More Than a Dream by Lauraine Snelling Read Free Book Online

strode to the telephone in the hall. He picked up the receiver, set it back in the prong, and cranked the handle on the side of the wooden box. Picking up the earpiece again, he said, ‘‘Hello?’’
    ‘‘Central.’’
    ‘‘We need a doctor at Mr. Stromme’s. I just found him on the floor upstairs.’’ He could hear Miss Odegaard ringing the doctor’s number before he finished his sentence.
    ‘‘You go on back to be with him while I get the doctor there,’’ Ina Odegaard said.
    ‘‘Thank you.’’ Thorliff hung up and headed out the front door to save a few paces.
    Cook was halfway down the drive with a basket over her arm. She handed it to Thorliff. ‘‘A cold cloth for his head. I’ll be right behind you.’’
    Thorliff ran back down the street, bursting through the gate, taking the steps two and three at a time, then pounded into the bedroom.
    The relief in Mr. Stromme’s eyes burned the back of Thorliff’s throat. He knelt beside the old man and, taking the cloth from the basket, laid it across his forehead. ‘‘Would you be more comfortable if I put a pillow beneath your head?’’ Never had he realized eyes could say so much. He took a pillow from the bed, picked up the man’s head, and slid the pillow in place, straightening his shoulders and laying the clawed hand across the sunken chest. ‘‘Are you cold?’’
    Again Mr. Stromme responded with a blinking of the eyes. So Thorliff reached up to take down the knit afghan to cover him, all without letting go of the other hand, as if he had any choice.
    Cook came panting up the stairs, stopping in the doorway with a hand to her chest to catch her breath. ‘‘H-how is he?’’
    Thorliff gave a slight shake of his head and settled himself on the floor beside the patient, gently returning the faint hand squeeze from Mr. Stromme. Lord, please help this poor man. Here, he lives all alone and has always been so spry and busy. Who will tend his garden and take care of him if he . . . Where would he . . . Lord, this is a mess .
    ‘‘The doctor is here.’’ Cook touched his shoulder and motioned to the doorway.
    ‘‘Thank you.’’
    Mr. Stromme’s eyes fluttered open, and he tried to speak, but when only guttural sounds came out, his eyes shifted to terror again.
    Dr. Gaskin nodded to Thorliff and knelt by their patient. ‘‘Ah, Henry, what have you done now? I know, I know. You didn’t fall or anything.’’ While he talked, he applied the stethoscope from his bag to the man’s heaving chest. ‘‘Your heart sounds good. You been having headaches lately? No? What about vomiting? Any dizziness?’’ He stopped and watched Henry’s face. ‘‘Dizzy today or other days?’’
    Thorliff felt the man’s hand clench, whether a spasm or in response to the questions he didn’t know. Poor old man.
    ‘‘Well, we’ll move you over to the surgery where we can keep an eye on you and see if we can get your limbs moving again. I know you’re feeling panicky right now, but I’ve seen lots of folks with a condition like yours improve. It will just take time and work on your part.’’ Dr. Gaskin glanced over to Cook. ‘‘Why don’t you get some quilts or blankets so we can make a pallet in the wagon. And you, young man, go fetch Old Tom. He’s working at my house today. Tell him to bring his wagon.’’
    ‘‘Yes, sir.’’ Thorliff gently released the old man’s hold on his hand and smiled into the watery eyes. ‘‘It’s okay now. Dr. Gaskin is with you. Don’t you worry. I’ll be back.’’ Down the stairs he went and up the street to the Rogerses’ again to call the surgery and leave a message with Nurse Browne.
    ‘‘I’ll send Tom right over, and tell Doctor I’ll have a bed all ready,’’ said the efficient nurse.
    ‘‘Thank you.’’ Thorliff hung up the phone and leaned his head against the wall. All this going on and Elizabeth slept through it all. She’d probably be downright cranky with him for not