Among The Tulips

“Ready,” she replied, and thought she was more than ready to sit down as she dropped onto the edge of the bed.

He returned and ran his gaze over her.

“Amazingly enough, it only hurts when I move,” she quipped.

“You’re still doped up from all the medication they gave you.”

She glanced down at her hand and found a small bandage where an IV had once been. “Oh, yuck. I’m a mess.” Her clothes were bloody and on her legs, now bare of hose, she could still see some remnants of blood.

“You can have a hot bath when we get home. Come on, let me help you.”

He reached up and slipped his hands under her arms.

She gasped at the strength in those hands.

How long had it been since a man had touched her so intimately? The closest she’d been to a man in four years was an occasional hug at church.

It was very disconcerting.

“What is it?”

She glanced up and realized her face was only inches from his. She couldn’t help but think how handsome he was and how very masculine.

“Are you hurting?” he prompted when she didn’t answer.

Jarred by the second sentence, she nodded. “Everywhere.”

He turned with her and helped her into the wheelchair. “I have a housekeeper who’ll help you bathe if you need to. In the meantime, let’s just concentrate on getting you home and rested. I have a feeling you’re going to be hurting a lot more before this is over.”

“I have a feeling you’re right.” She smiled gently.

The man who had originally woken her up returned with a pair of crutches. He took control of the wheelchair and passed the crutches to Victor. With a smooth motion he turned and wheeled her out of the room. The hall was long, a dingy gray-blue and very old looking. Light bulbs dotted the ceiling along the corridor.

At the end of the hall they came to electronic doors that opened to a driveway where a car was waiting.

People with cameras were there, and they immediately started snapping pictures. “Oh, no.” Annie reached up self-consciously and pushed at her hair. “This is awful.”

She glanced down in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry for this,” Victor said and stepped up to the large dark vehicle that sat at the curb. A man was waiting and pulled the door open.

Victor slid in and allowed the other person to lift Annie into the car. “Is this the car I hit?” she asked, confused.

“No.”

“Is this your car?” was her next question. It was a luxurious car with thick plush seats and a window separating the front from the back.

“Yes.”

Annie suddenly had an inkling that this man must have money. No one she knew drove around in a car like this. No one that she knew could afford to. She leaned her head back into the soft seat and sighed as it cupped her sore body. “I guess this was what Cinderella felt like when she got into the coach.”

The driver got in and started the vehicle. They drove slowly until they were past the people who were snapping pictures.

He didn’t blink at anything that went on, simply sat next to her as they exited the parking lot.

Perhaps the locals always reacted this way? Maybe the ones with cameras had simply been the press wanting pictures of the people in the wreck? A few of the photographers looked awfully young to hold jobs though. But then, she’d heard that people overseas started work younger.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate about the car or comment on the cameras.

“I live about fifteen minutes outside of town. We’ll be there shortly.

“See that valley with the sheep over there?”

Annie followed his finger to where he pointed. “It’s beautiful.”

“I live about ten kilometers on the other side of it to the east. I have a nice home that’s isolated. I raise horses there.”

He had to be rich.

Perhaps he was someone important to Holland. “Do you raise tulips?”

The man slowly turned his head and stared at her. His gaze met hers and then touched on her features, causing her cheeks to warm.

Those eyes could hold a person indefinitely. Finally he asked, “Why did you choose Holland to visit?”

It was said kindly, not condemning or rudely. And she felt he was really interested.

“I’ve heard that it was a beautiful place. I love tulips. And I’ve always wanted to see a windmill.”

“Why did you pick this town?”

“I asked the travel agent for an out-of-the-way place that would be nice to visit. She said there were some famous people who lived here and they had several tourist attractions. Though it was off the beaten path, Europeans liked to frequent it when they visit, she said.”

“They do have a nice retreat here,” Victor agreed. “About thirty more kilometers north. And they do have a world-famous poet who lives just down the road from me. He’s won several honors.”

They hit a bump, and Annie winced.

Victor tapped on the window. “Careful, Haufman. Our guest is in pain.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied in broken English.

“He speaks English too.”

“Yes. Since we’re off the main path of tourism you won’t meet as many people who speak the language, but there are some. My staff, some do, though others don’t. Europeans usually speak several languages.”

“Do you speak more than Dutch?”

She shouldn’t have asked, but then it seemed so natural.