See Also Deception by Larry D. Sweazy Page A

obvious. All of the plant was dry and withered, but the spines remained capable of a piercing jab. The tip of my finger immediately itched with warning, and I pulled back in fear of being injured.
    I trembled at the thought, at the vision that streamed behind my eyes. Peter and Jaeger had given me the amulet that had been at the heart of their tragedy. It was a souvenir of a time that I wished did not exist. The amulet, too, had been said to offer protection. I was in no mood to revisit Norse mythology, alter my belief system, or consider my past with that amulet any more than I had to, but it seemed to be the right thing to do to take a sprig of the musk thistle with me. I quickly made my way to the Studebaker and grabbed a pair of Hank’s faded yellow leather work gloves and trusty pocket Western Auto knife out of the glove box—everything was just where he had left it—then I went back and cut the terminal, the top flower, off the thistle.
    Satisfied, I stuck the sprig under the driver’s seat and settled back into the truck to go home. I knew that I was being silly, but the musk thistle gave me a little bit of comfort and I needed that, especially after my visit to the Wild Pony with Herbert. Funny thing was, that weed had most likely been here all my life and I’d never noticed it, never had reason to, until now. I wondered if I needed to acknowledge its presence to ignite its magical powers, to call forth Thor’s protection. Maybe that’s why my life had taken a horrible turn. I hadn’t employed the magic that was on my land. I lacked faith, which was no revelation—and the rest was just drivel. I was sure of it.
    I put the truck in gear and drove on.
    Shep was waiting for me at the mailbox, overseeing the land like he always had when there was no one home, no one else to worry about. My heart raced a bit as I brought the Studebaker to a hard stop and watched the border collie make his way to me in the rearview mirror. He was slow on the return, casting a glance to and fro, not barking happily—or with warning. My sense of alertness and dread heightened as soon as I realized that there was no sign of Jaeger Knudsen’s red International Harvester truck anywhere.
    I jumped out of the truck, ignoring Shep, who pushed at my hand for attention of one kind or another, and hurried to the house.
    â€œBetty!” I called out. No answer came, so I called out again and was met with the same silence.
    I pushed into the house and made a beeline for the bedroom, screaming for Hank the whole way. I nearly collapsed when I saw that the bed was empty and he was gone.
    Gone. Hank was gone. How was that possible?
    In his place on the ruffled bed was a note that I could barely read because my hands were shaking so violently:
    Mrs. Trumaine, Hank is at the hospital. He was having a hard time breathing so I called Doc Huddleston and he said to get Hank to St. Joseph’s as quick as possible. Jaeger put Hank in the truck and we’re taking him instead of waiting for the ambulance. I will be there waiting for you. ~~Betty Walsh.

CHAPTER 15
    I had spent enough time at St. Joseph’s Hospital to suit me for three lifetimes. I was born there, instead of at home like most of the children of the time; I’d watched helplessly as my mother and father died there; and I’d worried over Hank as he hovered between life and death in the long, endless days that followed the accident. It was not a place of happy memories, but then I guess a hospital rarely is.
    I could have driven to the hospital with my eyes closed, even in a panic. But not in a panic mixed with rage, fear, and fury. The speed limit wasn’t a concern because I could only go as fast as the Studebaker would allow. A speeding ticket was the least of my worries.
    I couldn’t believe that Hank’s breathing had failed enough since I’d left him with Betty Walsh that he needed to be hospitalized. I found myself