Page 78 - Homestead By Ann Newhouse
P. 78

. they suspect that you are responsible for Buck O’ Neilson death. Also, Shelly Tully has made a similar claim, about the fate of her former husband, Jed Pincher.”
“How dare they! After all I have done for them, especially that tramp Margarete O’ Neilson. Did Margarete say how her husband blackmailed my father and that they asked one of his ranch hands to burn our Ranch to the ground killing your mother and grandmother,” John Tirrell was furious, his face burned with rage. Suddenly, he groaned loudly, gripped his chest and fell face down onto the large sofa.
“Father . . . father! Are you okay? . . . Help . . . help somebody. . .,” Sofie screamed for a passer-by to come to her assistance. As it was early morning only the sun was up. Running to hammer on Johanna’s door, Sofie spotted the air ambulance at the medical hall. “Please come quickly. It’s my father. He’s collapsed, I think it’s a heart attack,” she screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks.
With the help of the medical team they settled John in the new emergency room of the medical hall. The doctor confirmed a mild heart attack. Giving him the necessary medication and advising complete rest and no stress, Dr Glen left John in the capable hands of the two nurses. Sofie was distraught as she blamed herself for her father’s attack, telling Johanna about their conversation.
“Sofie you’re not to blame, this may have been coming on for some time. I think your father has brought this on himself, probably realising his secret was out when Liz appeared. It has sent him over the edge.”
“Maybe you’re right. What will I do now? I cannot leave now even if I wanted to.”
“We will see how your father responds to medication and some TLC in the next few days. We will not bring up the problems he faces until we see Ned and Josh later this evening. I’ll get Nurse Lucy to sit with him while we chat and see where we go from here.”
Johanna led Sofie to the big house. She was left with her thoughts as Johanna got on with looking after her regular patients and distributing their medication.
I was shocked when I arrived to find that John Tirrell had suffered a heart attack. My initial thoughts may have been cruel, in that I had very little pity for him, as Sofie recalled the morning’s events. I expressed my sympathy at her having to deal with her father and inquired what was the current situation, now about six hours after the event.
“Well, as you can imagine I’ll not be able to leave now . . . maybe never.”
“I do understand. We will have to give him time to recover. I’m trusting you will be able to judge when that time will be,” I gave Sofie a questionable glance. I sympathised, but I was not convinced


































































































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