Page 87 of A Nantucket Wedding

Welsh showed no relation to any language Jane had ever learned or even seen. Wales in Welsh wasCymru; Hospital wasYsbyty. Fortunately, all street signs were in both English and Welsh, and the taxi driver who parked in front of the airport spoke English.

When she arrived in Bangor, it was after two in the afternoon in Wales, but early morning in New York City. The time difference confused her poor brain, already tired from the rush to the airport and the plane ride and then the train journey. Even so, Jane was shot through with adrenaline. Finally, she was here! And Scott was alive! As the driver steered them through the unknown streets, Jane couldn’t keep from babbling, telling the driver about Scott’s fall, and her fear, and Derfel’s call, and her utter relief.

“You’ve come a long way,” the driver said.

“Yes,” Jane responded thoughtfully. “Yes. You’ve no idea.”

“Oh, I’ve been across the pond a few times myself.”

“I didn’t mean— Where did you go? New York City?”

“Ha! I might as well go to London. No, I like that place you have over there called Las Vegas. I enjoy playing cards and my wife takes in a few shows. One day we drive out into the desert and scare ourselves half to death looking at all that sand, then we come home happy.”

“I’ve never been to Las Vegas,” Jane admitted.

“No? You should go. Now here we are. I’ll be taking you to the emergency entrance of the hospital,” the driver told her.

“Of course.” Jane bit her lip. “I hope they’ll let me see him.”

“Oh, they’re very nice at the hospital,” the driver assured her.

Jane paid the driver with her colorful new pounds and stepped out of the taxi. In front of her was a long, low building, with ambulances parked in bays nearby and a brightly lit room showing through wide glass double doors. The sign overhead said,MYNEDFA BRYS. Helpfully, it also said,EMERGENCY ENTRANCE.

Inside, she found an enclosed cubicle with two women chatting away in what sounded like Martian. As soon as she approached them, they became professional.

“Hello. How may we help you?”

Jane almost asked them why they assumed she wasn’t Welsh, but then she realized she was dragging a rolling suitcase behind her.

“My husband is here, I think. He had a fall on Mount Snowdon earlier today. Or maybe it was yesterday. I mean, the time changes are making my brain fuzzy—” Now that she was here, actually in the Bangor, Wales, hospital, her body was acting crazy, shaking and trembling, and her mind wouldn’t work.

“What is his name, please, dear?” The nurse was young, with bright brown eyes and creamy skin.

“Scott Hudson.”

“Ah, yes. He has a broken arm.”

“Can I see him?”

“Surely. Come along.” The nurse stepped out of the small windowed office, gave Jane a smile—didn’t that mean he was all right?—and led Jane down a hallway, into an elevator, off at another floor, and down a hallway until she came to a room with an open door and a beeping machine and a figure lying very still on a hospital bed.

“Should I wake him?”

“Go on, dear. He’ll be a bit groggy, you know, he’s got a small morphine drip for the pain.”

“The pain!”

“It’s all right. He’ll be glad to see you.”

Jane leaned her suitcase against the wall and quietly approached the bed. There Scott was. Lying so still beneath the snow white sheet and blanket. His eyes were closed. Already he had a dark shadow of beard along his jaw. An IV stand stood next to him, and a liquid dripped slowly into a vein in his arm. Her strong, powerful, sturdy Scott, lying in a hospital bed, with his left arm encased in a plaster cast and a needle in his right arm!

“Look at his fingers, Mrs. Hudson.” The nurse read a chart from the end of the bed, then moved close to Jane, as if to share her strength. “His fingers are pink. That means his circulation is fine. He’ll probably be released tomorrow.”

Jane swallowed her tears and came close to the bed. She took his good hand in hers, bent close to him, and said softly, “Scott? Scott. It’s Jane. I’m here.”

Scott’s eyes opened. His utterly gorgeous hazel eyes. For a moment, he seemed to be orienting himself. After a minute, he said, “Jane.”

Jane burst into tears.

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