Jenny's Legacy
A Historical Novel of Maryland
by Cassandra Barnes

Chapter 1

“A volley of gunfire at Mesa Verde High in Phoenix killed one student and wounded a teacher and three other students.” The newscaster’s voice droned on, against a background of huddled students and adults.

Kyle Cordell turned away from the TV and glanced around the crowded room. Few people paid attention to the evening news blaring from the monitor mounted above their heads. Like him, they were more concerned with the reason they were in the Emergency Room at Millwood General Hospital. Sour smells from sick and anxious people and the antiseptic aroma of alcohol assailed his nostrils.

He stood up and stretched. Evidently the decorator who had chosen the hard plastic chairs wanted to win an award for most uncomfortable seating. He smiled at a woman passing the time knitting, but she was too busy counting stitches to smile back. A couple of men, field workers judging from their clothes, slouched against a wall, hands jammed in their pockets, stoic looks on their faces. Probably a co-worker had lost a limb in equipment, Kyle guessed, noticing blood splatters on their jeans. He shuddered, thinking of his son and how much worse he could have been hurt.

Kyle paced the circumference of the room, wondering if he should call his ex-wife again. It had been over two hours since the ambulance had brought Jared, their youngest son, to the hospital with a broken arm from a wild bicycle ride. No, the last time he had called, she said she’d be over as soon as she picked up Jason, their older son, from school. Kyle alternated slamming fists into his open palms as he walked. An officious nurse had made him leave Jared’s bedside when the doctor came to set the arm, citing the crowded space.

Despite their differences in the past, he had a good relationship with the boys’ mother. Another phone call would only worry her unnecessarily.

Kyle resumed sitting. Jared’s break wasn’t bad—only a hairline fracture, and the doctor should be through setting it soon.

“Those killings have been on the news all day. I’m worried about my daughter.” A querulous voice rose above the cacophony of jangling telephones, urgent pages over the intercom, and fretful children. It drew his attention to an elderly woman clutching the arm of a younger woman. He’d noticed them earlier and guessed they were mother and daughter. The daughter evidently had come to the emergency room from work, because she wore a business suit. His gaze remained on her, noting that the suit ended at her knees, revealing shapely legs.

“Mom, it’s all right,” the daughter said, as she freed her arm from the grasp of the older woman. “I’m working here in Millwood, not Phoenix. And I’m a counselor, not a teacher. I’m never in the classroom.”

Kyle heard reassurance and compassion in her voice. He looked closer and watched the young woman draw in a deep breath and straighten her shoulders. She and her mother had arrived more than an hour ago. She’d spoken with the nurse behind the counter and produced what were probably insurance papers. Like she did with everyone else, the nurse checked off something on her clipboard and told the women to find a seat and wait to be called.

Kyle studied the young woman’s soft and loving expression as she gently spoke to her mother. He heard her mention Dad, and assumed that’s whom they were waiting for.

She’s the most patient person I’ve ever seen, he thought. That’s at least the tenth time she’s had to console her mother. She doesn’t seem to mind the repetition.

“I know, dear.” The elderly woman twisted her shapeless green cardigan with nervous fingers. “But I worry anyway. The world’s a dangerous place now.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Mom.” As she leaned forward to take her mother’s hands in hers, the daughter’s long blond hair swung forward, light glinting off in golden shimmers. Even under sickly fluorescent glare, it looked like a curtain of sunshine.

Momentarily calmed, the mother looked around the room, like a bird that’s heard someone refill the feeder. When her inquisitive eyes caught Kyle, he smiled and nodded at her. Her gaze moved on, finally settling again on the TV. She kept up a constant stream of chatter to her daughter, most of it meaningless to Kyle.

The talkative woman was so unlike his mother, Kyle reflected. His mother didn’t sit or stand erect—her shoulders were perpetually slumped in defeat. She never caught anyone’s eye, and had nothing more to say than what was absolutely necessary. His sister’s death eleven years ago had destroyed her. Destroyed our whole family, Kyle thought bitterly in an unguarded moment before he pushed his own grief and hurt back down into the internal pit he kept open for it. He would not permit himself to remember Jenny now, and the continuing legacy of pain her death had created.

He glanced again at the young woman, taking in the smooth curves of her face, his gaze lingering on her skin. Its luminosity reminded him of the antique china his mother used for the formal dinners she used to serve—the translucent plates the color of spring roses. Somehow, Kyle had the feeling that this woman wasn’t nearly as fragile as those old dishes.

 He shook his head. Where did she get the immense patience she exhibited with her mother, patting the older woman’s hand or smoothing her hair when she got too excited or disturbed?

Would he be able to comfort his mother, if she became ill? Probably not. The intensity of her grief made him uncomfortable and always left him feeling inadequate. Except for business meetings with his father, he rarely saw his parents. He used his own sons as a buffer on those occasions.

Familiar aching filled his heart. Would his parents ever forgive him for his role in Jenny’s death? He reminded himself that the time for reaching out, for drawing together, had long since passed. Oh Jenny, he thought, the light in our lives went out when we lost you.

“Mrs. Graham!”

The nurse’s summons startled Kyle. He saw the young woman rise and turn to help her mother.

“Sorry, only one of you can go back.” The nurse tapped her clipboard impatiently.

The daughter started to protest, a look of frustration crossing her face before she realized the futility of arguing. Evidently, she recognized a Nurse Rachet when she saw one, Kyle thought. He watched as she helped her mother settle back in the chair.

“I’m going to see how Dad’s doing and talk to his doctor. I won’t be long,” she reassured her mother. “I want you to stay right here, and wait for me.” She glanced around the room, and then silently followed the nurse.

Stupid hospital policies, Kyle thought. No flexibility allowed. The mother shifted position, picked up a magazine, put it down without opening the cover, then began opening and closing the snap on her purse. She was clearly too distraught to be left alone. Despite that, he doubted that Nurse Rachet would allow her to follow her daughter.

He rose from his chair and walked over to her and sat in the chair her daughter had occupied. “Hello.” He extended his hand. “I’m Kyle Cordell. My son is getting a broken arm fixed. I thought we might keep each other company while we wait.”

The woman’s handshake was firm, but Kyle could feel the bones beneath the papery skin. “I’m Elizabeth Graham.” She peered anxiously around the room. “My husband and daughter are here somewhere.” Her voice rose in panic. “I have to go find them.”

“They’re okay, Mrs. Graham.” Maybe if he could keep her talking, he could calm her. “Your daughter is with the doctor now. She’ll be back soon.”

Elizabeth Graham looked him full in the face. Now that Kyle was up close, he saw bewilderment and confusion, rather than curiosity, in her eyes. She doesn’t have full possession of her senses, he thought. That explained why her daughter hadn’t wanted to leave her alone in the waiting room.

“My daughter is in great danger.” The reedy voice echoed her anxiety.

What was the best way to deal with a senile person? Agree with her, or try to correct the delusion? Which would cause the least distress?

Mrs. Graham didn’t wait for his response, but turned her attention again to the TV. Kyle watched a commercial for the upcoming “Thursday Night at the Movies!” with her. Midway through the announcer’s exhortations to “stay tuned for action and excitement,” a hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see his ex-wife standing beside him.

He rose and gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry—Jared’s okay. They’ll be through with him any time now.”

“I tried to get here sooner, but there was an accident on Fourth Avenue, and I got stuck in a traffic jam,” Belinda said, her voice frantic. “Tony’s on his way too.”

Kyle frowned at the mention of her second husband—his sons’ stepfather. Before he could say anything, restless movement beside him reminded him of Mrs. Graham’s presence. He introduced the two women, and motioned for Belinda to sit.

“Her husband’s in there somewhere,” Kyle gestured toward the treatment rooms, “and they won’t let her go to him. Her daughter’s in talking to the doctor now.” He shrugged. “She seemed anxious, so I’ve been trying to keep her company while I waited for Jared.”

Belinda glanced at the older woman, who seemed engrossed in shuffling a deck of cards she’d pulled from her purse. “She looks okay for now.” She took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you sure Jared is okay? Do you know how he fell? Was he unconscious when they brought him in? Why did they call you first?”

Before Kyle could answer her torrent of questions, a green-clad aide wheeled their wan-looking son, arm in a fresh white cast, through the swinging doors. Both parents rose and rushed to greet him.

“Mom! Dad! Look at my cast.”

Kyle grinned at seven-year-old Jared. Even a broken arm couldn’t quell his irrepressible son. “I want a promise of no more bike races down Murray Hill.”

“Aw, Dad, it wasn’t my fault.”

Kyle tousled his son’s hair. “I don’t think either your mother or I agree with that.”

“You’re going to be grounded for a good long time, champ,” Belinda said, helping her son out of the wheelchair. “Now let’s go home.”

Kyle paused. Should he wait for Mrs. Graham’s daughter to return? Or would her cards and the TV keep her calm? “Wait a minute,” he said to Belinda. “I want to make sure she’s okay first.” He nodded toward the elderly lady.

Just as he sat down next to her, the swinging doors swooshed open, and Mrs. Graham’s alarmed-looking daughter hurried to her mother’s side. With all the distressing news reports nowadays, she probably considered him to be some weirdo trying to accost an old woman.

“Your mother got a bit restless,” Kyle explained, rising. “I could see she had a problem, so we talked a bit.” Silence. “While I waited for my son,” he added lamely.

Relief replaced the wariness in her eyes as she evidently chose to believe that he only meant to help. “Thank you for your kindness.” Her lips curved up in a grateful smile. “I had no choice but to leave her alone.”

“I hope everything works out okay with your father.” Kyle turned to leave. She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen—a startling match with the Superman blue he’d painted the first old truck he’d fixed up. Except a man could get far more lost in those eyes than he ever could in a truck.

“I think he’ll be all right. We thought he was having a heart attack, but the doctor says the tests don’t show one.” She reached out to touch her mother. “Dad’s okay. We’ll be taking him home soon.”

“Where’s Scotty?” Mrs. Graham demanded. “Why isn’t he here?”

Kyle watched as the young woman comforted her mother. No ring on her finger, so Scotty must be her brother. Or her boyfriend. Someone as attractive as she probably had dozens of boyfriends. He wondered if any of them knew the compassionate side that he’d observed tonight, or if her appearance simply dazzled them. He hoped someone valued her inner qualities.

Well, it was none of his business. He smiled at her. “Hope everything works out okay for you.” Kyle put an arm around Jared’s shoulder and turned his attention to him. “Let’s get you and your mother home.” The lovely young woman had no role in his life.