only her young daughter. Her parents are gone; there’s no one. I’m the closest you’ll get. Tell me, please.”

“We’re . . . we’re concerned about a possible, uh, infection. But we’re monitoring her very closely.”

“An infection? What kind?”

“In the damaged lung. What pierced the lung was not one of her ribs. It was a piece of rusted metal. We believe we’ve cleaned the wound thoroughly.”

“So what you’re saying is, we wait?”

“Time heals,” he said, “or it plays its hand. We do our best, but we’re human. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Duncan: Annie has suffered a grievous injury. Complications with these kinds of injuries are hard to predict. But we’re anticipating and we’re watching. I’m sorry. Right now, it’s the best I can offer.”

Brian wasn’t satisfied with Dr. Savage’s vagueness.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Dr. Savage nodded agreeably. “Stay as long as necessary. But don’t forget who needs your help more.”

B
rian stayed all day, sitting by Annie’s bedside, holding her hand and telling her how strong she was, how strong Janey was, too, how alike they were, and how she had to recover, not for his sake but for herself and, most importantly, for Janey. Finally, Cynthia urged him home, and he at last left the hospital as night fell. He rode back to the farmhouse in silence. His mind was numb and his body was drained of any energy. Luckily he was unfamiliar with the roads, their winding curves and smooth surfaces forcing him to concentrate on the drive and nothing else. He’d have to suspend the vigil he’d begun because tonight, Janey was his charge. He’d continue the vigil later, keeping watch until Annie was out of danger and in her own room, away from the morbid monitoring of the ICU. The doctor was right—there was someone who needed him so she could feel safe, secure, loved.

Gerta Connors, who had come to stay with Janey until Brian got back, was waiting at the front door. She’d heard his car pull up.

“How is Janey?” Brian asked, entering the house quietly.

“Sleeping—finally. The poor thing; she doesn’t know if she’s coming or going, what’s night or day, what’s up or down.”

“That’s another thing Janey and I have in common.”

Gerta, one of Linden Corners’ longtime residents and perhaps its kindest, opened her arms wide and embraced Brian, patting him on the back.

“Do you need me to stay?”

“No, that’s not necessary.”

Placing a comforting hand on his cheek, she said, “I’ll be back at eight tomorrow, so you can go back to the hospital.”

“Thanks.”

Gerta left, and he went in to check on Janey, who was sound asleep, hugging tight her stuffed purple frog. She was protected, he thought, by the resilience of youth, its innocence and faith. She wasn’t ready for the complexities of life.

He retreated to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of lemonade. He still wasn’t drinking, still couldn’t for health reasons, and these days, he didn’t even think he missed it. Taking a sip, his mouth puckering from the tartness, he went outside into the beautiful clear night and wondered what he should be doing. Taking care of Janey was at the top of his list for sure. But he couldn’t help but think that there was something else he should do. There must be, he reasoned, a way to help Annie recover.

He’d done nothing, still, about the windmill way out in the field. Cleaning up the awful mess was too daunting a prospect, one he just wasn’t ready to face. He knew he had to face the inevitable, so he swallowed the resistance he felt and found himself, lemonade still in hand, walking toward the ruined old structure.

The windmill. How he’d been captivated by it when he was first passing through town, its majesty heightened by the lustrous green countryside. Now, as he closed in on the wreckage, illuminated by the glow of the moon, he found he could still easily imagine the untouched windmill’s presence on the landscape. Maybe not all was lost.

The four sails had been knocked down and were lying in pieces on the ground. But the main structure, it wasn’t all lost. The windows were all broken out, and boards were missing and pieces of the tower were scorched. Flames had eaten away much of the cap before being doused by the heavy rain. And broken pieces of siding were scattered everywhere, leaving Brian wondering if he could figure out which piece was important, which piece went where. Was it possible that the windmill could be repaired?

Could Brian bring the windmill back to life?

He finished his lemonade and set the glass down, and then he sat himself down in the grass and stared at the structure, just as he had the night before, but this time he had an idea.

He decided right then and there. He knew what needed to be done. He would rebuild the windmill. But just as suddenly, he realized how foolish a thought that really was. After all, what did he know of construction, much less restoration? Or windmills?

That night, as he drifted off to sleep, a wise old man’s mantra came to him. “Always we must tilt at windmills,” he had said, and seemed to be saying again in these ever-hopeful dreams. “But they turn and they turn, and you live.”

T
he phone woke him at seven o’clock. He grabbed it on the first ring.

“Hello.”

“Brian, it’s Cynthia.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Brian, you need to get here—now.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m scared. They’ve taken Annie away for some tests—but they’re not very forthcoming with information. Brian, Annie . . . she didn’t look good. There was no color in her face. I’ve never seen her like that.”

He felt his heart fall, felt tears threaten to flood his eyes. “I’ll call Gerta and be there as soon as I can.”

He hung up the phone and got out of bed. That’s when he noticed Janey standing in the doorway, the cordless phone in her trembling hands. She’d heard the entire conversation. Brian’s face went white as he realized the horrible implications. They’d tried so hard to keep Janey from harm, and they’d failed. She knew as much as they did, that the situation with Annie was more serious than any one of them wanted to let on, much less speak of.

The poor girl. He wanted to take her, hold her, comfort her, and tell her that everything would be fine, that her mother would be fine. But he couldn’t, and not only because he feared it might not be true but because she didn’t give him a chance.

“Janey . . . ” he started to say.

She gave Brian no chance to catch her as she dropped the phone, its hard plastic making a loud clack on the hardwood floor, and tore out of the room, out of the house, and out of sight.

“Janey!” Brian called out from the hallway, but the only answer was the empty echo of a lonely house. No reply came, not then, and not an hour later after his exhaustive search.

Brian stood on the front porch calling out her name, his voice growing hoarse. He dropped to the wooden steps, cradled himself, fought back tears. He thought of Janey, her trembling lips and all that she’d heard. She shouldn’t be alone, not now. Except she was, alone and lonely and afraid.

Brian was afraid, too, and silently sent a wish on the wind, hoping it was carried north, where it would be heard by a woman lying silently in a hospital bed. Annie had to reawaken, and Janey needed to see her. First, though, he had to find the little girl.

“Janey,” he murmured to himself. “Where are you?”

For the first time since the accident, Brian realized the seriousness of the situation. Annie could die, and if she did, God, how would Janey survive another devastating loss? Who would be there for Janey?

PART TWO

A
PRIL

F
OUR

Y
ou hear about the unparalleled beauty of the autumnal landscape in upstate New York and New England, and like thousands of New Yorkers, people make the trek to catch the fall foliage in all its splendor. But spring comes a close second in its allure, with trees blooming after the harsh winter weather and birds chirping in delight of the approaching warmth of summer. And today was a perfect spring day and a perfect day for driving. The road was mine and mine alone.