refused to budge. “I’ll get something to pry with.”
He plowed his way through the water and ran to the trees. The closer trees were willows with only thin whips for branches. He had to find a sturdy branch.
He pushed through to the heavier growth and grabbed the first sizable branch he saw, racing back to the river. Grunting, he pried the end under the boulder and heaved, bending the branch with his weight. He grunted and pushed again. The branch snapped, but the rock did not move.
“I’m gonna have to force your foot out.”
The boy nodded, gritting his teeth. “I can take it.”
Crane bent over, feeling underwater, locating the best angle to free the foot. If he twisted and pulled at the same time—it would hurt like fury, but he had run out of ideas.
“Hold on now.” He shut his mind to the pain he was about to inflict. “Take a deep breath and hold it.” He grasped the foot with both hands and pulled. It stuck. He continued to pull, and it came free with a sickening jerk. Ted’s scream tore through his brain.
He grabbed the boy, crushing him to his chest, and plunged out of the cold water. “Are you all right?” He held the boy a moment, then set him down and looked deep into his eyes.
Ted nodded, then Crane bent to check the foot. A nasty gash bled profusely, but the foot and ankle seemed otherwise sound.
Ted’s teeth chattered. “I was so scared,” he whispered.
At the look of misery on his face, Crane pulled the boy back into his arms and held him tight. He wanted to say something to comfort and soothe the boy, but no words came. He pressed the small head against his chest and held him, letting his own fears slip away.
“You’re freezing. Slip out of those wet things.”
But Ted’s fingers were clumsy from the cold, and it was Crane who undid the buttons and pulled the clothes off. With nothing dry to wrap him in, Crane stripped off his water-blotched shirt and wrapped it around Ted. He wrung as much water as he could from Ted’s wet clothes, then tied them in a bundle and hooked it to the back loop of his pants.
“Let’s get you back to camp.” And he swept the boy into his arms. Ted allowed himself to be carried, clinging to Crane as if he feared he was still drowning. They could see the fire ahead and Maggie peering into the darkness.
“I found him!” Crane called.
Maggie raced toward Ted. “He’s hurt!” she cried as she saw Ted in Crane’s arms. “Oh, Baby, say something.”
“It’s just my foot.” Ted’s voice quavered. “I slipped and caught it between two rocks.”
Maggie reached for Ted, but Crane shook his head. “Get some blankets ready. He’s cold.”
She sped to the bedrolls, yanking up the blankets and racing back.
At the fire Crane lowered Ted to the ground. Maggie had the blankets around him before Crane finished pulling away the damp shirt. She grabbed the shirt and saw the blood on it. “He’s hurt.” Her gaze settled on his foot, and she bent to examine it.
“It’s a nasty cut.”
“It’s clean.” Crane put on a fresh shirt. “Right now we need to get him warmed up.”
“I made some tea.” She hurried to get a cupful, ladling in several spoonfuls of sugar. “Here, sip this.” She held it to the boy’s mouth.
“Is he all right?” Betsy whispered.
Crane turned to the child. She stood apart from them, pinching the seams of her dress.
“He’ll be just fine. He’s cold now, and he has a cut on his foot.” He reached for her, and she sprang into his arms, burrowing against his chest.
“I didn’t want anything to happen to him.”
“I know,” he said softly. “None of us did.”
“I asked God to help you find him.” She snuggled closer, relaxing in his arms. “I guess He did.”
“Maybe He did at that.” Crane was grateful for whatever help God had offered.
Maggie brought some material from her pack and tore it into strips, bandaging Ted’s foot.
“Here, Cat,” Betsy called the animal to her. “You come
He plowed his way through the water and ran to the trees. The closer trees were willows with only thin whips for branches. He had to find a sturdy branch.
He pushed through to the heavier growth and grabbed the first sizable branch he saw, racing back to the river. Grunting, he pried the end under the boulder and heaved, bending the branch with his weight. He grunted and pushed again. The branch snapped, but the rock did not move.
“I’m gonna have to force your foot out.”
The boy nodded, gritting his teeth. “I can take it.”
Crane bent over, feeling underwater, locating the best angle to free the foot. If he twisted and pulled at the same time—it would hurt like fury, but he had run out of ideas.
“Hold on now.” He shut his mind to the pain he was about to inflict. “Take a deep breath and hold it.” He grasped the foot with both hands and pulled. It stuck. He continued to pull, and it came free with a sickening jerk. Ted’s scream tore through his brain.
He grabbed the boy, crushing him to his chest, and plunged out of the cold water. “Are you all right?” He held the boy a moment, then set him down and looked deep into his eyes.
Ted nodded, then Crane bent to check the foot. A nasty gash bled profusely, but the foot and ankle seemed otherwise sound.
Ted’s teeth chattered. “I was so scared,” he whispered.
At the look of misery on his face, Crane pulled the boy back into his arms and held him tight. He wanted to say something to comfort and soothe the boy, but no words came. He pressed the small head against his chest and held him, letting his own fears slip away.
“You’re freezing. Slip out of those wet things.”
But Ted’s fingers were clumsy from the cold, and it was Crane who undid the buttons and pulled the clothes off. With nothing dry to wrap him in, Crane stripped off his water-blotched shirt and wrapped it around Ted. He wrung as much water as he could from Ted’s wet clothes, then tied them in a bundle and hooked it to the back loop of his pants.
“Let’s get you back to camp.” And he swept the boy into his arms. Ted allowed himself to be carried, clinging to Crane as if he feared he was still drowning. They could see the fire ahead and Maggie peering into the darkness.
“I found him!” Crane called.
Maggie raced toward Ted. “He’s hurt!” she cried as she saw Ted in Crane’s arms. “Oh, Baby, say something.”
“It’s just my foot.” Ted’s voice quavered. “I slipped and caught it between two rocks.”
Maggie reached for Ted, but Crane shook his head. “Get some blankets ready. He’s cold.”
She sped to the bedrolls, yanking up the blankets and racing back.
At the fire Crane lowered Ted to the ground. Maggie had the blankets around him before Crane finished pulling away the damp shirt. She grabbed the shirt and saw the blood on it. “He’s hurt.” Her gaze settled on his foot, and she bent to examine it.
“It’s a nasty cut.”
“It’s clean.” Crane put on a fresh shirt. “Right now we need to get him warmed up.”
“I made some tea.” She hurried to get a cupful, ladling in several spoonfuls of sugar. “Here, sip this.” She held it to the boy’s mouth.
“Is he all right?” Betsy whispered.
Crane turned to the child. She stood apart from them, pinching the seams of her dress.
“He’ll be just fine. He’s cold now, and he has a cut on his foot.” He reached for her, and she sprang into his arms, burrowing against his chest.
“I didn’t want anything to happen to him.”
“I know,” he said softly. “None of us did.”
“I asked God to help you find him.” She snuggled closer, relaxing in his arms. “I guess He did.”
“Maybe He did at that.” Crane was grateful for whatever help God had offered.
Maggie brought some material from her pack and tore it into strips, bandaging Ted’s foot.
“Here, Cat,” Betsy called the animal to her. “You come
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