Christmas at Promise Lodge by Charlotte Hubbard

and Lily as he positioned it at the corner of the weathered old building. He adjusted the ladder so it was extended as far as it would go, resting against the very edge of the roof.
    Mattie was relieved when Truman, Roman, and Bishop Floyd all started toward the shed. “Wait up, Amos,” Truman called over. “We’ll hold that ladder steady for you.”
    Amos was already climbing, however, nimble as a monkey. Mattie marveled at how quickly he clambered up the last few rungs, spotted the red Frisbee, and then stretched himself full-length across the old shingled roof to retrieve Queenie’s toy with his fingertips. Was it her imagination, or was the corner of the building starting to droop? In a flash of dread, Mattie leapt from her chair. “Amos, watch out!” she cried.
    â€œHang on, Amos! The roof’s giving way!” Truman cried as he, Roman, and the bishop sprinted the last few yards toward the ladder.
    For a split second Amos looked toward their voices—and then he lost his foothold when the entire corner of the old roof broke off. As the ladder pitched sideways, Amos floundered and then fell through the air. Mattie felt as though the whole scene was taking place in slow motion. Even though she was running toward the shed, hollering at the top of her lungs, she knew deep down that no one would be able to stop what would happen next. There were no bushes to break Amos’s fall, no way to catch—
    Suddenly Bishop Floyd rushed forward with his arms extended. “Sweet Jesus, send Your mighty angels,” he cried out. “You’ve got to catch—”
    Amos struck Floyd’s upper body and knocked the bishop to the ground with him. The men landed hard, both of them crying out. Floyd grabbed his head and rolled away to writhe in pain, but when Truman and Roman reached the two men, Amos wasn’t moving.
    Mattie stopped, her heart in her throat. Her Amos lay flat on his back with his limbs splayed in various directions. He remained ominously still.
    For a few seconds everyone stared in silent shock. Minerva and Frances rushed over from the volleyball net with Eli, Marlin, and the others close behind them. Mattie stood stunned, staring at Amos’s inert form as snippets of muffled conversation flew around her.
    â€œHe’s out cold,” one of the younger boys murmured.
    â€œMaybe we’d better call a doctor—”
    â€œNo! Amos is strong and fit. He’ll come around,” Preacher Eli insisted.
    â€œWe don’t know any doctors hereabouts,” Frances pointed out as she and Minerva pressed their hands down on Floyd’s shoulders to keep him from standing up.
    Truman and Roman were kneeling on either side of Amos, gently smacking his face to bring him around. He wasn’t responding.
    â€œRosetta! Somebody!” Truman called out above everyone’s comments. “Call 911. Amos and Floyd should both be checked for broken bones and head injuries.”
    Rosetta ran toward the lodge, but Menno and Lavern raced past her, their faces tight with worry. Minerva stood up, shooing everyone back. “I’m no doctor, but I’ve got enough midwifing experience to know that we shouldn’t move Amos—and Floyd, you should sit tight,” she insisted. “Mattie and Frances, you might want to pack your men a bag before the ambulance comes. I suspect they’ll check both of them into the hospital for observation.”
    â€œYou’re not taking either one of us to the hospital!” Bishop Floyd protested with a grimace. “If you’ll give us a minute to catch our breath, we’ll be fine.”
    Ignoring Floyd’s outburst, Mattie lingered for a hopeful moment, in case Amos blinked or spoke or grimaced.
    Nothing. He was breathing, but otherwise he was lying far too still.
    Not daring to think about what sort of damage might’ve been done when Amos fell from the roof—even with Floyd breaking