diagnosis had been right.
I had never seen a human all bruised and broken before. She looked just awful.
At the sight of me she began to cry. “Oh, Josh. I’m so sorry,”
she sobbed. “The rain—the road just—”
Doc didn’t scowl me out of the room. He even moved aside slightly. I knelt down beside Matilda and ran a hand over her tangled hair.
“It’s all right,” I said hoarsely. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. Just—just get better. Okay?”
I wanted to cry right along with Matilda, but I couldn’t. My eyes were still dry—my throat was dry. I could hardly speak. I just kept smoothing her hair and trying to hush her.
Matilda seemed to quiet some. I stood to my feet and looked Doc straight in the eye. “How’s—” I began. “How’s—?”
“Mary?” he finished for me.
I nodded mutely.
“She’s in the room across the hall,” Doc said and turned his attention back to Matilda’s arm.
I swallowed hard and turned back to the hallway. The first few steps made me feel as if I had lead boots. I could hardly lift my feet, and then I almost ran.
The door was closed and I shuddered as I turned the handle. Seeing Matilda had really shaken me. How might Mary look?
She had been—had been pinned under the motor car. I didn’t want to go into the room—but I had to know. I had to be with her.
I opened the door as quietly as I could. A small lamp on the dresser cast a faint light on Mary’s pale face. There was a large white bandage over one eye, and another covering most of an arm lying on top of the sheets, which were pulled almost to her chin. Two heavy quilts were tucked in closely about her body. What are all those blankets hiding? I asked myself. She was pinned—
My eyes went back to her face. So ashen. So still. Her eyes shut. Was she—? Is she already gone? And then I saw just the slightest movement—almost a shiver.
In a few strides I was beside her, kneeling beside her bed, my hand reaching to gently touch her bruised face.
“Oh, Mary, Mary,” I whispered.
Her lashes lifted. She focused her eyes on my face. “Josh?” she asked softly.
“I was so scared,” I admitted as I framed her cheek with my hand. “I was afraid I’d lost you—that—”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, moving her bandaged arm so that she could reach out to me.
“Don’t move,” I quickly cautioned, fearing she might come to more harm.
“I’m fine,” she assured me again in a whisper.
“But—but you were pinned—”
“Miraculously pinned,” Mary responded and she even managed a weak smile. “Oh, it caught me a bit on the arm—but it was mostly my coat sleeve. Doc says I’m a mighty lucky girl.”
“You’re—you’re not hurt?”
Mary moved slightly, and groaned. “I didn’t say I’m not hurt,” she admitted; then seeing the look of panic in my eyes, she quickly went on, “But nothing major and nothing that won’t heal.”
“Thank you, God,” I said, shutting my eyes tightly for a moment. Then I turned my full attention back to Mary. “I was so scared—so scared that—that—I didn’t even know until— until Billie brought the word—”
“I’m sorry, Josh. We had no way of getting help. No way of letting you know. We couldn’t get to a neighbor’s. Couldn’t even get to the road an’—your supper—?”
I stopped her. The memory of my impatience over our meal not being ready made me flush with shame. I looked at Mary’s face, swept soft and pale in the lamplight. “I should have known. I should have realized before,” I admitted. “I don’t know how I could be so dumb.”
“You had no way of knowin’,” argued Mary. “Sometimes we are later than we plan. Things—things just happen that delay us. But to miss the supper hour—No one could have guessed that we were lyin’ there in the ditch,” Mary explained and I realized that once again she was finding excuses for me. She was always doing that. Getting me off the hook when I did or said
I had never seen a human all bruised and broken before. She looked just awful.
At the sight of me she began to cry. “Oh, Josh. I’m so sorry,”
she sobbed. “The rain—the road just—”
Doc didn’t scowl me out of the room. He even moved aside slightly. I knelt down beside Matilda and ran a hand over her tangled hair.
“It’s all right,” I said hoarsely. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. Just—just get better. Okay?”
I wanted to cry right along with Matilda, but I couldn’t. My eyes were still dry—my throat was dry. I could hardly speak. I just kept smoothing her hair and trying to hush her.
Matilda seemed to quiet some. I stood to my feet and looked Doc straight in the eye. “How’s—” I began. “How’s—?”
“Mary?” he finished for me.
I nodded mutely.
“She’s in the room across the hall,” Doc said and turned his attention back to Matilda’s arm.
I swallowed hard and turned back to the hallway. The first few steps made me feel as if I had lead boots. I could hardly lift my feet, and then I almost ran.
The door was closed and I shuddered as I turned the handle. Seeing Matilda had really shaken me. How might Mary look?
She had been—had been pinned under the motor car. I didn’t want to go into the room—but I had to know. I had to be with her.
I opened the door as quietly as I could. A small lamp on the dresser cast a faint light on Mary’s pale face. There was a large white bandage over one eye, and another covering most of an arm lying on top of the sheets, which were pulled almost to her chin. Two heavy quilts were tucked in closely about her body. What are all those blankets hiding? I asked myself. She was pinned—
My eyes went back to her face. So ashen. So still. Her eyes shut. Was she—? Is she already gone? And then I saw just the slightest movement—almost a shiver.
In a few strides I was beside her, kneeling beside her bed, my hand reaching to gently touch her bruised face.
“Oh, Mary, Mary,” I whispered.
Her lashes lifted. She focused her eyes on my face. “Josh?” she asked softly.
“I was so scared,” I admitted as I framed her cheek with my hand. “I was afraid I’d lost you—that—”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, moving her bandaged arm so that she could reach out to me.
“Don’t move,” I quickly cautioned, fearing she might come to more harm.
“I’m fine,” she assured me again in a whisper.
“But—but you were pinned—”
“Miraculously pinned,” Mary responded and she even managed a weak smile. “Oh, it caught me a bit on the arm—but it was mostly my coat sleeve. Doc says I’m a mighty lucky girl.”
“You’re—you’re not hurt?”
Mary moved slightly, and groaned. “I didn’t say I’m not hurt,” she admitted; then seeing the look of panic in my eyes, she quickly went on, “But nothing major and nothing that won’t heal.”
“Thank you, God,” I said, shutting my eyes tightly for a moment. Then I turned my full attention back to Mary. “I was so scared—so scared that—that—I didn’t even know until— until Billie brought the word—”
“I’m sorry, Josh. We had no way of getting help. No way of letting you know. We couldn’t get to a neighbor’s. Couldn’t even get to the road an’—your supper—?”
I stopped her. The memory of my impatience over our meal not being ready made me flush with shame. I looked at Mary’s face, swept soft and pale in the lamplight. “I should have known. I should have realized before,” I admitted. “I don’t know how I could be so dumb.”
“You had no way of knowin’,” argued Mary. “Sometimes we are later than we plan. Things—things just happen that delay us. But to miss the supper hour—No one could have guessed that we were lyin’ there in the ditch,” Mary explained and I realized that once again she was finding excuses for me. She was always doing that. Getting me off the hook when I did or said
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