A/N: I want to apologize to the faithful readers and seek your forgiveness! I had pulled this story from viewing a couple of months ago in hopes to revise it to the point where I was satisfied with my work. This story was originally on my website 'Just Kiddin' Around,' back in 1998/99. When I chose to continue this story after a 22-year break, it was obvious that the continuity and writing style of my early twenties differed significantly from my forty-something self, and the story wasn't melding the way I had intended. The story is still not finished, but I have written to a point where I am satisfied enough to post chapters again. The backbone of the original story is still here, but it is now something I feel comfortable putting my name on. I want to thank Michelle for her review of the first couple of chapters and to M. for the invaluable input, suggestions, and encouragement that kept the story in line. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this newer version! Shannon
When Time Stands Still
Chapter 1
Manassas, Virginia.
Thomas sat disheartened on the edge of the bed, praying that the mattress he sat upon could support all the weight of his grief. His neck stretched, fingers massaging the painful knots within his taut muscles, holding in every ounce of stress he had endured within the last twenty-four hours.
Unclipping the pager from his belt, he pressed the black button twice until it beeped, indicating it was now in the 'off' mode, then placed it next to the digital clock on the nightstand—9:42 a.m.
Bright flashing red numbers from the answering machine stared back at him. Fourteen unanswered messages. He sighed, hit 'play,' and began to listen.
"Hi, sweetheart, it's Grace. I know you are busy and all, but I'd love to see you, dear. Sometimes, the sight of your face is all I need to...well." The older woman's voice faltered.
"You know I'm not going anywhere, so you can just come on over and visit me whenever you get the chance."
The tone of her voice struck him as unusual. He knew he needed to call and check on her, but right now, he was too exhausted to even continue. The other thirteen messages would have to wait.
His body hunched forward, allowing his elbows to rest on his knees. His face fell into his hands, and for the first time in over a day, he permitted himself to close his eyes.
He drew in a deep breath, his nose filled with the sterile scent of antibacterial soap and latex that lingered on his hands, nauseating him instantly. He exhaled his held breath slowly through his nose, repeating until the wave had passed.
The room was quiet—just how he liked it. His mind had been filled with too much activity to be overwhelmed by any commotion. However, in light of this morning's events, he now welcomed any clamor that would help drown out the guilt his conscience had bestowed on him.
He kicked off his shoes using his feet, wiggling his toes to rid the ache, and in one swift motion, he maneuvered his long legs on top of the bed, resting his head on the pillow, not bothering to remove his surgical scrubs.
The back of his forearm covered his eyes, blocking out the mid-morning sunlight. Exhaustion had set in many hours ago, yet even then, he knew that sleep wouldn't come easy. His mind wouldn't allow it.
Like an old school film projector, the events of the last few hours reeled inside his head, playing out before his eyes until the bitter end.
"Mr. Anderson, sir, please, have a seat."
Dear Lord, give me the courage I need to get through this,
"My name is Dr. Thomas Parker, and I am the physician on call this evening."
Let my words convey the compassion, kindness, and sympathy this man needs to hear,
"As you know, your wife, Jennifer, had been experiencing some symptoms in our office yesterday, which prompted my colleague to send her here for further testing and observation."
Let him know we fought for her life and did everything we could to save her. Let him know she wasn't alone in the end,
"As with anyone carrying twins, she ran a higher risk of complications, many of which include high blood pressure, anemia, and preterm delivery."
Grant this man before me the peace he will need to continue in life,
"All of the initial testing and lab work came back fine, and your wife was stable until about 2 a.m. when she started complaining of shortness of breath and chest pain."
Give him the strength and love he will need in the coming days, months, and years,
"We ran additional tests and did everything we could to make her comfortable, but when both babies' heart rates started showing decelerations, I decided to take her immediately to the operating room for a c-section."
Let this man know he will never be alone, and You hold his wife and babies within Your loving arms, Lord,
"Mr. Anderson, what I am about to tell you will forever change your life. I am so sorry to be the one to inform you..."
May You give him comfort, always. Amen.
That all too familiar slapping sound signaling the end of the filmstrip resounded in his head, repeatedly clicking until the projector turned off. The room fell silent once again.
It had been fifteen long years since taking his Hippocratic Oath as a medical student, his sworn obligation— a promise to give of himself and serve his patients to the best of his ability. Thousands of babies were born by the skill of his hands, brought into the world with all the care and affection only he had to give.
Now, a gravity, the weight of something substantial, pulls him into depths of despair, dragging him into some unknown darkened abyss. He had never lost a patient before. The loss of Mrs. Anderson and both of her babies made him reconsider even returning to work at all. Where confidence and faith once was, doubt and guilt now consumed him. He needed a way out.
The quiet room now resonated with a pounding, nagging annoyance that wouldn't disappear even after putting the pillow over his head. He opened his eyes, turning to look at the clock —12:07 p.m.
His eyes searched the room's lines, surveying his surroundings, briefly forgetting where he was even though it looked familiar and comforting. The pounding in his head had momentarily subsided only to continue seconds later, growing louder, making him realize the sound wasn't coming from his mind; instead, the front door.
An exasperated sigh escaped him as he sat upright, allowing himself a moment to get his bearings. He quickly ran his hand through his tousled hair, attempting to regain some semblance of order.
The pounding stopped.
"Good. Whoever it is must have gotten the hint."
Then the doorbell rang.
"Oh, for Pete's sake! Hang on!" He shouted in irritation as he shuffled into the foyer, and for the first time, the urgent, continuous nature of the knocking and ringing started to concern him.
Thomas unlocked the door's deadbolt, opening it to find a dignified older gentleman standing before him.
"Yes?" His greeting was curt.
"Mr. Parker, I presume?"
"I am."
"Mr. Thomas J. Parker?"
"Sir, is there something I can help you with?" Thomas said, shifting uncomfortably, his patience growing thin.
"Tommy Parker? My, you've gotten a lot taller since the last time I've seen you!" The gentleman said lightly, holding out his hand, indicating a child's height.
He cleared his throat, sensing Thomas's irritation, and thrust his hand out to shake. "I'm Clarence Cartwright, Mrs. Donovan's lawyer. Sir, has anyone contacted you?"
Thomas stretched a tentative hand out, concerned by the lawyer's last words.
"No. What is this about?" He asked, ignoring the gentle sadness in the man's voice.
"Son, there is no easy way to say this...your grandmother passed away last night. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but the folks over at Shady Pines had mentioned they were unsuccessful at getting ahold of you." He said, his eyes surveying Thomas from head to toe, alarmed by his apparent condition.
He scoffed. "From the looks of it, you must have had one heck of a night."
Thomas stepped aside, allowing Mr. Cartwright to come in. He paid notice to the older man's inference, and with his hand, began smoothing out the wrinkles in his scrubs.
"I...I was on call at the hospital until early this morning." Thomas stammered, feeling the need to explain himself to the gentleman. He shut the door, leaning his back against it. He closed his eyes and covered them with his free hand, pressing his temples until it hurt.
"Ahh, yes, you're a doctor. I forgot." Mr. Cartwright said dismissively.
"Wait! What do you mean she passed away? She had just left a message on my answering machine...I just listened to her voice!"
"Grace had sure lived a long, happy life. You'll be pleased to know that she didn't suffer in the end. She complained of a brief bout of shortness of breath, so the nursing home folks had made an appointment with her doctor. Mrs. Donovan was at the beginning of what turned into a major heart attack. The physician called for an ambulance, but she had died on the way to the hospital. An employee at the nursing home said it looked like she closed her eyes and fell asleep."
Thomas, lost for words, simply nodded.
"There is another matter I need to discuss with you, Mr. Parker. Do you mind if we sit?" He said, pointing to the direction of the dining room table.
"Uh, sure," Thomas said, leading him into the other room.
"A few years ago, shortly before Grace went into the assisted living home, she had come into my office and asked me to draft her last will." He glanced up at Thomas, whose stubbled face had grown pale.
He looked down at his watch before opening his briefcase. "I don't want to take too much of your time, so this won't take long. Let me just find..."
While Mr. Cartwright was busy digging through file folders in his briefcase, Thomas stared off into the distance, looking at nothing in particular, except perhaps, old memories.
For reasons unknown to Thomas, death always seemed to follow him around like a wicked shadow.
He had a fleeting memory of his grief after his parents' death. It was their passing that had brought him and Grace together all those years ago. She had taken him in, giving him the hope and stability he needed, caring for him like he was her own grandson.
But grief was different back then, not better or worse- just different. A ten-year-old with a loving grandmother grieves much differently than an adult who knows he's alone in the world, regardless of how he's tried to tell himself he doesn't need anyone else.
Grace was his only family now, and he certainly owed her more than he had given her in the last few years. She deserved so much better.
Thomas didn't seem to pay attention to the quiet in the room until he noticed Mr. Cartwright say his name.
He shook his head as if to clear his mind, bringing him into the present moment. "I'm sorry, sir. What did you say?"
Mr. Cartwright sighed, looking down at the official paper in front of him, and began to read.
"To my grandson, Thomas Jameson Parker, I bequeath the McCloud Ranch and all its financial assets, as well as the house and its contents. He is to take possession of the house effective immediately. I request that he renovate the house and property to bring it up to modern living standards, hire help as necessary, and live in the house during renovations to keep a close eye on the work. 'Don't let anyone booger up this job.' Her words, not mine."
He continued, "After renovations are complete, he may do with the house and ranch what is in his best interest."
Mr. Cartwright rummaged through his briefcase, then handed Thomas a manila envelope closed with a metal clasp.
"Enclosed is a copy of the will for your records, the account information from the First Bank of Virginia, and a letter from Grace."
"Wait. Wait!" Thomas held up a hand, unable to grasp all the information that had just been dumped on him.
"That's it!? That's all it says!?" He looked the older man in the eyes with surprise.
"Well, there is the letter...it might shed some light on her decision, but son, you know darn well Grace Donovan was a no-nonsense woman. Once her mind was made up, that was it."
"I don't understand. Grace can't...She's giving me the ranch?" He said in shock.
"Thomas, I've known Grace a long time, long before you were born." He chuckled. "She sure was a little spitfire. Hard to imagine all that fire bundled up in that small body of hers."
He continued. "But if there was only one thing in this world Grace was passionate about, it was her family's history with that ranch." He looked Thomas in the eye.
"She wouldn't trust it to anyone, and that is why I intend to follow Grace's wishes to the letter." His tone was serious. He placed a reassuring hand on Thomas's shoulder.
"She loved you dearly, Thomas. Even though you were not of her blood, she cared for you like you were her own. You were all she ever talked about in her final years. She was so proud of the man you became."
Thomas nodded his head in acknowledgment but felt unworthy of the praise Mr. Cartwright had spoken.
They sat in silence as the gentleman gathered his things.
"If you don't have any more questions, I have a two o'clock meeting I need to attend. I'm just a phone call away if anything arises later." He paused to look up at Thomas, who had a despondent look on his face.
"I know it's none of my business, but I recognized the look of anguish on your face as soon as you opened the door."
Thomas looked down at his feet as if to submit to the truth in the man's words. Last night's events had left him broken.
"You know, they say something good can come from a person's death. The McCloud Ranch could just be the blessing or distraction you need in your life."
Thomas gave a modest smile and escorted the older gentleman to the door. At least fifty questions ran through his mind, but now, all he wanted was to be left alone.
He walked back to the dining room table and sat, holding a copy of the will. "To my grandson, Thomas Jameson Parker, I bequeath the McCloud Ranch and all its financial assets, as well as the house and all its contents..."
The letterhead from the First National Bank of Virginia caught his eye as he skimmed the page where, sure as day, down at the bottom, his full name and an account number had been stamped. He shook his head with disbelief.
A smaller envelope held Grace's letter. He pulled it out and started to read.
Dear Thomas,
I thought I would write this letter while I still had some wits about me. You're probably wondering why this crazy, old woman decided to leave you the McCloud Ranch— my family's home for generations, but who else on God's green Earth could I give the house to? I know we've grown apart these last few years, for reasons unknown to me, but aside from my animals, you are my entire family. I knew if I had told you my intentions when I was alive, you probably would have run for the hills.
I didn't know it at the time, but your mama and daddy became the long-awaited answer to my prayers. After my dear husband George passed away, I felt like time stood still. I was caught somewhere between my past and where I was standing. We'd been married forty-seven years, and I didn't know how to move on without him, and quite frankly, back then, I didn't want to.
But as my grandma Louise always said, when life punches you in the gut, the right people come in and out of our lives at the exact moment we need them the most. They always do. Your daddy, bein' a physician and all, had taken such good care of George in his last few years, and well, both he and your mama became the children I never had, and they had helped me along until I found my bearings once again. Your daddy didn't know squat about horses but sure did turn out to be a fine cowboy when I needed him to be.
I know you have had more than your fair share of losses in your life. You were only ten years old when they passed away, but I want you to know that I never batted an eye taking you in. You were my grandson, blood or not, and I always liked to believe that you needed me just as much as I needed you.
As Mr. Cartwright read in the will, my hope is that you will restore the ranch to its original glory, making the house beautiful once again- bringing it into the modern era, of course. This place deserves to shine again, and you, my dear, are the person to take on the job. Don't worry about money. I have an account at the First National Bank of Virginia with your name on it, so please, use it to do whatever you need.
I know the place is a little cluttered. Well, maybe 'little' is a stretch. We both know I've accumulated quite a collection of odds and ends over the years. I give you permission to go through it all and throw away whatever you don't want. There is one exception- my grandmother Louise's desk. It's special, and I don't think even my soul would rest easy knowing it didn't stay with the family.
To say the McCloud Ranch is important to me is an understatement. I'll go to my grave carrying memories of both the sweet love and laughter of my grandmother, Louise, as well as the deep aching losses this house has been witness to. This house and land are special in more ways than I can possibly begin to tell you in this letter. My only hope is that somehow, this house will share its secrets with you and give you the strength and love it's given me over the years.
Love,
Grace
Suddenly, he longed to hear Grace's voice with a force that surprised even him, and shame washed over him as he had allowed so much time to pass between visits with her. The phone calls that were as regular as clockwork were not enough, and he knew it.
Thomas glanced at Grace's picture on the wall. He felt a tight, searing heat penetrate through his chest, thinking long and hard about Mr. Cartwright's parting words.
"You know, they say something good can come from a person's death." Thomas sighed. Maybe Mr. Cartwright was right. Perhaps this was the blessing he needed — the distraction to clear his head, or maybe to clear something deeper, like his conscience.
He walked across the room to stand face to face with Grace's photo, staring into the deep brown eyes of the woman who took him in all those years ago, searching for answers to the questions he didn't know to ask.
"The McCloud Ranch?" He said aloud, almost as if hearing the spoken words would help his mind believe the unimaginable.
"Grace, I've never doubted your judgment until now." He paused.
"You've been trying to get me to come back home since, well..." Thomas's voice faltered, his mind not allowing him to complete the sentence. He swallowed hard.
He shook his head. "I guess we all need a place to escape life sometimes. I just always thought of my respite as being on a sandy beach somewhere. Never in a million years would I have thought it'd be back in Fredericksburg." His lips curled into a slight smile.
"It means a lot that you trust me with your home, and I know how much it meant to you."
"The McCloud Ranch." He said again, in disbelief.
"I promise I won't let you down, Grace."
