6. Rafferty

6

RAFFERTY

W hile we were cocooned away at the cabin, I’d been able to convince myself that Mr. Collins would be fine. I wasn’t sure how, obviously, but I’d had faith that he’d somehow found his way back to the house without getting as terribly disoriented as Arabella, and I feared he had. However, seeing his dead body lying in the snow left little doubt. He’d indeed wandered off somewhere and had not found his way back to safety before the storm. His skin was pale, and his lips tinged with that unmistakable blue that told me he’d been dead for hours. Most likely, the entire night.

Watching Arabella sob over his body brought tears to my own eyes. Regardless of how he’d treated her, he was her father. She’d given up her entire future to come home and take care of him. She’d loved him. I wasn’t sure if he’d been capable of returning it, but that wasn’t the point.

I reached into my pocket to pull out my cell phone to see if we had service. We did. There were countless calls from my mother, brothers, and my nurse. They’d obviously been worried. I’d call them in a moment, but I had to contact the sheriff first.

I placed my hand on Arabella’s back. She flinched but looked up at me. The pain in her eyes made my chest ache. “We need to call the sheriff. Is it all right if I do that now?”

She nodded, her face crumpling as she turned back to her father.

I stepped a few paces away and found Sheriff Winthrop’s contact in my phone. Sadly, I had it in my favorites. He was usually the first call I made after the death of one of my patients. He answered right away, sounding raspy and exhausted as if he’d been up all night.

“Rafferty? Are you all right? Your mother’s been a wreck.”

“Yes, I’m fine, but I have bad news,” I told him as succinctly as possible what had transpired, including searching for Mr. Collins before becoming disoriented in the storm. “We were headed up the mountain, thinking he might have wandered that direction when the storm strengthened. There’s a log cabin up there, and we thought maybe he’d gone there for shelter. We barely made it. Fortunately, we did and sheltered for the night. But he wasn’t there. We came down the mountain this morning, hoping for the best, but our worst fears were realized. He must have gotten lost and unable to return home before the storm. He’s dead. Fallen near his barn.”

The sheriff cursed softly and then said he’d be out as soon as he could. “They’re plowing the major roads now. I’ll tell him to clear Collins’s driveway as soon as they can so I can get in there. May take over an hour, so hang tight. You know the drill. Leave the body as is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call your mother.”

“I’m on it.”

“Once I document everything, we’ll get the funeral director out there. I don’t want Arabella to worry about any of that, okay?”

“I’ll stay with her, don’t worry.”

“I’ll see you soon, son.”

I hung up and returned to Arabella’s side. “Sheriff’s on his way,” I said.

She had remained huddled over his body, shaking from cold and shock. I wanted to take her inside and get her warm, but I knew she’d never leave him. In situations like these, I typically only played the part of a small-town doctor. But in this case, Arabella was my friend. I’d been intimately involved with his care for a year now. Even though she and I hadn’t seen eye to eye on his care, at the moment, all that was forgotten. This was a person I’d known all my life—a nemesis, yes, but a classmate just the same. After the last twenty-four hours, our relationship had shifted into a deeper understanding of each other. Spending time together as we had, nearly dying ourselves, had created a bond. Or at least it had for me. Thus, I was unsure what to do next. Did I remain by her side? Give her space?

While I contemplated all of that, I called Mama. She answered on the first ring.

“Rafferty?”

“Hi, Mama. I’m fine. And I’m sorry I worried you.” I explained everything, including finding Mr. Collins. “The sheriff’s on the way out here now.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry for Arabella. Is she all right? Of course, she’s not. Dumb question. What can we do?”

“Maybe come out here once they take him away? I don’t want her alone, and I’ll have to get into work at some point. I’m calling Ruth next to see what I missed yesterday and if anyone’s critical.”

After we hung up, I called my nurse. Ruth also expressed relief I was safe. “Thank God. I was worried sick.”

Once again, I went over the last twenty-four hours. She went through what I missed the day before, which were mostly canceled appointments because of the storm, and said that so far, no one had called in with any emergencies. “I called out to the Morrises’ yesterday to see if you had arrived. She told me you hadn’t shown and hoped you’d gone home.”

“How are they?”

“Mother and baby are doing just fine. If you can get out there today, I’m sure they’ll be grateful, but there’s nothing to worry about. The baby’s eating, and Mrs. Morris is recovering nicely under the care of her husband.”

I sighed with relief. I’d not been particularly worried about a perfectly healthy mother and baby, but one never knew when complications might arise. Fortunately, in this case, all was well.

By the time I hung up, the sound of the snowplow headed down the Collinses’ long driveway broke the silence of the morning. I returned to Arabella, who looked up at me as if she hardly recognized me. She was in shock.

“Can I talk you into going inside and getting warm while we wait for the sheriff?”

She stared at me blankly. “What’s that noise?”

“Snowplow. They’ve come out so the sheriff can get down the driveway.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” She remained by her father’s side, though, as if I hadn’t asked the question about returning to the house. I didn’t ask again, simply resigned myself to waiting with her.

About fifteen minutes later, the sheriff’s SUV appeared on the driveway. Soon enough, Winthrop and his deputy had parked and were headed toward us. I helped Arabella to her feet and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, holding her against my side. She leaned into me, resting her head against the side of my arm.

Sheriff Winthrop and his deputy, McCall, approached quietly. Winthrop nodded to me, giving a brief but respectful look in Arabella’s direction. “I’m sorry for your loss, Dr. Collins. Please forgive the formalities, but I’ll have to follow protocol.”

“I understand,” Arabella said.

He began by observing the scene, his gaze lingering on her father’s still form half buried in the snow, recording notes in his small notepad. McCall stood by, keeping a respectful distance but making sure no one else would disturb the area.

Winthrop took out his camera and started to document, snapping photographs in quick succession—the body’s position, the blanket of snow around him, the heavy drifts that had hidden him from sight until now. He paused to note the snow depth and the clarity of the air after the storm, his jaw tight as he worked.

Turning to me, he asked in a low voice, “What time did you find him?”

“It was five minutes to eight,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “It took us about an hour to reach him from the time we left the cabin.”

He nodded, jotting it down, then looked to Arabella. His eyes softened, and he kept his tone gentle. “I know this is difficult, but I need to ask—was there any reason he’d have gone out in the storm?”

Arabella didn’t answer at first, and I was about to tell him it could wait, but she cleared her throat and spoke barely above a whisper. “Not that I know of. He’s suffering from dementia, and his behavior is unpredictable. He’d had a rough morning, including confusing me for my mother.” She paused. Would she tell the sheriff he’d hit her?

“Tell him everything,” I said gently.

Arabella cleared her throat. “Like I said, he was having a hard morning.” She described making his breakfast and how he’d tossed it onto the floor and then hit her.

“Was this a common occurrence?” Winthrop asked.

“Do you really need to know that?” Arabella asked.

“I’m afraid so. It helps us to understand how this happened.”

She nodded. “Dr. Moon can attest to his state of mind the last few months. But yes, his violent moments were coming more frequently. It was the first time he’d mistaken me for my mother.”

“What time did you arrive, Rafferty?”

I explained the reason for my visit and the time I’d shown up. “Just to check on him, but when I got here, Arabella explained that the heater had gone out. I suggested I take a look.”

“That’s right. Rafferty and I went down to the basement to check on the furnace. The pilot light was out. When we got back to the kitchen, Dad was gone. The door was slightly ajar. I panicked. He’d wandered off before, but I’d always been able to find him. But this time, he was nowhere to be found. We scoured the property, then the barn, and then found footprints that led into the forest… but a little ways up the hill, it was like he simply vanished… I thought maybe he’d decided to go up to the cabin. He didn’t usually go up there, but he was acting so strange that it was all I could think of.”

“That’s when you headed up the mountain and into the woods?” Winthrop asked.

Arabella nodded. “We got all turned around, and we couldn’t see anything. By some miracle, I found the cabin. My dad wasn’t so lucky.”

Winthrop offered her a brief, sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Dr. Collins. I truly am. Would you like me to call the funeral home? They’ll come out and take care of everything.”

Arabella started to cry and merely nodded consent.

“May I take you inside now?” I asked her quietly. “You’ve got to be half frozen by now.”

“Not until they take him,” she said.

While we waited, McCall and Winthrop wandered around the property, presumably trying to piece together what had happened. From what I could see, we might never know.

When the funeral director arrived, I stayed by Arabella’s side while they transported Mr. Collins’s body into the hearse. When the back of the hearse closed, she clung to my arm as if her legs might give out. Even through our thick jackets, I could feel her shaking.

“I’m going to leave and give you some peace,” Winthrop said quietly to us once the preparations were complete, his tone kind but formal. “Your father was a hardworking man. Independent old cuss. They don’t make them like that anymore. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Can you think of nothing else to say about him?” Arabella asked softly.

“I didn’t know him well,” Winthrop said, sounding apologetic. “But he raised you, so he must have been a heck of a man.”

“Thank you,” Arabella said. “He was difficult. Hard and often cruel.” She touched her fingers to her cheek where he’d hit her the day before. “Still, he was my father. The only family I had.”

Winthrop placed a hand on her shoulder. “You have a whole town who loves you. And the Moon family, they’ll look after you.”

“I suppose they will,” Arabella murmured.

“You take care of her, Dr. Moon.”

“Will do, sir.”

Winthrop gave a final, respectful nod before signaling to the director, who murmured his gentle condolences.

When we could no longer see the end of the black car, Arabella agreed to go inside.

I remembered the broken furnace the minute I walked into the frigid house. Arabella seemed to be in some kind of trance, shrugging out of her jacket and putting on a pot of coffee. Without any idea of what to do in a situation like this, I sat at the table feeling helpless. By the time the pot had brewed, Mama and Pop arrived. Thank God. Mama would know what to do.

“That’s my parents,” I said. “They insisted on coming out.”

“It’s nice of them to come.” She spoke woodenly, still seeming as if she were not really connected to her body.

I went out to greet them as they were climbing out of Pop’s truck.

“How is she?” Mama asked.

“Not good. But she’s glad you’re here.” I led them into the kitchen, where Arabella sat at the table with her head bent over a steaming cup of coffee. She looked smaller than she had yesterday.

Mama headed right to her, gently touching Arabella’s shoulder. She looked up, her face pale and eyes rimmed with a tired red.

“How are you holding up?” Mama asked softly, her voice thick with warmth and concern.

Arabella swallowed, managing a thin, shaky smile. “I think I’m still in shock.” She paused, looking down again. “He was out there all alone. I should never have let that happen.”

“We were in the basement,” I said. “The furnace wasn’t working.”

“And when we came up, he was gone,” Arabella said. “He died by himself. Probably scared and feeling betrayed. He always said I was selfish. I guess he died thinking so.”

Mama pulled out the chair beside her and took her hand. “Whatever he said or didn’t say, you must not think that way about yourself. You gave up so much to come home and take care of him.”

Pop moved to the table and took the chair across from Mama. “This isn’t your fault.”

Arabella looked up, her expression a mixture of relief and sorrow. “There were too many times over the last few months that I was so angry and hurt…I thought terrible things. Maybe I made this happen.”

“Nonsense,” Mama said. “Listen to me. I know a little about men who treat the women in their lives like dirt. I was married to one. My first husband was a mean, vindictive man who let his bitterness about his life dictate his every action, and my father wasn’t much better. I know he was your father, but that doesn’t mean you have to love him unconditionally. You love him with what you have and let go of the rest. I can tell you this—I had to work through a lot of feelings I had about my own father after he passed. It’s not easy to admit that the person who raised you hurt you more than loved you. However, the truth is the truth.”

“But it doesn’t mean you don’t wish things had been different,” Pop said.

Arabella’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Strangely enough, I kept hoping he’d tell me how proud he was of me. Or something kind. Just one thing. But it never came. I don’t have one nice story to share at his funeral. How tragic is that?”

“He was all locked up inside,” Mama said. “For whatever reason, he couldn’t let himself show emotion or love.”

“Some men simply cannot say what they feel,” Pop said. “Especially men of his generation.”

“Yes, my husband’s the exception,” Mama said, smiling over at Pop.

“I know it isn’t the same, but we’re awfully proud of you,” Pop said. “Both you and Rafferty. The two of you have given so much to our community already. You hold on to that. To what you know is true. You’re an outstanding person who we’re proud to know.”

Arabella dipped her head. “You’re too kind. Thank you.”

Mama stroked her hair. “What can we do?”

“I have to get him buried. I’ve no idea what he wanted other than to be buried in our family plot.”

“Something simple, then?” Mama asked. “You don’t have to have a traditional funeral. We can do a graveside service with just a few people there. Or no one but you and the preacher, if that’s what you want.”

“Burials are for the bereaved,” Pop said. “Which means you can have whatever you want.”

“We’ll help you make all the arrangements,” Mama said. “When my husband died, my friend Iris took care of everything. I was too shattered to do much of anything.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Arabella said. “I can’t stay here. Not tonight.”

“For one thing, the furnace is broken,” I said.

“You’ll stay with us,” Mama said. “I insist.”

“I don’t want to live here anymore.” Tears traveled down Arabella’s cheeks. “I’m going to sell this house and property come spring. There are no good memories here. I just want to be done with it.”

“Maybe build that cottage you want?” I asked. “Like you said last night?”

She looked over at me, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Mama and Pop exchanged a look but didn’t say anything. If they noticed the new warmth between us, they didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’m free,” Arabella said. “I’m actually free. Is it terrible I feel relieved?”

“Not terrible at all,” Mama said. “You’ll have feelings of grief and relief all rolled together. It’s impossible not to.” Mama stood, brushing the front of her jeans with her hands. “Have either of you eaten?”

We answered at the same time. “Granola bars.”

“All right, let’s get you packed up,” Mama said. “And then we’ll take you both home and give you a good meal.”

Mama held her arms out to me. “My sweet boy. Thank God you’re all right.”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” I said, hugging her tight.

“It’s all right now,” Mama said against the fabric of my shirt. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”