Sunday morning was quiet as a whisper until Rowdy started barking.
“I was hoping for a peaceful morning,” Granny said. She pulled the gingham curtains back and peeked out the kitchen window. “It’s Hiram Fletcher.”
I rolled the biscuit dough between my palms while Granny waited for him by the back door. “Morning, Hiram. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, no time for coffee. My cows are loose. I was wondering if George could help Drucker and me round them up.”
Drucker. I hadn’t seen him since the ice-cream social, or Ruby either. I was still trying to make sense of all that had happened that night.
Granny said to Mr. Fletcher, “Sure, George would be glad to help you. That’s what neighbors are for. He’s out at the barn doing up the morning chores.”
A few minutes later, Grandpa hurried into the kitchen, carrying a full pail of milk. “Don’t hold breakfast for me,” he said. “Hiram’s waiting for me in his truck. No telling where those fool cows have taken off to.”
Granny walked with Grandpa to the door. “Sarah and I are gonna drive your truck and go on to church,” she said. “Good luck with the cows.”
I kept working the dough and worrying over Ruby Lee. School would be starting tomorrow. Maybe I needed to get my courage up and go see her.
Granny came back into the kitchen and strained the milk. “You had a restless night. I got up to check on you a couple of times.”
“I didn’t sleep well. I kept waking up, thinking about all the bad things that have happened.”
Granny poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “No need to fry the ham until you get the biscuits in the oven. Want to talk about the stuff that’s worrying you?”
“No.”
Granny sighed, and I worked the dough. I pinched some off and rolled it into a circle. I placed the biscuit into a shiny greased pan, and then made eleven more.
“I’ll get the oven door,” Granny said. “Careful now, don’t get burned.” She pulled the door open, bumping her leg hard against the corner. Her crepe-like skin tore. Blood ran from her knotty veins.
I dropped the pan of biscuits and sat down hard on the floor. I covered my eyes, but all I could see was blood. I heard squealing tires and smelled burning rubber.
“Sarah, Sarah Beth.” Granny’s voice came to me as if through a fog. “Help me, child. Ain’t nobody else here.”
“I-I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Grab a clean dishtowel and press it against my leg.”
I shook my head, trying to fight off the bad memories.
Granny kept calling my name. “Sarah, Sarah Beth, help me child.”
I wrung my hands, but finally did as Granny asked, pressing a checked dishtowel against her leg. The blood quickly soaked through it. I grabbed another towel, and blood soaked through it too.
“Need a doctor,” Granny moaned.
The blood pooled on the floor. Think! Think!
Thickening, I could use thickening! Granny used flour to make corn and potatoes creamier. And flour soaked up the buttermilk when I made biscuits.
I grabbed the flour bin and started heaping clean white flour on Granny’s leg. It formed a red, gooey mess. I put a towel on top and pressed down. I kept heaping flour and applying more pressure.
“It’s working,” Granny said. “It’s working.”
The kitchen floor had turned into a sloppy mess of blood and flour. “Granny, I’m gonna call an ambulance.”
“It’ll take too long. Everybody gets lost out here.”
“Okay, I’ll try and find Grandpa.”
“He could be anywhere in these hills and hollers.” Granny put her hand on my cheek. “You’re gonna have to drive me to the hospital.”
“I’m scared.”
“Me too, but I’m counting on you. Hurry!”
I raced across the farmyard and climbed into the truck. My hand reached for the ignition, but the keys were missing. Think! Think! Maybe they were in Grandpa’s bedroom.
I rushed back to the house with tears streaming down my cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Granny asked.
“I can’t find the keys!” I sprinted down the hall. The keys weren’t on Grandpa’s night table. They weren’t on his dresser either. Think! Think!
I ran to the den. The keys weren’t on top of the television or on the corner shelf. Think! Think!
I tore through the bathroom, knocking over a bottle of Old Spice shaving lotion. I kept running!
My sides ached. I bent over to catch my breath. Think! Think! The floor mat. I should have looked under the floor mat in Grandpa’s truck.
I bolted out the front door, across the porch, and through the farmyard. I jerked open the door and pulled back the gray floor mat. There was nothing underneath it but dirt.
I pounded the steering wheel, screaming in frustration. I looked up toward heaven to beg for some help. And then I saw them! Grandpa’s keys were dangling from the visor!
I snatched them down and started the truck. Slamming it into gear, I roared across the yard, skidding to a stop by the back door. I left the truck idling, rushed inside, and helped Granny to her feet. She leaned against my shoulder as we hobbled out the door. The towels came loose and the bleeding started again. I practically hoisted her into the truck.
“Didn’t know you were so strong,” she mumbled.
I raced back inside for flour and more towels. Packing Granny’s leg again, I pressed until the bleeding was under control. Then I jumped into the driver’s seat and took off.
My palms were sweating. I drove with my left hand and wiped my right hand on my shorts. Then I changed hands. My shoulders ached, and I lifted them up and lowered them down. The blasted truck would only go thirty-five miles per hour! I wiped my palms again. Every time I hit a bump in the road Granny groaned.
I alternated between watching the road and sneaking quick glances at Granny. Her head rolled back against the seat. One thing was lucky: Because it was so early on a Sunday morning, there was hardly any traffic on the road. I kept driving and started praying. It was only two words over and over. “Help me, help me, help me, help me!”
Finally, we left the fields behind, headed toward Tucker. Traffic picked up a little, and I had to concentrate on my driving. With a red light just ahead, I laid on the horn and eased off the gas pedal. There were no cars coming from either direction, so I floored it, and ran the light. “Help me, help me, help me.”
A wailing siren set my teeth on edge. In the rearview mirror, I saw a police car barreling down on us.
I pressed on the horn and didn’t stop.
The scowling policeman pulled up beside me.
I drove with my left hand and pointed at Granny with my right. I yelled through the open window. “Hospital. Bad accident.”
The policeman motioned for me to follow as he passed the truck. He led me through town with his siren blaring. The few drivers on the road pulled off on the right side. I kept my eyes glued to the police car, following it all the way to the emergency room entrance.
I continued blowing the horn, and doctors ran through the hospital’s sliding glass doors. The policeman helped them load Granny on a stretcher.
Granny opened her eyes. “Sarah, you’re a brave girl,” she whispered.
I sat on an orange plastic chair in the waiting room. A blond, curly-haired nurse left her seat from behind the desk and brought me a box of Kleenex.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
I wiped my eyes and mumbled, “Could you check on my granny? She cut her leg and they brought her in on a stretcher.”
The nurse patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, try to relax. I’ll be back shortly.”
I sat on the hard chair for what seemed like forever and a day. Finally, the nurse walked over and bent down in front of me again. “They’re stitching up your granny’s leg. They want to give her a pint of blood and keep her here overni
ght, but she’s going to be just fine.”
The policeman strode back into the waiting room. For the first time, I really looked at him. He had a crew cut, and his uniform was starched and pressed to perfection. I had a funny urge to salute him.
The patrolman pulled up a chair in front of me and took a pen and pad from his pocket. “It’s about time we were properly introduced,” he said. “You can call me Sergeant Scott.”
“And you can call me Sarah.”
“Well, Sarah, do you have your license handy?”
I looked down at the floor and squirmed in my chair. “Sergeant Scott, I’m only twelve. I don’t have a license.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” he said. “I need for you to give me a statement about what happened.”
I started with making biscuits and went through the whole morning.
“Whew!” Sergeant Scott said. “That’s what I call having a bad day.” Then he winked at me. “I grew up on a farm myself. It’s a good thing you know how to drive.”
I flopped back in my chair and smiled. “Uh, sir, am I in trouble for driving without a license?”
He smiled back at me, and his blue eyes twinkled. “Not this time. I’m calling it ‘extenuating circumstances’ in my report. Do I have your solemn promise that you won’t drive in town again until you get your license?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Well now, Sarah, I can either give you a ride home or call your parents.”
“I don’t need a ride home. My parents are right here in the hospital. My sister is Robin Willis, the little girl who was hit by the car.”
“I read about that in the newspaper,” Sergeant Scott said. “I’ll talk to the receptionist and have your dad paged.” Sergeant Scott shook my hand. “Good-bye, Sarah. You’re a brave girl.”
A brave girl. A brave girl. This time, I was a brave girl.
The receptionist paged my dad: “Mr. Charles Willis. Please come to the emergency room. Mr. Charles Willis.”
I stared out the window while I waited on Dad. There was a big commotion when he stormed the front desk.
“I’m Charles Willis,” he yelled. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
Uh-oh. Dad looked like somebody had stepped on his last nerve. I hurried across the waiting room. “Dad, calm down. I can explain everything.”
He threw his arms around me and hugged me so tight I was afraid he’d break a couple of my ribs. “Uh, Dad, I can’t breathe.”
He just kept hugging. “Sarah Beth, I’m about to have a heart attack. Why in the devil did you have me paged to the emergency room?”
I led Dad over to the row of orange chairs so we could sit down. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” he said.
I told him about Granny cutting her leg on the oven door.
“She shoulda had that leg looked at a long time ago,” he said.
Then I told him about the flour.
“Flour? What made you think of using flour?”
A doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck walked up beside Dad. “I’m interested in the answer to that question too,” he said. The doctor stuck his hand out. “I’m Doctor Wood, and you must be the family of Maybelle Willis.”
Dad stood up and shook the doctor’s hand. “I’m Charlie Willis, Maybelle’s son. And this is her granddaughter, Sarah.”
The doctor looked like Clark Kent. I imagined him changing clothes in a telephone booth.
“Maybelle is doing just fine,” he said. “We’ve cleaned the wound and stitched it up. I want to keep her overnight and have a specialist take a look at her leg. He can recommend treatment options to avoid another emergency situation. But what I really want to hear about is the flour. In all my years of medicine, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I didn’t think it was so unusual, just good common sense. “Granny has been teaching me to cook this summer. When I make biscuits, I add flour and buttermilk to form dough. The more flour I add, the drier the dough becomes. I figured the blood was like buttermilk, and if I added enough flour, it would form a good, stiff dough and soak up the blood.”
“Ingenious,” Dr. Wood said. “Young lady, if not for your quick thinking, the situation with your grandmother could have been very serious.”
Dad slung his arm around my shoulders. “I’m proud of you, and your mama will be proud too.”
I grinned. “You don’t know the half of it. Grandpa wasn’t home, and I drove Granny here in his truck.”
“Lord have mercy!” Dad said. “I’d better find your grandpa.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Sarah Beth, what am I gonna do with you? You’re growing up way too fast.”
We were packed like sardines in Robin’s tiny hospital room. Mama and Grandpa sat in chairs on either side of her bed, while Dad and I leaned against the wall beside the door.
“Maybe I should train Sarah to be a race car driver,” Grandpa said. “With her drivin’ and my expert instruction, she could give ol’ Richard Petty a run for his money.”
“If you’re gonna train Sarah to be a race car driver,” Dad joked, “you’d better buy a faster truck.”
Dad and Grandpa were being silly. Guess we all needed some relief from accidents and hospitals.
“I better go check on Maybelle,” Grandpa said. “I have a notion that woman is being a terrible patient. Soon as they turn their backs, she’ll be runnin’ the hospital kitchen.”
“Sarah, you’re a hero,” Robin said, “like Marshal Dillon.”
I looked down at my sneakers. A hero would tell the truth, but the longer I waited, the harder it was to come clean.
“I’m thirsty,” Robin said.
I noticed the cot pushed against the window. “Is this where you sleep?” I asked Mama.
Mama poured some water for Robin and put a straw into the glass. “Yes, we’ve never left her alone. The hospital has been very good about that.”
I stretched and yawned. “Could I take a nap?”
Mama nodded her okay, and pretty soon I was fast asleep.
I dreamed of Robin in a leg brace and built-up shoes. Mean kids were pointing and laughing. When I jerked awake, her bed was empty. I threw the covers off and sat up. “Where is Robin?”
“Sssh,” Mama said. “Calm down. She’s gone to physical therapy.”
All the breath left my body in a big whoosh. “How’s Granny?”
Mama got up from her chair and hugged me. “Relax. Granny’s fine.” She patted my back. “I’m very proud of you. I hope you know that.”
“Yeah, I know.” I blinked back tears. Even saving Granny wasn’t enough to make up for Robin’s accident. Nothing was.
Mama reached into her pocket for a comb and dragged it through my tangled hair. “You have a guest in the waiting room,” she said.
“Me? Who would come to see me here?”
“Ruby Lee,” Mama answered.
I stood in the waiting room doorway, staring at Ruby. I wasn’t sure what she wanted or why she was here. I was afraid to hope for something good.
Ruby stared back.
I outlasted her in the staring contest, and Ruby finally trudged over. “You need to listen up, because I’m not much good at apologizing. I’m sorry about everything. About telling your secret, about the mean things I said, and how I acted at the ice-cream social. I’ve been ashamed of myself all summer.”
“Me too. I shouldn’t have called you that awful word. When I saw it scratched on Mrs. Smyre’s car, it hurt so much I could barely breathe.”
“I know. That’s how it was for me too.” Ruby looked into my eyes. “When it’s just you and me, it’s easy to be friends. But at school, I’m not sure how to go about it. We’re like two mismatched socks.”
I gave Ruby’s hand a quick squeeze. Two men about Grandpa’s age saw me touch her and frowned. I figured the best thing to do was ignore them. Ruby was right about two socks, one brown and one white. I wasn’t sure how to handle school either, but I wanted t
o try. “Maybe Mrs. Smyre could help us with being friends at school. Mrs. Brown in the library gave me the idea.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Ruby said. “Maybe she could.” Ruby smiled, and I could tell we were back to normal, or at least as close to normal as we could be, with school integration looming. “How’s Miss Maybelle doing?” she asked.
“Pretty good. They stitched her up and gave her a pint of blood. How’d you find out about Granny’s accident, anyway?”
“My uncle Clarence saw you drive through town. He followed and watched them bring Miss Maybelle in on a stretcher. My granny’s visiting with yours right now. We came to help.”
I thought about the blood and flour all over the kitchen floor. Miss Irene would make short work of that.
Ruby and I walked over and sat by the windows. We were quiet for a few minutes, but then Ruby turned her mischievous smile on me. “Enough of this serious talk. I’ve got a newsflash for you.”
“What’s that?”
“You know the other night when Drucker tried to talk to you?”
“Yeah.”
“He was fixing to ask you to the Harvest Moon.”
“The school dance? No way!”
Ruby nodded. “He sure enough was.”
I squinted and eyed Ruby suspiciously. “How do you know?”
“Because Curtis told me.”
“Curtis is one of your friends from church, right?”
Ruby laughed. “Curtis is my boyfriend, only he doesn’t know it yet! I’ve been telling him what to do his whole life. I already told him he’s taking me to the Harvest Moon.”
I felt my eyes bug out. “You did? What’d he say?”
“He called me Miss Bossy Britches. But then I put the evil eye on him, and he said, ‘Somebody has to take you so it might as well be me.’ ”
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