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CHAPTER
1
Kier Wintripp killed the motor and let
the wilderness quiet settle over him. Outside the warmth of the truck,
in the gray November dawn, the mountains were dressing themselves for
winter, the storm smoothing their wrinkles with the white velvet of snow.
Kier knew the mountains well, knew what grew in each microclimate, when
it bloomed, what you might eat and what you would not, the resident birds
and migratory visitors, the mammals, the invertebrates, the tracks of
all, the habits of each, and their place in the order of things. As winter
swept the mountains, sap drew back into the ground, growing things began
a silent renewal, and wildlife went from fat to slim in sleep or struggle
as the forest awaited the plenty of spring.
The wind-driven snow covered his windshield quickly, obscuring the white
stucco medical clinic that might have been snatched from a suburb of San
Francisco and set on this low-lying shoulder of Wintoon Mountain. Behind
it, the wildness of the mountain's rocky pitches and forested slopes contrasted
sharply with the manicured grounds around the building.
Kier was late, and he would have preferred to avoid setting foot in the
facility altogether. Although he supposed it was becoming more common
place all the time, surrogate birthing of babies in exchange for a fee
bothered him. That Tilok women were doing it regularly troubled him even
more. Still, he knew his family needed him, so he stepped out of his pickup
and started down the breezeway that led into the sprawling complex where
his niece, Winona, was about to give birth. As Kier understood the arrangement
Winona supplied only the womb.
A gravely injured rottweiler, hit by a tractor, had made Kier late. He
was able to save the animal but at some cost to the quality of its life.
Using the latest surgical techniques and stainless steel fastenings to
hold the bones in place, Kier had closed the many wounds with more dissolvable
sutures than he cared to count. He had left the grateful owner, given
his hands a quick scrub, and driven to Mountain Shadows clinic as fast
as conditions permitted.
The clinic was in fact a small hospital, a surgicenter and a walk-in primary
care facility all rolled into one. It was touted as a charitable effort,
serving three Native American tribes and the nearby community of Johnson
City. It was an exceptional clinic given that there weren't 20,000 people
in the whole county, and Johnson City didn't swell to a population of
3,000 except in the summer.
To either side of the entryway, a trickling stream splashed over stones
meant to look river smoothed. The stone was artificial, the water pumped
and chemically sterilized. A large ceramic bullfrog adorned the edge of
a tiny pond. Just through the main entrance was a spacious lobby with
a receptionist's desk flanked by cubbyhole offices used for filling out
forms and admitting patients.
Kier walked through the lobby with a barely perceptible nod, as if he
knew where he was going. Two male physicians in green scrubs turned out
of another corridor and walked in front of him for a hundred feet or so.
They were apparently arguing over a golf score.
The place had almost no scent, which Kier found disorienting. To the ultra-sensitive
nose, hospitals usually had the occasional pungent sting of alcohol, the
ammoniac aroma of industrial-grade disinfectants, the genuine-article
piss smell from all the urine-filled plastic bags, and the lemon-peppermint
odors of chemical deodorizers used to mask the first three. Powerful electrical
filters, such as those in Mountain Shadows, tended to leave only the faint
scentlike that of a hot router in cherry wood. A good whiff of a
dirty diaper would have been refreshing to Kier.
Without much effort, he found the maternity nurse's station. Shuffling
papers and moving charts, the busy charge nurse barely noticed him at
first. She wore a dark green sweater over whites, the various layers of
polyester stretched tight across a belly that had seen its own births,
and had been hostage to long stints of a sedentary life.
After a moment, she did a quick double take. Kier knew what she saw, and
he could read in her face what she thought. With his dark eyes and jet-black
hair braided down his back, Kier had the general mien of the Tilok people.
The rest of him looked more European, the nose narrower and the face less
round. The nurse's glance went to the turquoise stones, silver, and feathers
that adorned his braided hair and cowboy hat. Cowboy boots pushed the
jeans-clad man to over six feet, four inches.
"Say, you're Kier Wintripp, aren't you? The veterinary doctor?"
He nodded.
"Winona told us to look for you. Room Six down there. She just got back
from recovery. She gave birth by cesarean just over an hour ago."
"I didn't expect it would be that fast," Kier said.
"The baby was breech and had the umbilicus wrapped around its neck. Couldn't
be helped." She pointed down the corridor to the right. "They rushed her
straight to surgery."
Kier followed where she had pointed. The floors were gleaming, the walls
without a mark and tastefully adorned with watercolor wilderness scenes.
In the hallway, Kier passed a defibrillator and brand-new stainless-steel
medicine carts.
Before he entered Winona's room, he heard the commotion.
"I want to see the baby just once." It was Winona, sounding stressed.
"It's awful, just awful." His sister's voice.
As he came through the door, Kier's mother sounded only slightly calmer.
"Honey, we've asked them."
His mother smiled at him, and for just a second, the exhaustion departed
her body. She looked back at Winona, whose dark hair hung down around
a face taut with anguish.
"What's wrong?" Kier asked.
"They won't let me even look at the baby. Not even for a second."
Kier pondered for a moment. "I'll ask them to let you see the baby," he
said. "But just for a couple of minutes. Then we have to let the baby
go. He's not one of us."
"I want to see him." She grasped his hands.
"We'll try," he said, seeking to comfort her. "When they bring you this
baby I want you to tell yourself something, and I have to hear the words
out loud."
"What?"
"I want you to say: 'He's beautiful, but he belongs to someone else.'"
"Okay. Okay."
"I want you to swear I'll hear those words."
"I said okay. Can you stay with us?"
Kier nodded. "But I have to leave sooner than I'd like. The Donahues have
an Arab mare that's due to foal. Jack's out of town, and with Claudie
ill and the storm coming in, she needs me there."
"But you'll get the baby?"
He nodded again.
Kier knew Winona needed closure following
this bizarre process. He wasn't sure it would help, but after inducing
a young woman to carry a baby for money the clinic could bend a little.
Now, with the cesarean, Winona might never have a normal delivery. Anger
flared inside him as he approached the nurse's station.
"I am sorry to trouble you. I am here to discuss my niece's request to
see the baby for a minute," he said to the charge nurse.
"Your niece didn't say a minute, but the answer's the same. It's against
policy." She whispered, "And you don't really want to do this to her."
"It'll only be for a few minutes."
"I'm sorry, I'd really like to help you, but it's against the rules."
"Sometimes it's better to break the rules. This might be one of those
occasions."
"I know who you are and how much influence you have with the local community
and the Tilok tribe, but we don't break the rules for anyone, Dr. Wintripp."
"I understand. Perhaps I could speak with the person in charge of this
hospital?"
"That's the administrator, Mr. Hanson."
"I would like to see him."
"He's with a very important visitor."
"Who is that?"
"The president of the company that owns the clinic. Mr. Tillman."
"I would still like to see him."
"I'll see if the head nurse can make an appointment with the administrator
some time this week."
Kier looked in the woman's eyes. "It would be a great kindness if you
could tell me how to find him now so that I could work out my niece's
problem."
At that moment a nurse with a clipboard hurried toward them from the surgical
wing, whispering, "They're coming, they're coming."
Kier looked back at the charge nurse, who glanced nervously to the side,
not meeting his gaze. The four staffers around them looked bewildered,
as if they were contemplating hiding in the closet.
A small swarm of people and a flashbulb-popping photographer appeared.
They surrounded a tall, physically powerful man whose narrow waist and
bulky upper body were ill-concealed by his L.L. Bean outdoor wear. Kier
assumed this man to be Mr. Tillman. He didn't look the doughboy executive
that Kier had imagined. The man's presence, his leathery face, black wavy
hair, and hooked nose, the primitive intensity of his gaze, looked anything
but soft and corporate.
Kier stepped into the group's path, his sheer size slowing them to a near
stop.
"Mr. Hanson?"
A short, balding man with black glasses stepped forward. "I'm Mr. Hanson.
The clinic administrator. Can I help you?"
Kier appraised Hanson and the rest of the entourage, noting that Tillman
watched him with interest. If Kier had to guess, he would have said that
Tillman knew who he was. He addressed Mr. Hanson directly. "I'm Kier Wintripp.
My niece is a surrogate mother. She just delivered. We believe it would
help her to show her the baby for five minutes, then we'll give the child
back."
"We can't let surrogate mothers start telling us how long they want the
baby," Hanson said. "It's not their baby. They only carry it."
"A deviation from that policy might be a good thing in this case. I believe
it would help my niece, and it would solve some potential problems for
all of us."
"I'm sorry. We don't deviate," Hanson said.
"Excuse me," Tillman interrupted, "I'd like to understand what you mean."
Tillman's voice was deep and smooth.
"I mean following the policy risks disrupting our peace."
"Maybe you could explain that for me."
"Well, two thousand Tiloks might take a sudden interest in your clinic,
and they might all happen to show up at once, making their arrival look
remarkably like a demonstration. Of course, the press from miles around
would come. That would generate news articles, I'm sure, about the wisdom
of surrogate mothering and things of that nature."
"What exactly do you want, Mr. Wintripp?"
"Five minutes of the baby's life in the arms of the woman who gave birth
to him."
"We can't give in to this," Hanson protested.
Tillman gave him a sharp glance, and he quit talking.
"Five minutes. Then the child goes back to the nursery, and you're out
of my hospital."
"I'm out of your hospital when I'm through visiting my niece."
Tillman's jaw set hard. Kier could tell he was accustomed to having his
way. "We can work something out," Tillman said, quickly regaining his
composure.
"It's settled then," said the charge nurse, appearing relieved. "Come
with me, please."
Kier followed, his body strangely alive with adrenaline. In moments a
woman with a surprised expression had brought the baby into Winona's room.
Kier stood to the side, avoiding his mother's gaze. He knew that Winona
was about to partake in one of the emptiest moments of her life. Motherhood
and the hope of a shared future were supposed to be the reward for the
hard work of birth. Greenbacks and five minutes with someone else's child
would have to be enough for Winona.
* * *
*
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Copyright 2002 David Dun, All Rights
Reserved.
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