Spring's Gentle Promise by Janette Oke

cut in, completely ignoring any manners.
    “Doc is with them,” she replied, not seeming to take any offense at my rudeness.
    “How—how—?” But I still couldn’t ask the question.
    Mrs. Smith just shook her head, motherly tears of concern filling her eyes. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wanted to scream. Mrs. Smith was busy pouring a cup of coffee, and I knew without her even saying so that she expected me to sit down at her table and drink it. I turned my back on the table and the coffee cup, biting my lip to get some kind of control. I had to know! I had to know!
    “Where are they?” I asked Mrs. Smith again, fighting to control my voice.
    “The young schoolteacher, Miss Matilda, is in Jamie’s room,” she said slowly. “We thought that—”
    “Where’s Mary?” I cut in.
    But I didn’t get an answer. Right at that moment Mr. Smith entered the kitchen. He eased himself to a chair at the table and took the coffee that had been poured. Mrs. Smith just reached for another cup.
    “A shame, Josh, just a shame,” Mr. Smith said, shaking his head in sympathy. “Here ya only had thet there new car fer such a short time, an’ I’m afraid thet it won’t never be quite the same.” At the look of horror on my face he hurried on. “Oh, Jamie and me pulled it outta the ditch with the team. Got it back right side up—but the frame—”
    I couldn’t believe it. Mr. Smith was bemoaning my motor car, and the girls were somewhere in the house in a condition I could only guess at, with the doctor trying to piece them back together.
    “I don’t care none about the car,” I fairly exploded and then knew I wasn’t being fair. “I—I’m sorry,” I apologized. “It’s just—just—what about the girls? You see,” I went on, nearing Mr. Smith’s chair as I spoke, “I don’t even know what happened. How badly—?”
    “I’m sure Doc will—” started Mrs. Smith, but I didn’t even turn to hear the rest of her sentence.
    Mr. Smith interrupted her. “Near as we can figure it,” he said, “they was headin’ home when thet there storm hit. The road likely got slippery. You know how it gets.”
    I nodded and Mr. Smith stopped for another sip of coffee.
    I urged him on with another nod. That storm was hours ago! my brain was telling me.
    “Well, they went off the road. The car flipped over. Miss Matilda wasn’t able to go fer help. I suspect thet she has a broken leg—along with other things.”
    “Mary?” I asked numbly.
    “She—she was pinned under the car—she couldn’t go fer help either.”
    Pinned under the car. The words sent my world spinning. She was pinned under the car. She might be—she could be— “Mary,” I heard myself say again, but this time I was pleading. “Please, dear God, don’t let Mary—”
    “Too bad they had to lay there in the wet fer so long,” Mr. Smith was saying. “Not many folks travel along thet road. Jamie an’ me jest happened to—”
    But I couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew the rules. One was supposed to wait patiently until the doc had finished with the patient and given permission for you to go in to call at the bedside. But this is Mary! I had to know.
    I headed for a door that would lead me to the inner part of the house. There were no sounds coming from anywhere but the kitchen, so I had nothing to guide me. “Josh,” Mrs. Smith was calling from behind me, “Josh, you should—”
    There was a stairway—and I took it. It led me to a hallway with doors leading off it. Four doors, in fact. I assumed them to be bedrooms and opened the first one. No one was in the room. I hurried on to the second. Doc was there. He was bending over the bed where someone lay quietly. I moved forward, part of me demanding that I turn tail and run.
    It was Matilda. Her hair was wet and matted. Her face was bruised and had several tiny bandages. One leg, which lay partly exposed outside her blankets, was wrapped in whiteness. I guessed that Mr. Smith’s