Free Dakota Blues by Lynne Spreen Page B

her chair and slung it over her shoulder. “Ladies, I’m out of here. I have to drop by the clinic and sign some checks. Karen, you’ve seen big-city health care. Want to see how the other half lives?”

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    Chapter Nine
    G lenda turned onto the two-lane highway away from town and headed deeper into farm country. Rows of evergreen trees ran from north to south, protecting the farm fields from wind and reminding Karen of the Christmas tree farms back in California. In the middle of a yellow canola field stood a herd of deer, antlers still covered in velvet.
    Twenty miles south they drove into the remote community of Regent, which consisted of a sleepy main street and a few dozen houses. Glenda parked in front of an old feed store bearing the name Farmers Health Collective. Inside the clinic, crayon drawings by school children were taped up on the walls and soft music wafted from an iPod player at the receptionist’s window. Two women thumbed through magazines while a child played in the corner with alphabet blocks.
    Glenda waved to the receptionist. “Is Annie around?”
    “She’s giving a tetanus shot. Should be done any time.”
    “Would you ask her to see me? I’ll be in my office.”
    Karen followed Glenda down the hall and into a cramped room. On the desk, a multicolored array of case folders was stacked next to medical textbooks. A teddy bear, clad in surgical scrubs, grinned at them from the top of the books.
    Karen spotted the nameplate on the door. “You’re the boss?”
    Glenda reached in the drawer and pulled out a jar of candy. “Unofficially. There’s a chief physician in Grand Forks who’s technically responsible for the whole network, but I only see him a couple times a year. Otherwise, we do video conferencing, email, and phone calls. Want a peppermint?”
    Karen unwrapped a candy and popped it in her mouth. “I’m guessing you’re the main health care in the area?”
    “Yup.” Glenda leaned back in her chair, put her feet up, and rolled a peppermint around in her mouth. “The only. We serve the whole south end of the county. If they need more, they go to Bismarck or Dickinson.”
    “You’re pretty far away from things. Is it hard to find staff?”
    Glenda nodded. She gestured toward the door and lowered her voice. “I’m worried about my assistant, Annie. She’s burning out. She doesn’t complain, but I can tell. There isn’t much more I can do to make things easier. The work is what it is.”
    “How’s the pay?”
    “About two-thirds of what they can earn in Grand Forks or Bismarck, but the cost of living is proportionate, and it’s a lot quieter out here at night. Lots of stars.”
    “Hard to hire people based on that.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    Karen rolled the candy wrapper between her fingers until it was shaped like a ball. Laughter resonated from down the hall, and a copier hummed outside the door. Hand-made mobiles of colored foil dangled in front of the windows, reflecting the late afternoon sun. The pen scratched across paper as Glenda signed checks. The clinic had that peaceful, Friday afternoon feeling she missed.
    When a shriek knifed through the air, Glenda was out the door before Karen had managed to stand up. They reached the waiting room just as a young woman lost her hold on her husband. He slipped to the floor, leaving streaks of blood on his wife’s chest. Glenda knelt at his side while the receptionist tucked a jacket under his head. One of the other patients braced herself against the far wall, hands covering her mouth.
    “Easy, easy, Johnny, we’re here.” Glenda tucked a stethoscope under his shirt and cocked her head. The man’s blond hair was dark with sweat, and a blood-soaked towel was wrapped around his right hand. His wife clutched the other. “He was working on the thresher,” she said, “and the wheel turned when he wasn’t expecting. The blade fell on his arm. I saw it out the kitchen window.”
    A woman knelt beside Glenda with a