Crisis

During the drive home, Louisa could not keep from talking about Helen and Chris Parsons. She was quite taken with the educated and cultured Helen Parsons, as well as her MD husband. "Perhaps we can have them for dinner, sometime; at our house?" she was pondering. "And you'd enjoy spending time with your doctor friend."

Martin screwed up his face in the darkness. "Louisa, we are both very busy and with the holiday nearly here, I do not see we'd have the time."

"No, I don't mean next week. Just sometime." Louisa felt that part of the socialization of people like Martin depended on getting them out of their shell. With awkward or shy students she'd often ask them if they were comfortable with some other student. If she got a name, she'd pair them up for school projects. It might not lead to true friendship but at least there would be a connection. She peered over at Martin, his hands firm on the wheel as he smoothly and efficiently piloted the car through the darkness back to her coastal village. No, their, she corrected herself; their village.

She draped her right hand across Martin's upper thigh and squeezed it. "So, Martin, just how was it that you became Chris's best man? Chris said you were available. What does that mean? Had you not been available? There is some reason? Tell me more."

Just when Martin was considering how to answer her questions, his mobile rang. He punched the answer button on the steering wheel and barked out, "Ellingham."

"Doc! It's PC Penhale!" his voice boomed from the car speakers.

Martin groaned inside, for what trouble was that idiot getting into now? "Problem?" he replied testily.

"It's Stewart, the Forest Ranger! Is Louisa with you?"

Louisa spoke up, "I am. Hi Joe, we're in the car, a few minutes away from home. Now, why do you need me as well?"

"Hello," Joe said, "I hope you have a nice time away – wherever. Stewart is… well… it's bad." He was interrupted by someone yelling in the background. "Now, now!" Joe said, shifting gears. "Put that down! Stop it! I mean it! I'm warning you!"

"What are those idiots doing now?" Martin muttered, for even in his third year in Portwenn it seemed that not a week went by that there was not some bizarre calamity. "Joe! PENHALE! What IS going on?"

"Just…" Joe sounded panicky. "Just come to the school. And right quick."

Martin punched off the call savagely. "Back to reality."

Louisa had withdrawn her hand and was clutching them. "So Stewart James is at my school – doing something." They had just passed the sign which read, 'Portwenn. Please drive carefully through our village.' "Nearly there," she said aloud, while chewing on her lip.

Martin drove down Fore Street at high speed and came to a stop at the Post Office, right next to the police Land Rover, whose blue lights were flashing. From that vantage point, Martin could not see anyone, but as he shut off the Lexus he could hear two man yelling.

Louisa sprang out of the car. "Oh God!" she exclaimed. "Stewart's swinging a shovel."

Martin got out and followed his wife who was trotting towards the scene of something – trouble certainly.

The evening had started slowing as usual for Joe Penhale. He'd eaten a plate of fish and chips from the chippy after a sunset patrol, and the village had been quiet, other than loud, but happy laughter broadcast from the Crab and Lobster. There were a few people about, strolling from shop to shop under the holiday lights across the street and on houses. All in all it was a very normal and typical Saturday night in the village.

He had finished the washing up at his house, which also served as the police station, and had just tuned the telly to the football, when his phone rang.

Groaning at the interruption in his usual evening schedule, he answered. "PC Penhale – Portwenn Police."

"Joe! For God's sake, of course you're the Portwenn Police. Why would I be calling you otherwise?"

"Hello Mrs. Beckett," he replied, for he recognized her badgering voice and tone. "Now, what can I do for you?" he asked in his police 'voice'.

"It's Stewart."

"Who?"

"Stewart James. Up at the school and makin' a helluva racket and I think you'd better get over there!"

Joe was distracted by the telly, for Bournemouth had just scored against Luton Town. "Do you think he'll stop?" of course he knew about Stewart James, but he'd never met the man; but he'd heard the stories.

"I don't know, Joe! Get a move on, will ya? Now he's throwin' something, I can hear him and ooh that was a big crash." She sighed. "I'm goin' up there and you'd best as well."

Sighing, Joe rung off, buckled on his equipment belt and put on his police coat and hat. "Right," he cast one last longing look at the game on the screen. "Duty calls."

So, Joe was relieved when he saw the Doc and Louisa arrive. There was a small crowd of looky loos outside the school yard gates, who he'd kept well back. "Doc!" he shouted. "Louisa. See?"

It took Louisa a few moments to understand what she was seeing. The bright flashing lights cast by the police car's rotating beacons came and went, making it hard to interpret what was happening outside her school. In one bright blue flash she could see Stewart James swinging a pickaxe striking the pavement where he'd already dug a fairly sizeable hole in the tarmac. Near to him, the school Christmas Tree, a reasonably sized fir of about seven feet tall, which Mr. Colley had erected, was toppled over on it's side, the student's handmade ornaments made from aluminium tins tumbled about.

Louisa started to approach the man, just as Martin stepped in front of her. "Careful, Louisa. Stewart! Stewart!" he called out.

In mid swing, Stewart stopped his blow and lowered the pickaxe, as he turned to face Martin. "Oh, Hello Doc!" he said happily. "Hi Louisa. Sorry about the…" he pointed to the toppled tree with the tool. "The tree needed water. Trees need water to grow you know and in this country we need more trees; a lot of them."

Penhale approached the man. "That's fine, Stewart, now just put down the pickaxe."

"What?" Stewart said. "Oh, right, he lowered the tool and then picked up a long-handled shovel. "Guess the tarmac's out of the way now so I really get to work!" He stuck the shovel into the hole and began to scoop out and then fling aside bits of tarmac, gravel and some dirt.

Martin had brought his bag of course and he set it down, taking out an ampoule of chlorpromazine and a relaxant. He added to his preparations a syringe and skin cleaning kit. He looked over at Penhale, who appeared ready to launch himself on Stewart. "Joe! No." He shook his head.

Joe backed off, for he really did not want to tackle the man.

Louisa, torn between the law and a medical approach, held out her hands and slowly walked up to Stewart.

Stewart saw Louisa walk toward him, so he stopped digging leaning on the shovel. "Good evening, Miss Glasson – no Mrs. Ellingham. Congrats and all that on your wedding." He smiled a sincere smile. "And somebody told me you're going to have a baby as well."

She smiled at Stewart, his face now in a cherubic smile. "That's right, next summer."

"Oh lovely, when all the trees have leafed out and the fields are full of growing crops." He stopped his face changing. "But now about this tree…. I… I… felt sorry for it. Cut down in the prime of its perennial tree life. Anthony was saying just the other day…" he stopped and then began to cry.

Louisa got closer to him as he dropped the shovel and slowly sat down.

"How Anthony missed all the trees, you know, trees all over the land and the hills, but for the moors of course, too windswept and boggy out there," Stewart said.

Louisa crouched down by him, not touching him. "This tree came from a tree farm, Stewart. Not a forest."

The man reached over to caress the trunk of the fallen tree. "I see." He stood up, dusted off his pants. "Well then… I'll just clean up this mess and be on my way."

Martin went to him. "Have you been taking your medication?" Unconsciously he placed himself between the Ranger and Louisa.

"Ran out of them."

Martin shook his head. "How long? How long ago?"

"Oh, let me see," Stewart answered, "it was past the last full moon, and that was a few days before the… meteor shower," he stopped and snapped his fingers. "So that was um three weeks."

Plenty of time for the anti-psychotic drugs to drop below useful levels in his system, Martin knew. "Stewart, I'm going to give you two injections. They will calm you and then I'm going to suggest that PC Penhale take you to hospital for an evaluation."

Stewart looked pas Martin and saw the police officer. "Penhale?"

"Police Constable Joseph Penhale, at your service," Joe answered, actually tipping his hat.

Stewart marched over to Joe and shook his hand excitedly. "Nice to meet you, so nice to actually meet the famous Joseph Penhale."

Joe cleared his throat. "Right."

"What happened to Mark Mylow? Where's he?"

Joe stated, "This is my patch now. PC Mylow moved on. Poland I heard."

Stewart nodded. "Poland. Oh yes, yes Poland is very nice. Good beer. Pretty women. Excellent sausages." He smacked his lips then he turned back to Martin. "Well, Doctor Ellingham, what say you shoot me up, and then this nice policemen can take to A&E."

Martin got his medical gear ready while Stewart stripped off his coat and rolled up his green ranger jumper. Then he injected the man with both medications. "These may make you feel sleepy."

Stewart smiled. "That's good. Very good." He glanced at the hole he'd dug. "I haven't slept well at all; not very well, not since the metro shower." He stopped. "Meteor. Me te or. That's it." He laughed.

Martin nodded for another sign of a psychotic break was lack of sleep. "Joe?" he asked, for Stewart had started to slump. The two men got Stewart into the rover and belted in as he began to snore.

"He going to be alright, Doc?" Joe asked.

"Yes in time."

"What's wrong with him?"

Martin was not about to tell the cop the medical or psychological history of a patient. "He has problems." Stewart's confession to Martin still rung in his mind. 'I've seen some heavy things; done some heavy things.' Post traumatic stress disorder was hard to treat. He could not say that Stewart isolating himself was necessarily good for him, but it kept the anxiety around people in check. As long as he kept to his medications and did remote counseling by phone he was mostly under control, but his time in Bosnia during that conflict cast a long shadow over the man.

Louisa watched while Chippy Miller, Mike Chubb and Pauline's Uncle Jimmy set the toppled tree upright and backfilled the scar in the pavement as much as possible. She stood there holding a tinplate star which had been wrenched from its hanger. "I'll just take this home for repair."

Joe's Police Rover left and the crowd slowly melted away.

Martin shook his head, for he'd no idea he'd ever treat a combat vet for PTSD in this place. But Portwenn was a village like any other. He walked to Louisa who was staring at the tree with wet eyes.

She turned to him and gave him a hug, which Martin briefly returned. "Poor Stewart. Will he be okay?" she asked.

"Yes, when his medication starts to act once more."

She looked at him tenderly. "Can we go home?"

Martin gathered his medical bag and they slowly walked to his car.