by Janette Oke
By the time they reached the kitchen, Luke had completely calmed the child. He had bathed her teary face with a warm cloth and smoothed back the tangled hair.
Except for the swollen eyes, one would not have known she had just been through such an ordeal.
The child reached for her mother, and the woman hurried to lay down the baby so she might take the little one from Luke.
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"I'll see you again in a couple of days," Luke was telling her.
"How. . . how many more times do we need to go through this?" the young mother asked him, her eyes filled with agony.
"I really can't say" Luke said honestly. "The burn doesn't look good at this point. It's going to be a fight to keep out infection. We'll have to keep a close watch on it. But I hope. . . I hope the healing process soon begins. Once it starts to heal properly, it might improve quite quickly. With a child, it often does," he assured her, patting the child's head.
Luke smiled at the woman. "We'll do the best we can," he promised her.
She nodded. She was too overwrought to even think of a thank-you, but Luke understood.
He gathered all his belongings, threw the dirty bandages into the kitchen stove so the woman would not need to see the reminder, and reached for his coat.
Outside, Luke laid his hand on Belinda's shoulder. "Thanks," he said. "I never could have done it without you."
She smiled weakly.
"Do you mind coming back a few times to give me a hand?" "No . . . I don't mind. I'll help."
"It's not very nice, is it?"
"No," admitted Belinda.
"It's always so much harder for me when it's a child," said Luke, shaking his head. "I just hope and pray I never need to treat one of my own. I don't know if I could bear it--or any of our family's children, for that matter. It would be so hard. The poor little things just can't understand the pain--and the treatment."
Luke shook his head. Belinda knew that he felt it deeply.
"You okay?" Luke sincerely asked her, searching her face.
"Fine," said Belinda.
"You looked a bit pale in there."
Belinda smiled again. "I felt pale for a few minutes, too."
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Luke gave her a quick hug and turned to untie his team.
"I have to go on to the Williams'. They think they have a case of measles. Let's plan to meet here on Thursday right after school, okay?"
"Yes," said Belinda, "I'll be here."
"Maybe next time it won't be quite so bad," said Luke, "but . . . I can't make any promises."
Belinda nodded and mounted Copper. She was anxious to get home.
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TWENTY-ONE
An Accident?
Belinda let Copper choose his own speed going home. It was a good thing the horse knew his way. Belinda was not paying much attention to the animal--her mind was still full of what she had just seen.
Belinda thought the amputation of the Simpson boy's arm had been terrible, the worst thing she had ever seen in her life. But the little girl's burns today would certainly rate a very close second. It was a terrible thing to see, and imagining the child's unbelievable pain, Belinda cringed each time the mental picture flashed into her mind.
Maybe I'm not cut out to be a nurse after all, she wondered as she rode. It was so painful to see the suffering. Maybe she should do like Melissa and become a schoolteacher. An artist, like Amy Jo, was out of the question--she didn't have an artistic bone in her body.
But then Belinda thought about Luke, about his dedication to this service, this ministry to people. She pictured him again as he carried the child back and forth in the kitchen, soothing and comforting her. Luke needs me, she thought. There were too few nurses, he had said. Doctors could not handle all cases on their own. They needed assistants. Deep inside, Belinda knew this was her dream, her calling.
Of course she would not enjoy seeing the pain. Of course she
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would find some cases distasteful and troubling. But someone needed to be there, to fight against pain and suffering as Luke was doing. He would always be there, and with God's help she would be there, too.
As Copper ambled along toward home, Belinda's thoughts turned to Jackson. She liked Jackson, but she just couldn't seem to make him understand that she loved nursing. At this time she did not want to even think about boys. In the first place, she was way too young, though she did admit to mildly enjoying the girlish flirtation games on occasion. But, on further thought, Belinda could think of no good that would come of flirting. If the boy responded--well, that meant even more trouble, for Belinda knew if she wished to be a nurse, she would need to dedicate the next several years of her life to training for it. What would she do with a special beau then?
Besides, Melissa was the one who seemed to really care for Jackson. Melissa was young, too--too young to be thinking seriously about fellows. But Melissa seemed inclined to think about them anyway, and it certainly didn't help matters that she had about made up her mind Jackson was the fellow for her. Now, it wouldn't have been so bad if Jackson had shared the attraction. But Jackson's attention had obviously been captured by Belinda, and the whole thing was very difficult to deal with. Fortunately, Amy Jo's painting had captured her imagination, so Belinda didn't have that niece to worry about, too. She was glad Jackson would be going off to school someplace come fall. Perhaps that would solve the problem for all of them.
Without warning, a shrill crack suddenly split the air. Before Belinda knew what had happened, Copper had spooked, tossing his head into the air and leaping wildly to one side. Belinda grabbed for the saddle horn and the reins but was unable to control the animal or her own body.
Frantically, she realized she was flying through the air. Time
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seemed to freeze before she struck the ground. When she did land with a sickening thud, all of the air was knocked out of her body, and she lay there on the ground in a daze. Copper tossed his head again in fright and headed for home at a gallop.
In the bush next to the road, the hunter must have heard the commotion. He had not seen or heard anyone around when he fired at the rabbit and would never have shot if he had. But from the noise on the nearby road, he feared that the gunshot had meant trouble for someone. He quickly ran over to check.
The first thing he saw was the fleeing horse, his head held to the side to avoid stepping on the dragging reins. Then the hunter looked the other direction and saw a motionless form lying on the roadway. He cried out in alarm as he ran to the body.
It was a girl, lying in a crumpled heap like a discarded sack. He knelt beside her, nervously looking for signs of broken bones or other injuries.
What should he do? Where should he go for help? He wished that horse was still available. He stared anxiously down the road, hoping the animal had stopped, but it was just disappearing over the crest of the hill.
The girl moaned softly. He turned back to her, fervently hoping she was not seriously injured. He dared to touch her face-- to smooth back her hair. What should I do? he lamented.
The girl moaned again and began to stir. He watched her face carefully. Who is she? Where does she live? He should go for help. Get her parents. Something. But he couldn't leave her here alone. He cradled her head carefully. What if her neck is injured? his frantic thoughts tumbled over themselves.
She moved again and he saw her eyelids flutter. Was she coming around? Would she be okay? Oh, please, God, please, God, he pleaded with a God he neither knew nor understood.
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Belinda fought against the unreal world she so precipitously had entered. What happened? Where am I? She struggled to fill her aching lungs with air. She hurt. Her whole chest hurt.
Gradually she began to breathe again. The pain was subsiding and her thinking began to clear. She forced her eyes to open. Someone was bending over her, gently stroking her face as though coaxing the life back into her body. She strained to make her eyes focus on th
e world swirling around her.
And then she saw the dark eyes and the black hair. She knew who it was immediately. It was the boy, the boy with one arm. She fought to get control of her breathing, straining to sit up. What happened anyway? she tried to ask.
"Easy" he was saying softly. "Easy. Don't try to move yet."
"What. . . ? What. . . ?" tried Belinda again, but her voice would not work properly. She let her head drop against his supporting arm, closed her eyes, and willed the world to stop spinning.
What had happened? -Where was she? -Why was she here? Slowly, oh, so slowly, things began to fall into sequence. She had been helping Luke. They were done . . . had finished the bandaging of the little girl's burned arm. She was on her way home. She was riding . . .
"Copper," said Belinda, straining to lift her head again. "Where's Copper?"
"Sh-h," the boy hushed her. "Take it easy. Yer gonna be all right. Jest rest a few minutes."
"Copper," repeated Belinda.
"Copper?" asked the boy, wondering what Belinda was muttering about, and then it must have dawned on him. "Is Copper a horse?"
Belinda looked at him, her head still foggy Of course Copper is a horse. My horse. And he should be here . . . somewhere.
"I'm afraid Copper went on home," the boy said.
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Belinda's head was clear enough now for her to understand the implications.
"Oh no," she groaned, moving her head to the side. The boy looked relieved.
"Oh no," said Belinda again. "Ma'll be frantic!"
"What?" questioned the boy.
"Ma . . . she'll be worried sick when thet horse comes in without me. I gotta git home . . . fast as I can."
Belinda struggled to get to her feet, but the boy held her. Belinda was surprised at the strength in his one arm.
"Don't," he said. "Not yet. You might be hurt bad . . . have a broken bone or somethin'. It's not safe to move jest yet." "I'm fine," Belinda protested. "Really!"
"You don't seem so fine to me," he insisted. He stared into her face, his own flushed with emotion. "Thet is, you might be hurt some. We don't know yet."
Belinda wondered why the boy seemed flustered, but she did not try to figure it out. All she could think about was her mother. She knew Marty would fear the worst when Copper arrived home riderless. She had to get home--and quickly--but first she would just rest a minute and be sure that she was really okay. The boy was right about that.
She closed her eyes and relaxed. The trees had stopped swirling around, her breath was coming much more easily, and her chest no longer hurt. Here and there she felt bruised, but nothing seemed unbearably painful. She was bound to ache some, and would doubtless be quite sore for a few days, but she did not think she had broken any bones. Bit by bit she mentally went over her body. No, she was sure she was all right.
She looked up at the boy again. His eyes were anxiously studying her, his face now pale. She did not try to fight against the arm that held her. Instead she spoke to him, evenly and coherently.
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"I think I'm ready to get up now. I'm sure I have no broken bones. I jest had the wind knocked outta me, thet's all." "Yer sure?" He still did not release her.
"I'm sure," she assured him. "Iffen ya'll jest help me to my
feet--"
"Take it real easy," he cautioned, "and let me know if anythin' gives you pain."
He stood to his feet then, gently lifting her along with him. Belinda felt things beginning to spin again, but she held tightly to his arm and closed her eyes until the whirling stopped.
"How is it?" he asked solicitously.
"Fine. Be jest fine in a minute. No . . . no bad pain. . . jest a few bruises."
Belinda tried a smile. It was a bit weak, but the boy responded, his dark eyes lighting up.
"Yer a good sport," he said admiringly.
At that Belinda chuckled softly. "A good sport? Well, I didn't exactly choose this way to--"
"I know" said the boy. "It was my fault. I'm sorry" His eyes were shadowed with remorse.
"Yer fault?" asked Belinda. "How . . . yer fault?"
"I didn't notice you comin'. I shot at a rabbit, an' the noise frightened yer horse. I didn't even know you were around till I heard the commotion. I . . . I . . . but it was already too late. Yer horse was runnin' off, an' you were a layin'--"
Belinda stopped him. "Did ya git the rabbit?" she asked softly.
He looked at her as though he wondered if she were teasing him. Then she smiled, and the next thing they were laughing together.
"I dunno," he said truthfully. "I think I did."
"You'd best go see," Belinda prompted him. "Don't wanna waste it."
"Yer serious?"
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"It was nearby, wasn't it?"
"Right over there, behind those bushes."
"Then go check. I'll brush a bit of the dirt offa me and then I'd best be gittin' home."
He soon was back with the rabbit, grinning as he held it up for her inspection. Belinda could see that it had been a clean shot. Must be good with a gun, she thought.
"Good meat, rabbit," he informed her. "I should know. Thet's about all we've been eatin' this winter."
Belinda nodded, still busy trying to remove the dirty snow and road grit from her clothes. He reached out a hand and brushed her hair gently. "You got it in your hair, too," he said softly.
Belinda tried a step. Her legs seemed to be working fairly well, but he quickly reached out and took her arm.
"Why don't I git rid of this first?" he said, indicating the gun and the rabbit that lay at his feet.
Belinda waited until he had moved to a nearby tree and deposited the gun and the game in the branches. "I'll pick it up on my way back home," he informed her. "Now, let's get you on home before yer mama comes lookin' for you."
They walked very slowly at first, his hand carefully assisting her. She was not in any real pain, but she did notice there were many parts of her body that seemed to be crying out for attention. She would be stiff and sore tomorrow, that was for sure. At least they did not have far to go.
"Is it okay?" he asked her repeatedly, and each time she stoutly insisted that she was fine.
They had not gone far when they heard a horse rapidly approaching, and Clark came over the nearest hill, riding Copper at a brisk gallop. As soon as he reached them he slid to a stop and dismounted in one fluid motion.
"Ya all right?" he asked Belinda anxiously.
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"I'm fine," she answered, "jest a little bruised, thet's all." "What happened?"
"Copper here spooked an' threw me."
"It was my fault," explained the boy. "I shot at a rabbit." "An' he got it, too," Belinda put in admiringly while the boy colored and looked away, embarrassed.
Clark's eyes went from one to the other of them. The boy still supported Belinda protectively.
"Well, I'm glad yer okay," Clark said quietly. "An' yer mama will be greatly relieved, too. Didn't know what to think when thet horse came in like he did. I tried to tell yer mama that he jest might have slipped rein again and left ya stranded at wherever ya were. But we had ta check to be sure."
"I tied him carefully like ya said," Belinda informed him. "Well, let's git ya up on this horse," said Clark.
"You ride, Pa," Belinda argued, thinking of Clark's leg.
But he would not hear of it, and soon Belinda was boosted up into the saddle, and they were on their way home again at a brisk walk. Neither thought to question whether or not the boy should continue on with them. He could have gone back for his gun and his rabbit and gone home. But for some reason he did not, and Clark and Belinda both accepted his presence without discussion.
Marty hurried out to meet them when they entered the lane. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes large with concern. "She's jest fine," Clark quickly assured her. "Jest took a bit of a spill. Ya know ol' Copper. He spooks awful easy"
Clark lifted Belinda down and went on t
o the barn with the horse. The boy took her arm again, and with Marty fluttering anxiously on the other side, they went into the house.
When they were safely seated at the kitchen table, and Belinda was sipping a cup of hot tea, Marty turned to the boy.
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"So you two finally met?" she commented. "Seems it's accidents thet bring ya together."
The boy looked puzzled.
"Guess Belinda will have plenty of tales to tell in comin' years 'bout her nursin' experiences," Marty went on with a little chuckle. "Thet's where she was tonight, too--when this happened--helpin' Luke. But I guess ya knew all 'bout thet. Tonight's was a burn case."
The boy turned to Belinda, his dark eyes wide . . . questioning. This . . . this was the girl he had been told was there when they took his arm?
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TWENTY-TWO Introductions
Belinda, having recognized the boy immediately, had assumed he knew who she was, as well. But of course he would not have known who she was. He had been unconscious the whole time she was with him after his accident.
Belinda noticed shadows darkening the boy's eyes. She saw the questioning look on his face. His lips parted as though he was going to say something, and then they closed tightly and he turned away.
He did not bolt, though she feared for a moment that he might. The knuckles on the hand that gripped the edge of the table were white. His face was even paler than it had been when he had bent over her in the road. She wanted to say something-- anything, but didn't know what it would be.
Clark's appearance helped to break the tension. Understandably having no idea of the undercurrent in the room, he hung up his coat and hat on the proper pegs and walked toward the table.
"Sure can tell thet summer is 'most here," he said in a good neighborly fashion. "The days are gittin' to where they're worth somethin' again, an' the air is actually warm. Be mighty glad to see warmer weather, too. I've had 'nough winter fer a while."
