Sydell Voeller Special Edition Read online

  * * *

  Outside Cabin 3-B, shrieks of excitement filled the air. She stopped walking and spied a lively wheelchair race in full progress.

  To her surprise, Kimberly was in the lead. Logan watched more closely as her sister maneuvered her wheelchair through an expertly planned obstacle course marked by brightly colored flags and plastic bins.

  "Way to go, Kim!" a freckled-faced boy wearing a red baseball cap shouted from the head of the line. "Hurry! Hurry!"

  "Yay, Kim!" Renee called out after him. "Come on! Come on! Our team's gonna win!"

  Logan blinked hard. Kim certainly appeared to be enjoying herself. But maybe this was only one of her "up" times, as had been the case earlier when Kimberly had jumped in so readily to defend Zack Dellinger. For a fleeting unexpected moment, Logan had glimpsed a veneer of the spirited, precocious little Kimberly she had once known—before the accident had suddenly swept in and changed the very fabric of their lives.

  The sight of Betty Jo Jorgenson pulled Logan from her contemplation. "We're trying out a slalom relay. The kids love it!"

  "So I see." Logan never took her eyes off Kimberly as she continued talking. "I'm amazed. This is the most initiative my little sister has shown since the accident. How'd you do it?"

  "You can mostly thank Renee for what you're seeing." Betty Jo smiled knowingly. "A little peer group pressure can work wonders at times."

  "Apparently so. . ." Logan's voice trailed.

  "Your sister's been through a lot, hasn't she?"

  "Yes. Her first hospitalization last April was in the intensive care unit, not far from where the plane crash happened. The second admission was in rehab at Sheridan General on the outskirts of Westland, and the third, of course, at Children’s. Every time we. . .I mean, I—" why did she still have to keep reminding herself Mom was really gone? "—I had to move Kimberly, she became more withdrawn."

  "Hopefully camp will make a big difference. And this is one example where a little competition's desirable. As you already know, back at the hospital we often try to de-emphasize the competitive aspects of games and sports for a number of reasons. But here at Camp Rippling Waters, it's often useful in arousing interest and enthusiasm."

  Nodding, Logan garnered relief in Betty Jo's knowledge and good judgment. Games such as this not only encouraged the kids' cooperation, but gave them the opportunity to better develop valuable large motor skills. And with Betty Jo in charge, there was little to worry about. She'd never push the campers into doing something ridiculous or unsafe—like horseback riding, of all things.

  Soon the slalom race was over and Kimberly, clutching a blue ribbon, awarded to the participants on the winning team, wheeled to where Logan was standing.

  "Hey, Kim!" Logan exclaimed, mustering up all her enthusiasm. "You really surprised me. . ."

  Instead of Kimberly meeting her with an answering smile, her mouth turned down in a scowl. "So what? So I got a blue ribbon. . .big deal. That's nothing when I used to get real prizes."

  Taken aback, Logan fumbled for a reply as she hunched down to meet her sister eye-level. "But Kim. . .pumpkin. . .that was different. Gymnastics and summer camp are two different things. . ." Her loss for words hung on. "I mean, of course you have a right to be proud of all those trophies back at home. . .but. . .but. . ."

  "But now you have new goals to strive for," Zack Dellinger's voice sounded from close behind. He drew nearer, then crouched next to Logan, his arm brushing hers for one electrifying moment while he looked straight at Kimberly. "And this blue ribbon is an excellent start."

  Shy, Kimberly lifted her gaze to his, her scowl slowly melting. "Hi, Dr. Zack. You really think so?"

  "Of course I do." He gave her a thumbs up sign. "You can do anything you set out to, young lady. I have faith in you."

  Her only answer was another shy smile.

  * * *

  By eight o’clock that evening, after Logan had reviewed and filed all one hundred of the campers' medical forms, assisted Dr. Dellinger with three cases of poison oak, one forehead laceration, two knee abrasions, and several kids who complained of sniffles and sore throats, she found her way to the dining hall, nearly too exhausted to eat.

  Soon it was time for the evening campfire. The nightly ritual took place at the largest fire ring which was nestled back in a tall grove of trees not far from the gymnasium and swimming pool. Logan sank onto a weathered wooden bench next to one of the children with cerebral palsy. Across from her, kids in wheelchairs had arranged themselves in rows as they chattered and giggled, comparing notes about their first day at camp. Their eyes were bright with expectation. Their faces glowed in the flickering firelight. Kimberly sat at the far end of the front row, talking quietly with Renee.

  Logan gazed into the campfire. What a day. And there were so many more to go. Yet the warmth of the fire felt good and the campgrounds seemed to have taken on a special magic now that the sun had gone down and the soft purple twilight had given way to the shadows of night.

  She watched the flames dance and crackle, sending up a shower of orange sparks against a backdrop of darkening forest and cobalt blue sky. Over the east hillside, a quarter moon inched slowly skyward.

  The sound of a familiar voice jolted her. Dr. Dellinger was sitting down in the empty space next to her, inclining his head in her direction as he spoke. "Ah, here at last. I never thought I'd get off that telephone. Richard Foster's father was concerned about making sure we understand how much insulin he takes."

  "I already talked with him about that earlier today. He and Mrs. Foster were among the last parents to leave. This is Richard's first year at camp. Normal reaction for most parents—or legal guardians—I suppose," he added pointedly. He darted her a meaningful look, his mouth turning up in a half smile. "Are we about ready to start? These kids look like they need to wind down."

  "Yes. I think Betty Jo's getting ready to lead off a few songs."

  An owl hooted. From a far hillside, the mournful wail of a coyote echoed, followed by the answering cries of more coyotes. Without thinking, Logan edged a little closer to him as if somehow doing so might ward off any uncertain dangers. Silly. What threat did an owl pose? And a coyote was nothing much more than a wild dog. . .as eager to remain distanced from her as she was from it, judging from the wildlife documentaries she'd seen on TV. Yet somehow the sound was so ominous, so chilling.

  "Row, row, row your boat," the song leader began. In an instant a sea of young lilting voices wrapped around her. Zack Dellinger's, a deep baritone, joined in. Then Logan began singing too. This was the first time she remembered singing in the past several months—and it did feel good.

  "Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. Life is but a dream. . . ." Exactly what did those words mean anyway? she wondered, drifting back to more somber reflection. Her mother's life, so suddenly snuffed out. . .Kim's life so drastically altered. Was life really nothing more than a mere vapor—a passing dream?

  Dr. Dellinger stopped singing, nudged her arm and said in a hushed voice. "Look at Kimberly. Look at the sparkle in her eye."

  "It's only temporary," she whispered in reply. "I've seen it a thousand times. Tomorrow morning she'll be right back to usual."

  They sang one song after another. Then it was time for the parting meditation, given by one of the hospital chaplains. Standing straight and tall, smiling benevolently into each glowing face, he talked about goals and dreams and the courage to make those dreams come true.

  Kimberly appeared to be hanging onto his every word. Her attention never wavered for a moment.

  As the campers began to disband for their respective cabins, murmuring with anticipation about pillow fights and who could tell the scariest story after lights-out, Logan edged her way toward her sister.

  "Kim. . .pumpkin, are you sure you're going to be all right? I mean, if you should have another one of your nightmares, make sure Betty Jo comes to get me."

  Kim rolled her eyes. "Sissie, don't call me pumpkin. Please. Not he
re."

  "Kimberly won't be the first camper to have ever had nightmares," Betty Jo broke in, emerging from somewhere in the shadows. "Don't worry. If that does happen and I can't handle it, I'll be sure to let you know." She winked, smiling. "But most of the time I've found a cup of hot chocolate and a few reassuring words takes care of it every time."

  Logan looked from Betty Jo to Kim, then back to Betty Jo as she forced a half-hearted smile. "All right. I. . .I guess there's nothing more then." She stooped to pat her sister's cheek. "Good-night Kim. See you at breakfast. Sleep well."

  "'Night," Kim and Betty Jo chorused.

  Ambling back to the infirmary, Logan snugged her collar up more tightly against the crisp air. Nighttime certainly took on a sudden briskness at this altitude. She hoped the second windbreaker she'd packed with the rest of her belongings would be warm enough to get her through the entire session.

  "Going my way?" Dr. Dellinger's words sliced through her thoughts as he caught up with her. She gave a start. While she and Betty Jo had been talking, she figured he'd already gone on.

  "Yes. . .I suppose so. If going your way means heading back to the infirmary—not traipsing around yonder foothills, howling at the moon." She darted him a smile, giving in to her sudden urge to poke fun at him. After all, two could play this game.

  "Now that sounds like an excellent idea," he answered with a husky chuckle, "but I'm afraid it's not quite in keeping with my job description." His voice turned serious. "Actually I need to drive to Valley General tonight in Mapleton to pick up some vials of Penicillin. . .that and a couple more vials of Tetanus Toxoid. When I finally had the chance to look through the refrigerator this evening, I discovered we were out."

  "Couldn't that wait till morning?"

  "Perhaps. But rather than risk waiting till regular business hours—you never know what might happen here, especially in the wee hours—I decided to place the order tonight through the pharmacist at the hospital. Want to come along?"

  "But what about the campers? What if there's an emergency?"

  "Maggie already said she'd hold down the fort—and she can always reach me on my car phone if an emergency arises. Besides, Mapleton's only about twenty miles away. We won't be long."

  Clearly she'd run out of excuses. Even Kimberly would soon be settled for the night and Betty Jo had assured her she could handle most any problem that might arise. Yes, why not go with him? At least this might give her an opportunity to squelch any further notions he might have about Kim horseback riding.

  "All right. I'll ride into town with you."

  He turned to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, his well chiseled features fully illuminated in misty moonlight. "Good. We'll get started right away. But please, Logan. Please do me a big favor."

  "Yes?"

  "This is camp—not the hospital. Call me by my first name. Not Dr. Dellinger."

  In no time they were driving down the twisting mountainous roadway that led to the small town of Mapleton. Zack's van was comfortable and roomy and smelled faintly of pine air freshener blended with spicy after-shave and his own clean masculine scent. Wild Country, she guessed. Matthew had worn it too. But for some reason the fragrance had never sent gooseflesh down her spine as it did right now.

  In an attempt to ward off her reaction, Logan rolled down her window and felt the sudden wash of cool night air against her face. She stared at the silhouette of dark trees on the hillside, then lifted her gaze to the sky. The cobalt blue was crystalline clear. A dense sprinkling of stars dazzled like tiny diamonds, spanned by a dusty trail.

  "Oh! The Milky Way," she exclaimed, awe-struck. "And quick! Look at that shooting star. . ."

  He chuckled. "Pretty humbling. Right?"

  "Yes. I've never seen the night sky so clearly before."

  "That's because you've spent too much time in the big city," he answered evenly. "Too much interference from all the pollution and bright lights." From the opposite lane, a log truck approached, it's headlights cutting swathes through the darkness as it rumbled past them. "Yes, this is my idea of God's country," he went on after the noise had given way to stillness. "Mountains. Forests. The night sky. And plenty of peace and silence."

  "Almost too much silence," she was quick to add, thinking again about the chilling cry of the coyote. "Tell me something. How do the people in Mapleton manage to eke out a living? And how do they keep from going stark raving mad from boredom? The closest library or theaters or shopping malls must be well over an hour's drive away!"

  "Many of the folks here are loggers. As you'll soon see, the mill and mill pond are just up ahead. Others are employed by the Forest Service. Hard workers, all of them. I'm sure they don't think twice about how to fill up the little spare time they do have."

  "I suppose not."

  He slowed at a railroad crossing, then accelerated again. "I grew up in a small town about the size of Mapleton. The big difference, of course, was that the people were mostly ranchers, not loggers or forest service employees."

  "Oh? Where was that?"

  "Hainsville. In central Washington."

  "You were born there too?" The momentary glare from the headlights of another truck illuminated his face and she caught sight of his rugged profile, the appealing cleft in his well-defined chin.

  "No. I was born in a suburb on the outskirts of Los Angeles. But my parents soon got fed up with the traffic and crowds and so when I was only 4, we moved to Hainsville where my father set up his veterinarian practice. Equine medicine. That was his specialty, and the local ranchers flocked to him. We always had a horse or two of our own too. That's how I learned to ride."

  "It's surprising you didn't follow in your father's footsteps," she answered. "I mean, with your interest in nature and the out-of-doors, it seems only natural." As they talked, she silently pondered not only their opposing interests, but their different backgrounds; his the rolling open spaces of the state's central farm belt, hers the tall buildings, art museums, and trade centers in the more densely populated western corridor.

  "You're right. Veterinary medicine does seem a logical choice. I'm sure Dad would have liked that too—the years before he retired, he certainly needed someone to go into partnership with him. Anyway, I chose to become a pediatrician instead. As I told you last week when we first talked about Kimberly, some fairly significant happenings during my boyhood helped shape my decision."

  "You mean your hospitalizations?"

  "Yes." His eyes narrowed, as if remembering a part of his life he would rather not. "Shortly after our move to Washington, my folks discovered I had Legg-Perthes disease in my left hip. The doctors said the head of my femur had most likely been deteriorating for nearly a year before any symptoms appeared."

  She nodded with empathy. "Hmm. Back in the days when you were growing up, they treated Legg-Perthes more conservatively, didn't they? The doctors usually tried traction and body casts before they considered surgery." During the brief time she'd worked on the surgical floor at Children’s, she cared for several young patients with Legg-Perthes. Though not congenital, the disease usually occurred early in childhood and was more prevalent in young, active boys.

  "Yes. But in my case the docs went the entire nine yards." They swept past the mill pond. Once again the moon poked through a clearing in the trees, reflecting onto the pond a shimmering pathway of light. "Mom and I spent a great deal of time flying back and forth to western Washington for my hospitalizations and follow-up appointments," he continued. "Though I always loved the plane trips—what young boy wouldn't?—I could hardly wait to get back to Dad and the ranch." He shifted gears as the road took them down a steep incline. Below the lights of town twinkled like a small carnival.

  "Then why did you stick around Westland after your fellowship was completed?" she asked. "Why didn't you take up practice in a small town such as this. . .or the place where you grew up?"

  "I decided I needed to first get established. Get as much experience as possible." He turned
to smile at her and her heart began that crazy fluttering. "But I've got a lot of years ahead of me—and I still have my dreams. Someday I will go back. I'll set up practice in some small farming town where I can really make a difference. Most rural communities are still crying for dependable, full-time physicians."

  "Yes. . .yes, of course." She knew his words were all too true. And given his obvious commitment, most likely he'd do exactly what he said.

  With each passing moment, that invisible gap between them was growing by leaps and bounds. What had come over her, agreeing to go into town like this with him tonight? Hopefully there wouldn't be any delays till they were back at camp and could go safely on their separate ways.

  One thing was for certain. She couldn't put off her real reason for coming any longer. She might never have another opportunity to talk with him like this away from the constant distraction of children and other staffers. "Zack. . ." It felt strange to be calling him that. Like a familiarity she had no right to.

  "Hmm?" His gaze roved appreciatively over her before locking with hers.

  "There's something we need to finish discussing. . ."

  "You mean about Kimberly horseback riding?"

  "Uh-huh. How did you know?"

  "Well. . .as I remember, we were just about ready to get into the thick of it earlier today when Renee came running to tell us about the hornet stings." He angled her an amused glance.

  "Oh. . .that's right." She couldn't help noticing his widening grin, his flash of white teeth. What must she do to make him take her seriously? Surely with his intelligence and skill and. . .and. . .why was he looking at her that way? Why was he staring at her with those gorgeous dark blue eyes as if he wanted to take her in his arms and give her a very thorough, no-nonsense kiss?

  "Zack, are you listening to me?"

  "Hmm? Sure. Fire away. . ."