Waking Up in Dixie Read Online Free Page B

paramedics,” he volunteered.
    It seemed like eons, during which Elizabeth gauged every breath her husband took, but only ten minutes passed before the metallic rattle of a stretcher on the flagstones preceded the paramedics. They came in and immediately started hooking up leads and an IV as they relayed symptoms into their radiophones. After overhearing that Howe’s blood pressure was elevated and his heart regular, but fast, Elizabeth tapped one of the paramedic’s shoulders. “What is it?”
    “We can’t be sure, but my guess is, Mr. Whittington may have had a stroke,” he told her. “We’ve administered medications to lower his pressure, but the sooner we can get him to the hospital, the better his chances for recovery.”
    His
chances
for a recovery. Elizabeth’s heart sank. The nearest hospital was forty minutes away, and its emergency services were notoriously inadequate.
    Suddenly, the sound of a helicopter grew louder and louder outside, then she heard a vehicle zoom up, then halt with a screech of brakes.
    The paramedics raised the stretcher and started for the door with Elizabeth close behind, but before they got there, the side door of the church burst open and Howell’s mother stormed in with four uniformed medical attendants hot on her heels, bearing a sleek, plastic patient transport. A force of nature at eighty-five, Augusta Whittington clipped out, “I heard on the scanner. We’re airlifting him to Piedmont. My neurologist and neurosurgeon will be there waiting. And the best cardiologist in town.”
    For once, Elizabeth was grateful for her mother-in-law’s interference. “Thank God. Bless you, Mother Whittington.”
    The woman glared at Elizabeth as if what had happened was all her fault. “This is my only son. I’ll move heaven and earth to get him the best care possible.” She motioned for the attendants to transfer him to their stretcher.
    Clearly insulted to have their patient usurped, the local paramedics nevertheless stepped aside without comment, because nobody in Whittington—or the state of Georgia, for thatmatter—dared cross Augusta Whittington. But the whole scene would be grist for the gossip mill within minutes.
    “I’m grateful for the medevac,” Elizabeth told her mother-in-law. “I’ll call your cell as soon as we find out anything.”
    “Call, nothing,” her mother-in-law said. “I’m going with him.”
    The lead attendant raised a staying palm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whittington, but we only have room for one extra person besides the patient, and for legal reasons, it should be his wife.”
    Mrs. Whittington shot him a look that would shatter granite, but he didn’t relent, and as Elizabeth followed the stretcher out, her mother-in-law flipped open her cell phone and dialed, then barked out, “Eddie Spruill”—the local sheriff—“this is Augusta Whittington. I’m at St. Andrew’s. Howell has been stricken ill, and they’re choppering him to Piedmont. Come get me this instant and take me to the hospital.” She scowled in outrage. “I don’t care if you’re eating. The Golden Corral will be there when you get back, but if you’re not here in five minutes, you’ll be going home without that badge, and you know I can do it.” She snapped the phone shut as Elizabeth followed the stretcher past her toward the waiting chopper.
    “Don’t you let anything happen to him before I get there,” Augusta called after her. “I’m holding you responsible if it does, Elizabeth.”
    Of course.
    As the chopper took off, Elizabeth watched her world grow smaller and smaller, and wondered if she would still be the wife of the richest, most powerful man in the county when she came home.

Chapter 4
     
    The past: Elizabeth’s sophomore year, her first day at Whittington High
     
    Oblivious to the curious stares that followed her, Elizabeth pretended she was a secret princess, noble yet humble, as she strolled into the principal’s office her first day of school at