Mercy Me by Margaret A. Graham Page B

bring you?”
    â€œNo’m, I walked.”
    I poured him a cup of coffee and put in some sugar and milk. He liked plenty of sugar and milk. “I’ll fix you some breakfast.”
    â€œNo’m. We ain’t got time for that.”
    I was holding the frying pan in my hand and looking at him, waiting for him to tell me what was up. “What’s the matter, Elijah?”
    â€œMissy, there’s something you got to help me with.”
    He didn’t touch the coffee.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œYou’ll see. We got to go now.”
    I put the frying pan away, took off my apron, and got my keys. “Where we going?”
    â€œTo my place.”
    We got in the Chevy. I cranked her up, and we rolled down the driveway. I knew this was some kind of emergency, but when Elijah said, “We got to hurry,” I got downright alarmed. It had never been his nature to hurry. Had his house caught on fire? Was one of those children plays around his place hurt?
    At that early hour, there was nobody much on the road. Although I am not one to break the speed limit, I broke it that morning. There is a straightaway beyond town, and I gunned it—that Chevy was wide open. Elijah propped both his hands on the dash, bracing for the curve up ahead. As we rounded the bend, tires squealing, Elijah said, “Slow down.” I thought he was just scared, but as we approached what looked to be somebody’s lane, he said, “See that road up a ways? Turn in there.”
    I slowed down. “Aren’t we going to your place?”
    He just grunted.
    It wasn’t much of a road, only two good ruts. It looked to be the same road Clara took by mistake the day we brought stew beef and rice to Elijah. I remembered now how we rocked along in them ruts until we landed alongside the railroad trestle above Elijah’s place. That’s where we first saw those little children.
    â€œSomething happened to them kids?” I asked Elijah.
    He shook his head.
    In a few minutes we pulled up alongside the siding with the boxcar on it. “Stop right here, Missy,” Elijah said, so I did. Those three children were all sitting in the open door of the boxcar, eating Vienna sausage out of the can. As soon as they saw Elijah, they scrambled down and came running to the car. Elijah got out and picked up the little girl. By the time I got out the car, the boys had wrapped their arms around his legs and didn’t look like they would let go anytime soon. Elijah looked back at me and motioned with his head.
    I followed him to the boxcar. He put down the little girl and disengaged himself from the boys. “She’s in here,” he said.
    â€œShe?”
    Elijah grabbed hold of the side of the door opening, swung up, and reached a hand down to me. The boxcar was dark, and I couldn’t see nothing for a minute or two. Then I made out what looked like a pile of rags in the corner.
    â€œThis lady is real sick, Missy. I’m scairt she’s a-fixin’ to die.”
    â€œWho is she, Elijah?”
    He didn’t say, but it was plain to me she was the mother of those little children.
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œI dunno, Missy.”
    I felt her forehead; it was hot as blue blazes. I tried to wake her up. “Lady? Lady?” But she kept right on breathing shallow and sleeping. I lifted one of her eyelids, and that eyeball looked like glass. Then I felt for her pulsebut couldn’t find it. Upon my word, her wrist was no bigger around than a broomstick.
    â€œWe got to get this girl to emergency quick as we can.” I looked up at him. “Who is she?”
    â€œI don’t rightly know, Missy. Them’s her chillun.”
    I had gathered that much, but I figured this was not the time to find out all I wanted to know. We had to get moving!
    â€œElijah, help me get her to the car.”
    With so little meat on her bones, she was light as a feather. While I climbed