When You Call My Name

Sala Sharon

“Mister! Please! Take me to the soldier’s doctor.”

Dennis couldn’t quit staring at the young woman clutching his coat. Her voice was frantic, her behavior strange, but it was her request that startled him. How could she know that the man they’d just brought in was—or at least had been—a soldier?

“Are you a relative?” Dennis asked.

“No! Who I am doesn’t matter, but he does,” Glory cried, gripping his coat a little tighter. And then she felt her father’s hand move across her shoulder.

“Ease up, Glory. You got to explain yourself a little, honey.”

She blinked, and Dennis watched focus returning to her expression, thinking as he did that he’d never seen eyes quite that shade of blue. In a certain light, they almost looked silver…as silver as her hair, which clung to her face and coat like strands of wet taffy.

She took a deep breath and started over.

“Please,” she said softly. “I came to give blood.”

Dennis shook his head. “I don’t know how you heard about the accident, but I’m afraid coming out in this storm was a waste of time for you. He’s got a rare—”

Glory dug through her purse, her fingers shaking as she searched the contents of her wallet.

“Here,” she said, thrusting a card into the man’s hands. “Show the doctor. Tell him I can help—that it’s urgent that he wait no longer. The man won’t live through the night without me.”

As Dennis looked down at the card, the hair crawled on the back of his neck. He glanced back up at the woman, then at the card again, and suddenly grabbed her by the arm, pulling her down the hall toward the room where Steading was working.

“Doc, we just got ourselves a miracle,” Dennis shouted as he ran into the room.

Amos Steading frowned at the woman Dennis was dragging into their midst.

“Get her out of here, Dennis! You know better than to bring—”

“She’s AB negative, Doc, and she’s come to give blood.”

Steading’s hands froze above the tear in the flesh on Wyatt Hatfield’s leg.

“You’re full of bull,” he growled.

Dennis shook his head. “No, I swear to God, Doc. Here’s her donor card.”

Steading’s eyes narrowed and then he barked at a nurse on the other side of the room. “Get her typed and cross-matched. Now!”

She flew to do his bidding.

“And get me some more saline, damn it! This man’s losing more fluids than I can pump in him.” He cursed softly, then added beneath his breath, fully expecting someone to hear and obey, “And call down to X-ray and find out why his films aren’t back!” As he leaned back over the patient, he began to mumble again, more to himself than to anyone else. “Now where the hell is that bleeder?”

There was a moment, in the midst of all the doctor’s orders, when Glory looked upon the injured man’s face. It wasn’t often that she had a physical connection to the people in her mind.

“What’s his name?” she whispered, as a nurse grabbed her by the arm and all but dragged her down the hall to the lab.

“Who, Dr. Steading?”

“No,” Glory said. “The man who was hurt.”

“Oh…uh…Hatfield. William…no, uh…Wyatt. Yes, that’s right. Wyatt Hatfield. It’s a shame, too,” the nurse muttered, more to herself than to Glory. “He looks like he was real handsome…and so young. Just got out of the service. From his identification, some sort of special forces. It’s sort of ironic, isn’t it?”

“What’s ironic?” Glory asked, and then they entered the lab, and the scents that assailed her threatened to overwhelm. She swayed on her feet, and the nurse quickly seated her in a chair.

The nurse grimaced. “Why, the fact that he could survive God knows what during his stint in the military, and then come to this, and all because of a snowstorm on a mountain road.” Suddenly she was all business. “Stuart, type and cross-match this woman’s blood, stat! If she comes up AB negative, and a match to the man in E.R., then draw blood. She’s a donor.”

As the lab tech began, Glory relaxed. At least they were on the right track.

Three o’clock in the morning had come and gone, and the waiting room in E.R. was quiet. Rafe Dixon glanced at his son, then at his daughter, who seemed to be dozing beside him. How he’d fathered two such different children was beyond him, but his pride in each was unbounded. It just took more effort to keep up with Glory than it did J.C.

He understood his son and his love for their land. He didn’t understand one thing about his daughter’s gift, but he believed in it, and he believed in her. What worried him most was, who would take care of Glory when he was gone? J.C. was nearly thirty and he couldn’t be expected to watch over his sister for the rest of his life. Besides, if he were to marry, a wife might resent the attention J.C. unstintingly gave his baby sister. Although Glory was twenty-five, she looked little more than eighteen. Her delicate features and her fragile build often gave her the appearance of a child…until one looked into her eyes and saw the ancient soul looking back.

Glory child…who will take care of you when I am gone?

Suddenly Glory stood and looked down the hall. Rafe stirred, expecting to see someone open and walk through the doors at the far end. But nothing happened, and no one came.

She slipped her fingers in the palm of her brother’s hand and then stood. “We can go home now.”

J.C. yawned, and looked up at his father. Their eyes met in a moment of instant understanding. For whatever her reasons, Glory seemed satisfied within herself, and for them, that was all that mattered.

“Are you sure, girl?” Rafe asked, as he helped Glory on with her coat.

She nodded, her head bobbing wearily upon her shoulders. “I’m sure, Daddy.”

“You don’t want to wait and talk to the doctor?”

She smiled. “There’s no need.”

As suddenly as they’d arrived, they were gone.

Within the hour, Amos Steading came out of surgery, tossing surgical gloves and blood-splattered clothing in their respective hampers. Later, when he went to look for the unexpected blood donor, to his surprise, she was nowhere to be found. And while he thought it strange that she’d not stayed to hear the results of the surgery, he was too tired and too elated to worry about her odd exodus. Tonight he’d fought the Grim Reaper and won. And while he knew his skill as a surgeon was nothing at which to scoff, his patient still lived because of a girl who’d come out of the storm.