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the Medical University of South Carolina in Charleston, are trained to take care of about 95 percent of all the problems they encounter. And they’re trained to assist a general surgeon. But they’re not general surgeons.”
    Mitch sighed. “Makes no sense to me. If you can’t help us in the OR, then you’re no more helpful than Sale, Mathieson, or Nordling.”
    â€œThat’s not true!” exclaimed Ray. “Walt’s had lots more training than they’ve had. He’s trained in obstetrics and delivering babies. He’s trained to take care of infants and kids. He’s forgotten a lot more dermatology, gynecology, psychology, and neurology than I ever learned. He knows intensive care. And he can help us in the OR. Furthermore, I’ll bet he’s willing to learn some of these procedures—aren’t
you, Walt?”
    Ten eyes were suddenly fixed on me—including Barb’s. “Well,” I stammered, “sure . . . I’d be willing to learn anything that you’d be willing to teach me.”
    Mitch looked at me for a moment, then at Ray. Ray smiled at Mitch, and then they both looked at me.
    â€œOK,” Mitch said, standing up and extending his hand toward mine. “We have a deal.” I shook his hand, not entirely taking in what had just occurred.

    On the way back along the river toward the Hemlock Inn we were silent. As we crossed the Tuckaseigee River bridge, Barb spoke. “Walt . . .”
    â€œYes, honey?”
    â€œDid we just agree to move to Bryson City?”
    We were quiet for a few minutes. As we turned onto Galbreath Creek Road, I nodded. “I think so, honey. I think so.”
    â€œMe, too,” she said.
    â€œMe, too,” piped Kate’s voice from the backseat.

chapter six
    SETTLING IN
    W e arrived in Bryson City in September of the next year. Kate was nearly three, and after the many months Barb and I had devoted to doing physical therapy with her, she could stand and, with the help of special braces, even walk some.
    We spent our first weekend moving into our little house by the hospital. One of my first duties was picking a location in which to place our newest possession—a wrought-iron park bench. The three of us sat in it together for the first time, gazing out over the Smoky Mountains.
    I put my arm around Barb’s shoulder and she snuggled close, with Kate tucked into the crook of her arm. “It fits the four of us just fine!”
    For a second, Barb looked confused, and then she laughed as she rubbed her beautifully enlarged tummy. “Only five more months to go!” Barb was pregnant with our second child. We were excited about becoming parents again—and this child would be the second grandchild we would give to our families. Kate had been the first.
    â€œYou look beautiful,” I whispered, as I pulled my wife close.
    â€œThis will be perfect,” she whispered. “Perfect.”
    We had expected to spend the weekend alone, just getting moved in, but were in for a delightful surprise. We were both pleasantly astonished and genuinely warmed as person after person dropped by. All day long, on Saturday and on Sunday, hospital employees, board members, a few doctors, local political figures, and the newspaper editor—most of them accompanied by their families—dropped by to greet us, welcome us, and share housewarming gifts. Our root-cellar shelves were rapidly filling with their gifts of canned fruits, vegetables, jams, and stews.
    â€œI’m not sure I’ll ever have to go to the grocery,” exclaimed Barb.
    Sunday afternoon, Dr. Bacon was helping Barb organize the shelves in the cellar. “Well, honey, if you do run out, just let some of Walt’s patients know—and they’ll restock it all!” He chuckled. We were soon to realize that he was dead serious.
    â€œWhere’s the new doc?” came a call from upstairs.
    I bounded up the