The Healer

Tyndale House Publishers

Chapter One

"I need my pictures."

"Yes, ma'am. But I'm afraid there isn't time." Rachel shifted thebirdcage and medicine bag she carried to help Mrs. Sands with herraincoat. "This wind is strong, so let Nora and the officer help you."

With twenty minutes warning to leave their homes, residents wereable to grab a few clothes and personal items but that was it. Nora tookMrs. Sands's arm and helped her walk to the waiting rescue vehicle.Rachel handed her personal items to the officer.

In the twilight, torchlights bobbed like fireflies along the block asthree police officers and two other Red Cross workers took part in theevacuation search. Rachel worked disasters for a living, but she wouldnever get used to floods. Little could be done once the flooding tookground. Rachel placed a red fluorescent square on the garage door of58 Governor Street to mark it as confirmed empty. Cold, muddy waterswirled over her boots and reached to her jeans as she waded into thewater to cut across the yard.

The next house was set back from the road, with sloping, landscapedgrounds. Located closer to the river, the house was suffering themost damage of any so far as water poured in through the backyardand rushed around the house to flow down Governor Street. Rachelfought against the water to walk up the driveway. It took her feet outfrom under her. She instinctively threw her arms up to protect her headas she was swept downhill toward the street. It was her second dunkingof the day.

She slammed up against fire boots.

"Got you." The reassuring words came moments before hands slidaround her jacket and hauled her to her feet. Captain Cole Parker stoodin the rushing water with his feet braced apart and let the current breakaround him. He'd been buttoning his fire coat.

"Thanks, Cole." Everything on her was wet. She leaned forwardand dried her face on his shirt. It was rough blue denim and she couldsee the white T-shirt beneath it. He had planned for the reality of thisweather better than she had, with layers to fight the chill. The breadthof muscles on the man stretched the fabric taut.

"My pleasure, Rae." His hands pushed back her dripping hair as helaughed. "You are really wet. The water bang you up any?"

"I'm okay." She was embarrassed and annoyed that he'd seen herfall, but she couldn't do much about any of it. Her short haircut wasnew, and when it was wet it lost any definition and simply becamestraggles of hair. She blinked water out of her eyes and sniffed, thenreached for his hand and dried her eyes on the back of his cuff.

"I wish I'd brought at least a hand towel."

She tilted her head to dislodge the water in her ear. "You're enjoyingthis."

"I'd love to have a camera right now," Cole confirmed, his smilewidening. He put his hands on her shoulders and helped her turnagainst the rushing waters. "Go with Jack. I'll check the last house."

Her brother was crossing the street toward her. He was a lieutenantin the same fire company where Cole was a captain. Cole said his prematuregray hair was at least partially Jack's fault. Jack was a careful,safety-conscious firefighter but invariably led his men in a firefight fromthe front lines, especially when there was someone at risk. Jack washere, and Cole, so Company 81 must have been dispatched to thescene. "I didn't know firemen fought floods."

Cole tugged straight the now sopping Red Cross jacket from beingbunched around her back. "It looks like we're going to learn how. TheCorps of Engineers guys are stretched thin. The bridge is ours to defend."

She raised startled eyes to meet his. "Whose blacklist are you on?"

Cole laughed. "I hope it only looks impossible. Jack said it soundslike fun. You have a change of clothes at the shelter?"

"If I don't it's going to be a miserable couple hours drying out." Thewater was inching up around them. She glanced at the house that hadbeen her original destination. "You'd better go check the house whileyou can still get to it. But please, be careful."

"Always," Cole promised. "Can you get me a head count at theemergency shelter and ask around about pets? I'll be pulling my guysback from this street in about twenty minutes."

"Will do." Rachel grabbed Jack's hand to keep her balance in thefast-moving waters and headed up the street toward the truck, whichwas on higher ground. Cole was defending the bridge. She smiled. Wellat least she knew where to find him in the foreseeable future. The ideaof working at the nearby shelter suddenly had more appeal.

By Friday the rushing waters were a roar in the night that grew louderthe closer Cole got to the Des Plaines River. One of the residents ofGovernor Street forced out by the floodwaters had raised an Americanflag to fly over the sandbag levee that workers had named "the Alamoline." The flag waved in the night breeze, backlit by the emergencylights that enabled workers to keep an eye on the bridge, which wasnow cut off and surrounded by water. It was a defiant symbol. It fit theattitude of those dealing with the disaster over the last three days.

Today had been rough. When he hadn't been hauling sandbags orfixing pump equipment, he'd been working with the guys who weredoing the dangerous job of breaking up and hauling out debris thathad gotten stuck and piled up beneath the bridge. As he made hisevening rounds, Cole felt a bit like a general inspecting the state of histroops. Fighting water was far from his specialty-he led the arsongroup-but his men had met the challenge. They'd fought the river toa draw today, and it felt great.

Cole kept a lookout for Rachel as he walked. She'd been supplyingthem with hot coffee and sports scores. Her caramel-colored hair haddried with a flyaway curl to it, and when he happened to catch her duringthe rare moments she had her reading glasses on, Rae remindedhim of a studious college student, years younger than her real age.

She was thirty-five if her brother Jack was to be believed, and giventhe intensity of Rachel's job working disaster scenes nationwide, Colewasn't surprised her hair had begun to show signs of gray. She wasaging elegantly. If he couldn't have the pleasure of her company on adate tonight, he'd settle for a few minutes to talk with her and enjoythat smile that lingered in his memory.

Cole didn't see her and hoped that meant she was finally tuckedaway somewhere getting a few hour's sleep. She had been staying at theemergency shelter rather than returning to her home a few miles south,her sleeping bag and duffel bag well used. She carried odd things inthat duffel bag she considered her emergency kit. He'd seen fingernailpolish and stickers and all kinds of colorful hair ribbons alongsideaspirin and envelopes and postage stamps. He had slipped in a funnyHallmark card he'd picked up at one of the few businesses in the areadetermined to stay open. He wanted her thinking about him with asmile and a laugh tonight.

Spotting the yellow smiley face on the back of Jack O'Malley's firecoat, Cole changed directions and headed toward the blue pumpengine. The engine had been retired and replaced by more modernequipment years ago, but in a fight like this one, anything that couldpump water had been called out.

Jack was working on the top of the levee, pushing thirty-poundbags around. Beside him a six-inch-main fire hose was taut, stretchedup and over the wall of sandbags, dumping water into the river as fastas the pumps could throw it back. Cole stopped by the front bumperof the pump engine, curious as to what was going on, cracking openanother peanut while he waited for Jack to finish what he was doing.His pocketful of peanuts was turning out to be dinner tonight.

His friend hauled the hose into the new cradle he had made. Theshoot of water became a water fountain with spotlights illuminatingthe flood area. Jack reached down and lifted a flat cardboard box ontothe sandbags. Moments later a yellow rubber duck with black sunglassesdropped into the shooting water and reappeared in the middleof the river.

Jack was playing.

The swift-moving water carried the yellow duck downriver andunder the bridge, where it disappeared.

"Nice shot."

Jack turned on his perch. "We've got ten thousand of them. I figurethey won't miss a couple dozen." He dropped another one and thewater shot it into the river where it bobbed upside down, righted itself,and got slaughtered by a tree branch it slammed into.

The local chamber of commerce had been planning a duck race asits opening event in a charity fund-raising drive. They had ten thousandducks stored in the fire department's maintenance garage. Itlooked like they would be stuck with them for a good long time-theevent had been canceled.

"Hold on to a box for Adam tomorrow. He'll love them," Cole said.

"That's what I was thinking."

The boy's home was visible through the trees during the day, thewater now up to the middle of the living room windows, the mailboxat the roadside underwater. Adam was down here every day, helpingthem. He had to watch the river destroy his home. They were all tryingto make the situation a little easier on him.

"Does the river look like it's picking up speed?"

Jack reached for his inside pocket and pulled out a stopwatch. Hetimed the next duck as it raced between two poles they'd marked withred flags. "Eight-point-two seconds. It's really moving now."

"The crest should hit in another forty-eight hours."

"I saw what looked like a small propane tank go by that was rollinglike a cork. Someone's backyard grill probably got ripped apart."

"The cemetery off Rosecrans Road flooded this evening. Thatground was as much loose sand as dirt. I bet this river current is eatingit up like mulch," Cole said.

"You know about the most ugly things."

"I work at it." Cole didn't mention that Jack's sister Lisa hadstopped by to drop off two body bags. Lisa's boss, the medical examiner,remembered the last time he'd received a body pulled from theriver. It was wrapped in a curtain for want of a better covering. He'dsent out his central staff today to make sure rescue crews were prepared.It was inevitable that someone would attempt to drive across aflooded street, try to reach a flooded home, or otherwise act before theythought. The river would have no mercy.

Cole gestured toward the pump engine. "How's it holding up?"

"Beautifully. This baby could pump the whole river if we askedher to."

Jack was wet and tired. The hyperbole was getting a bit thick, buthe had cause. He'd been keeping the old pump engine in top shapethrough scraped knuckles and frustrating part replacements. This washer moment to shine. And so far she was holding her own against theheavy seepage.

The sandbags were slowing down the river and forcing it to soakrather than slam through the levee. The pumps still had to keep upwith the fact that unless the water working its way through wasrepelled, the river would flood the city sewers.

"I'm laying a new line of bags around the bank just in case. It'sgoing to rise at least another six inches before the crest. Anything youneed?" Cole asked.

"Coffee. Dry socks. Cassie."

"Interesting order you put those in. I won't tell Cassie you madeher third." Cassie Ellis and Jack had been dating since last fall, and Colewas looking forward to seeing them married someday. A former firefighter,Cassie had been badly burned in a nursing-home fire. Coleadmired the way she'd dealt with that tragedy and rebuilt her life.

"Coffee and socks are not a problem. I've got Cassie supervising thehauling out of the library historical documents. If it can't be replaced,there's no use taking chances." Cole glanced at the ducks. "But I'll sendher down later if you want to put her name on one of those." He dugout a black waterproof marker from his coat pocket and tossed it toJack. "She'll get a kick out of it."

"Thanks, boss."

"Don't fall in."

Jack laughed and picked up a duck to start his artwork.

Cole moved on to check the rest of the guys working the front line.

Rachel's legs were numb and her left arm ached. She would not havemoved for the world. Nathan Noles was finally asleep, hiccup-sob-sighsstill occasionally shaking his small frame. Tear-drenched lashescovered his big, brown, break-her-heart eyes. Life was rough when youwere three and your favorite blanket was missing, swallowed up in thefast moving waters that had swirled into his home on Governor Street.

Rachel rubbed her thumb in small circles on his back. They werebuddies. The teddy bear she had offered him to take the place of hisblanket was now muddy in spots and still clutched under one arm.Nathan had latched on to it and refused to let go.

She didn't have a family of her own, but she had her dreams. Alump rose in her throat as she looked at the sleeping child. She wanteda son like him. She kissed his forehead and smoothed out the wrinklesin the warm pajama top, then tucked the blanket around his shoulders.

Nathan's family had arrived at the emergency shelter while Rachelwas setting up tables for the Red Cross help desk. She found her duffelbag, which she had tossed in a corner, and pushed aside her bluesweatshirt to retrieve the bear tucked in the corner. "This is Joseph.He's old and kind of beat up, but would you like him, Nathan? He's afriendly bear."

The boy's eyes glanced from her to the bear. Nathan sniffed andreached out to wrap his hand around the bear's arm. He tucked Josephclose and sighed, then leaned his head back down against his mom'sshoulder.

A shared smile with Nathan's mom and Rachel had made her firstfriend of this tragedy. Ann Noles was a single mom who worked emergencydispatch for the 911 center. She was staying optimistic thatsomething in her house could be salvaged. Rachel found in Ann a kindredspirit.

Nathan's brother Adam was asleep now, his sleeping bag spread ontop of one of the gym mats. Rachel reached over and picked up thepaperback he'd been reading with the help of a small flashlight, markedthe page he was on, and slid it in his backpack. A teddy bear hadhelped Nathan; she was still working on something for Adam. Theflooding had destroyed a four-year collection of comic books he hadmowed yards and run errands to be able to buy.



Continues...
Excerpted from The Healerby Dee Henderson Copyright © 2005 by Dee Henderson. Excerpted by permission.
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