Under the Sassafras

by Hattie Mae

  “Get some tools from the back of the truck and see if there’s a chain,” he shouted to Possum. Kids yelled and cried inside, turning Mansir’s insides to knots. “We need to secure this bus before it tips forward and falls into the bay.”

  “Check and see if any windows are open on the side,” Possum called back. Their voices grew louder over the pounding rain.

  Mansir walked around to the side of the bus and tried to look in the foggy windows. He saw the number 5 on the bus.

  T-Boy's bus. Number five was T-Boy's bus. His heart stopped. “Please dear Lord, let him be alright,” Mansir prayed out loud.

  Possum returned with a claw hammer, an armload of burlap sacks, a tire iron, and some chains.

  “This is T-Boy's bus. Can you see T-Boy?”

  Possum ignored his question and instead he simply moved. They hooked the chain onto the frame of the bus and the other end to a cement column on the bridge.

  “We have to go in through the back. If we try to climb around to the front, the bus could tip over into the water.” Mansir was sweating even in the cool rain. “I think most of the children are lying against this back door so I'm going to break out some of these side windows. Hand me some of those burlap sacks.”

  The two men banged on the side back windows, breaking them in large pieces and with the burlap sacks removed the glass.

  Mansir boosted himself into the bus, slipping on a seat wet with spilled juice from a lunch box. He covered the back window and broke it out in rapid blows.

  The cries from the children ripped through his heart. Begging for their mothers. Moaning from pain.

  Mansir gently lifted one child at a time off the stack of small bodies and handed them to Possum. Not able to take the time to comfort each frail child, he prayed that none were seriously injured. Prayed the next one would be T-Boy.

  The two men worked to free all of the children before the bus tilted any further to the front.

  “Have you seen T-Boy? Do you know where he was sitting?” Mansir asked children as he handed them off to Possum. His voice, already on edge, became frantic.

  “Maybe this is not his bus,” Possum said.

  “No. I saw the number five clearly on the side of the bus as the bus driver turned around this morning.”

  On the bottom of the heap of children, Mansir found a little blonde girl barely breathing. With the weight of the children removed from the back of the bus, it rocked forward.

  Mansir felt his heart drop. Not yet. Not until everyone was off this bus.

  Other car doors slammed and he knew more help had arrived. Mansir carried the little girl out the back door of the bus, he was met with flash bulbs going off on a near by camera. He dropped to his knees and cradled the small head to his chest. The small girl took a big deep breath, then reached up and touched Mansir's face. A soft muttering of thankful prayers went up from the small wet crowd.

  An ambulance wailed off in the distance. Mansir handed the child to a woman holding a blanket and looked around at the children wrapped in people's shirts, raincoats and being held under umbrellas. He counted them once then again. Seventeen by count.

  Mansir raced around the side of the bus again with Possum in quick pursuit. “T-Boy, where are you son? Answer me, boy. Where are you?” Mansir called out. “Please answer me.”

  The front window of the bus had been knocked out on impact. The bus driver lay across the window. He was just starting to regain consciousness. The unstable bus continued to shift. Metal scraped metal as the bus swayed.

  “Don't move!” Mansir said. “We need to stabilize this bus more,” he yelled to the crowd.

  Several men hitched more chains to the bus's frame onto their vehicles. The crowd waited and a hush fell over the watching group. Mansir and Possum climbed in the back of the bus once again and edged their way up to the driver. The bus shuttered and creaked with each step. Blood covered the bus driver's face and a piece of glass stuck out of his forehead.

  “Are the children okay?” he asked. They helped him to the nearest seat still intact.

  “Some of them are banged up, but for the most part, they are fine,” Possum responded. Checking for broken bones, Possum looked at the bus driver’s face. “Can you walk?”

  “I think so. Did you get everybody out?”

  “I don't know. How many were you carrying?” Mansir asked his voice shaking a little. “Do you know where T-Boy was sitting?”

  “I counted eighteen this morning. We were shy another four. I guess they decided to stay home today.”

  “Where was T-Boy?” Mansir asked again this time more sternly.

  “He sat in the front seat behind me. He always likes to sit up front behind me and talk. He told me about some present he got and wanted to show me part of it. That's when we hit something on the road and spun out of control. Is he alright?”

  Mansir let Possum bear the weight of the bus driver alone then rushed back into the bus.

  “T-Boy! Can you answer me? Where are you? Don't be afraid. I won't leave you in this bus. I'm not leaving this bus without you. You hear me, T-Boy?”

  The front seats had crunched one onto another like dominos. Mansir lay on the floor of the bus and slithered up the aisle, searching under the seats. Then he saw a small hand wedged between two seats. Time stood still as a lump formed in his throat as he stared at the still little hand. The hand clutched a wooden knight.

  “Please be alive,” he whispered as he carefully removed the seat that created a lean-to over this small boy that meant so much to him. A large gash on the boy's right leg oozed blood and had soaked his jeans. Mansir removed his belt and tied a tourniquet on the leg. He ran trembling hands over T-Boy's small body and felt for broken bones. The leg with the gash was broken, but the other limbs seemed to be intact. Careful to stabilize the broken leg, he pulled the seat off T-Boy’s body. Unbounded strength seemed to be his.

  T-Boy’s eyes were closed as if in sleep. Picking the unconscious boy up in his arms, he carried him to the waiting ambulance.

  The medics gave T-Boy oxygen as they transferred him to a stretcher and started working on his leg. Two other ambulances were leaving the wreckage site with injured children. The howl of sirens faded in the distance like the cries of a lost, injured animal. A news helicopter flew overhead.

  “Possum, go get Joelette. Tell her I'm with T-Boy and not to worry. I know she will want to be at the hospital with him.”

  Reporters rushed to Mansir's side with questions about the wreck, the injured children and who he was.

  He brushed them out of his way and climbed in the back of the ambulance with T-Boy. Mansir saw Possum talking to the reporters as they closed the door, encasing them in the safety of the emergency vehicle. He held T-Boy’s small hand. This boy had become like a son to him.

  His large hands shook uncontrollably as the realization of what just happened washed over him. Things could have been so much worse. Thank God he and Possum had decided to wait and eat breakfast when they got to town. What if they had waited just a little while? Would they have lost all those children? He closed his eyes to his thoughts and fears and he whispered a prayer of thanks.

  ###

  She rushed into the hospital, her feet tangled and she almost fell. Joelette couldn't breathe. Not T-Boy. Not her son. Please let him be whole. She came to a complete halt when she saw Mansir. He was wet, muddy and spattered with blood. He cradled his head with his hands. To be such a large man, he appeared small and defeated.

  “Where's T-Boy?” She was afraid to ask. “Is he alright?” Her voice shook and her legs gave way.

  Mansir stood and caught her in his arms. He led her to the waiting room and gently sat her beside him. “He's fine. They took him to surgery to set his leg. It was broken in several places in the wreck. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but the doctor says that's to be expected. He has no other injuries that they can find.”

  “Possum told me how you went back in that bus time after time looking fo
r T-Boy, even with the threat of it falling into the water. Thank you.” She searched his face and continued. “I know these sound like empty words, but I can't think of anything else to say, except thank you for saving my boy.”

  “I love him too, Joelette.”

  Possum came closer. “Man, you sure were something out there. The press is calling you a hero.” He gave him a sideways grin. “Hey, what size beside big do you think you wear? I thought I would run to the Dollar Store and get you a clean changing of clothes. We can't have a hero meet the press looking like something we found in the swamp.”

  “Thank you. I'll pay you back when this is all over with.”

  “Now here you go, did I ask for money? What’s wrong with you people always talking about money. I'll be right back,” Possum said.

  Mansir sat and held Joelette. Neither wanted to talk. “He’s got to be alright, Mansir, tell me he’s alright.”

  Mansir cleared his throat. “Of course he’s going to be alright.” Before he could say more a nurse came over to them.

  “He’s still in surgery but is doing very well. Would you like a place to clean up, Mr. Benoit?”

  He didn’t have the strength to argue with her mistake. He was not Mr. Benoit. He didn’t even have a last name.

  The nurse gave Mansir an empty patient room to shower and change into the clothes Possum brought him. Once he was clean and dry, he returned to Joelette. “Any word?”

  “Not yet. One of the floor nurses said she would check and let me know about his progress.” Joelette sat up straighter. With this remarkable man sitting beside her holding her hand, she knew she could handle anything.

  “Mama. Is T-Boy alright?” Ozamae ran down the hall with MaeMae behind him.

  “I got a ride with one of Mrs. Broussard's friends. I couldn't sit in that house and wait to hear about my grandson. How is he?” MaeMae asked.

  Joelette noticed her mother-in-law had seemed to age over the last few agonizing hours. Deep lines of worry and fear etched into her face.

  A nurse entered the waiting area and walked up to Joelette. “The doctor said everything is going great and they should be through in the next half hour.”

  “Thank you so much for finding out some information for us. You've been very kind.” Then she picked up Ozamae, gave him a tight hug then sat him beside her. If only she could hold her children close, throw a protective cover over them and never let them get hurt, life would be much easier.

  Joelette turned to MaeMae and let out a sigh of relief. “What we know is that he has a large gash on his right leg that required stitches, and the same leg is broken. The break required surgery to repair some splintered bones. He isn't conscious, but the doctor is not worried. He's going to need a lot of spoiling and I think I know just the person.” Joelette hugged MaeMae as they both cried.

  A surgical nurse soon approached them. “Mr. and Mrs. Beniot, the doctor wants to talk to both of you. Your son came through surgery fine and is now in recovery. As soon as we think it is alright we will bring him up to intensive care.”

  “Why intensive care?” Joelette held onto Mansir's hand so tightly that she knew it hurt.

  “It's common practice when someone comes out of surgery. He'll wake up soon and then he'll be sent to a private room.” The nurse continued. “If you will please follow me. Your son looks more like you, Mrs. Beniot, than your husband.”

  “He's not... Never mind.” She could not go into that room alone. No way was she going to tell this woman Mansir wasn't her husband. She needed Mansir right now whether it was right or wrong. She needed his strength. Joelette held on to Mansir as they followed the nurse.

  “Why didn't you tell them I wasn't your husband?” Mansir asked after the nurse left.

  “I just couldn't hear bad news by myself. I needed you to be with me. I apologize. You've done enough without having to baby-sit me.” She shook her head.

  “There's no other place I would rather be than by your side. T-Boy is going to be okay. He's a tough little guy.” Mansir put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her head down on his chest.

  The surgeon stepped into the room. “Hello. I'm Dr. Benjamin Bello. Your son went through surgery just great, but I'm a little worried that he hasn't regained consciousness. I want to keep him in ICU at least overnight for observation. His leg will heal fine. The young have a way of bouncing back rather quickly. He'll need to be off his leg for at least six weeks.” Looking at his watch, he said, “If you don't have any questions, I'm needed for another surgery this morning. I'll check on him before I leave the hospital today.”

  “Will he need any physical therapy? And when can we see him?” Mansir rubbed Joelette's hand as he spoke.

  “I don't think he will need therapy but we’ll wait and see how he heals. The nurse will let you know when he is out of recovery. I heard you did a brave thing today, Mr. Beniot, it must have been hard to know your son was one of the children on the bus. I heard through the grapevine that all the children have been released, except your boy and a little girl. The bus driver is being held for observation, but he seems fine. Having so few injures in this kind of accident is indeed remarkable, sir. It is a pleasure to shake your hand.”

  Mansir shook his hand and choked back the lump in his throat. “It was the hardest thing I've ever done. Thank you, Dr. Bello.”

  Joelette watched as the doctor walked away. Thank God for men like him trained to put little boys back together again. She looked up at Mansir, his face knitted in worry. And thank God for brave men who put themselves in harm's way to save little boys' lives.

  The efficient little nurse led them down the hall to ICU. The temperature in the ICU was freezing and T-Boy looked small lying in the hospital bed. Joelette rushed to his side and kissed his cheek.

  “Oh baby, I'm so sorry this happened to you. Mama's here, everything is all right. Wake up and give your mom a big old smile.”

  Joelette could taste the salt from the tears running into her mouth as she whispered in her son's ear. She felt someone's hand on her shoulder pull her back; she turned to see Mansir's strong face.

  Joelette fell into his open arms and cried. “It could have been much worse. I saw the place where the bus would have gone over the side into the water. They would have all drowned if you and Possum hadn't come along when you did. My son could have drowned.”

  “But he didn't, Joelette. Take a deep breath, you don't want to scare T-Boy. Everything is all right now.”

  She let go of Mansir and walked over to a box of tissue then wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You’re right. T-Boy needs a mother that is in control of herself, not some cry baby.” She pushed a strand of hair off her son's forehead and kissed the spot where a bruise discolored the skin.

  “Mr. Beniot, I'm sorry to bother you, but there is a waiting room full of reporters who want to talk to you. Could you please give them a brief statement so they will go home? Your son will be in good hands. I'll stay with your wife until you return,” said the nurse.

  “Go. You need to do this,” Joelette said. “I'll sit in this chair and hold T-Boy's hand. Oh, and if you can tell MaeMae and Ozamae what's going on. Maybe they could come in and see him for a brief time. Go, we'll be fine.” Joelette watched as Mansir bent over T-Boy.

  “I think you might want this when you wake up, little man. I won't be long.” Mansir laid a small object on his pillow and walked out the room.

  “You sure have some man.” The nurse whispered as she tended to the different tubes coming out of T-Boy.

  “He is quite the man.” Pride filled Joelette's heart. If only it were true, if only he was her man.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Joelette waited for Mansir to return. The nurse came in and turned on the television. “I thought you might like to see your husband on the six o'clock news.” The nurse left the room with Joelette staring at Mansir talking straight into the camera.

  “No. I'm not the boy's father. I'm sorry I don't know my name. This famil
y took me in after finding me in the swamp with a head injury. My doctor says I have amnesia, and the Benoit's have generously provided me a refuge to recover.”

  “Can you tell us what you do remember?” The reporter held the microphone close to Mansir's mouth.

  “I remember little bits and pieces of a past life. But this is not about me. You need to talk to the children that survived this ordeal.”

  “Are you actively looking for a family you might have left behind?”

  “Has anybody contacted you about who you might be?” asked one reporter after another.

  “Tell the viewing audience what they call you, sir.”

  Joelette watched as a small blonde woman pushed the other reporters away and edged closer.

  “One of the boys named me Mansir and I've gone by that name for the last few months.”

  “Aren't you curious?” she asked.

  His jaws tightened and he leveled his gaze at the reporter. “Of course I want to know who I am and where I come from. But, lady, I just don't remember. If you will excuse me I need to get back to a very brave little boy.”

  The TV station switched back to the anchor reporter. “That was a live report from the Lafayette hospital where an unlikely hero repaid a debt to a family who took him in by saving their little boy. If anyone knows this man please notify KOAL at any time. The phone number is at the bottom of your screen.”

  He had announced to the world that he didn't know who he was. Mansir wouldn't be an unknown hero for long. Joelette felt a huge lump in the pit of her stomach. Someone would know him and claim him. Who wouldn't? Her heart beat faster. Her gentle giant was going to leave them. The pain strangled her.

  “Mama, are you crying?” T-Boy's voice barely a whisper pulled her from despair.

  “Oh baby, you're awake.” She wiped her cheeks. “I'm not crying, I just have something in my eyes. Are you in any pain? The nurse said they could give you something.”

  “I'm okay. What happened?”