Afterward, he'd realized that he'd underestimated the rumor mill of the small town. By the end of the day, Mac had been told that every man, woman, and child within 5 miles had heard about his 'freak accident' at the grocery store. The current rumor was that he'd threatened to kill Mrs. Austin's husband because he was a drunk and run away with her to raise her child together.
Pastor Jim just laughed as he shared the current rendition of the story, adding flowery comments made by a few of his parishioners. One of them, Jim shared, had wanted to meet him; the woman thought him gallant to save a damsel in distress but was afraid that "she'd turn to sin" and asked the Pastor's advice. Mac was thankful that the Pastor persuaded the woman to leave him be.
They were enjoying a nice supper when there was a knock on the door. Jim got up from the table to answer the door, mumbling about the late hour for a visitor. Mac stood up, his senses tingling… something was wrong.
Mac watched as Jim opened the door, surprised to see the New Haven sheriff, looking frantic. "Sheriff, are you alright? Is something wrong?" Jim asked the officer.
"Pastor, we've got a bit of a situation—I'm putting together a search party for a missing ten-year-old boy. I was hoping that you could sit with the family and counsel them. The father's a bit angry, thinks the boy just ran away but the mother is inconsolable. She off thinking the worst."
Jim was quick to assure the man that he would help. "What do you think happened?"
Mac came over to the door, not bothering to pretend that he wasn't eavesdropping. The Sheriff gave him a sideways gaze, before continuing, "Pastor, I'm not sure – but I got reports that the boy was being bullied as he'd had some bruising the last few weeks. Could be that he ran away or could be that he's got himself beat up in an alley somewhere and did not make it home yet. We're going to search for him."
It had been months since he practiced and he did not think he was ready to perform surgery just yet, but the skills for basic first aid were ingrained. He could manage a suture or two if required; his hands were steady enough for that. "Perhaps I could come with you, I'm a doctor. I could assist if the boy needed medical care."
The Sherriff tipped his hat, "Thank you. Doctor?"
"Dr. Ames, but you can call me Mac." Mac went into the armoire of his 'bedroom' across the kitchen where he'd stored his belongings, pulling out a genuine black leather satchel bag that his father had purchased him to store toiletries during his trip. It was quite large and had the capacity to store much more than a toothbrush and shaving kit. If anything, it looked like a vintage doctor's bag. He did not have many supplies with him – only essentials in the event of a fall: ace bandages, band-aids, alcohol, gauze, and tape. Mac shoved them all in the bag and grabbed his cane.
The Pastor was kind enough to take the bag from his hands, while he shook hands cordially with the Sheriff. "I'm Sheriff Aaron Hoffman. It's nice to meet you." Hoffman pointed at the cane, "Doc, I mean you no disrespect, but you're going slow us down during the search. I'm going to recommend you stay with the Pastor with the family. Maybe you could help Mrs. Hernandez to calm down or something. Once we find the kid, we'll bring him home if he isn't hurt too badly to need a hospital."
They walked out of the warm home and out to the driveway, where Pastor Jim directed Mackland to the side of the house where his van was parked. "I know the Hernandez family and their address," Jim called out. "There's no need to waste time with us. I'll pray that you and your team can find young Luiz quickly."
With that, the Sheriff got in his car, turned on the sirens, and drove away from the farm. Mackland huffed and was able to step up into the van with Jim's assistance. Once the passenger door was closed, Jim went around to the driver's side and started the vehicle. Before heading out, Jim smiled at his new friend, "That was very kind of you to offer to assist."
Mac rubbed at his mustache, "I think I spoke too soon, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to help. The Sheriff was right, I'm slower than I used to be." The doctor wasn't used to feeling doubt in his abilities. He was getting better, but there were times where if he pushed too hard, his knees would go out from under him. The positive to all his occupational therapy and ball-squeezing was that his hands were strengthening, fine-motor skills returning as he practiced. He laughed to himself, it wasn't too long ago that his goal was to go to the bathroom on his own steam, and now, his goal was to pass the hospital's surgical tests so that he could return to his practice.
Looking at the man sitting beside him, Mac was grateful for his help. Jim managed to think of ways to improve without being condescending. An example of that was when Jim asked him for help in creating a gift for a parishioner who was having her first baby at 19-years-old. Jim told him that his wife used to gift a baby blanket for each new baby in their church. After her passing, Jim took up the mantle in creating a hand-crafted blanket. Mac was shocked when the pastor handed him a hook and a basket of yarn, asking him to help him crotchet. The man was endlessly patient, teaching him simple patterns. Mac had been – well, an ass. He did not want to play with yarn. It was a struggle, when his hands would get tired and his design failed, the Pastor would simply pull the string, effectively erasing his work, then gently remark that he should start over. The frustration was eating at him, with the Pastor pressing him to finish the job using the time-aged strategy used by grandmothers everywhere of guilt-tripping him into it. Jim showed him photos of the young lady, telling him that she would be so grateful for the gift and to imagine a small baby being warm at night. When that stopped working, the pastor pulled out his last punch asking if he'd quit in the middle of a surgery and let a patient bleed out. The words stunned the doctor, hitting him where he was most sensitive. From that point on, he'd stopped complaining about finishing the blanket. It had taken nearly a month to complete a 40" x 60" blanket to the pastor's exacting standards. It had also rehabilitated his hands to where he could thread a needle without shaking, practicing his sutures on a chicken breast until they were perfect.
Putting the car into drive, they went off to begin their mission of care. Jim mentioned off-handed, "perhaps my friend, you'll be more help than you think."