She found she was scarcely standing, she was all but hanging from the telephone. She stiffened her knees, leaned against the wall, and rang.
"Andrew?"
"Mary?"
She drew a deep breath.
"Mary."
She drew another deep breath; she felt as if her lungs were not large enough.
"Mary?"
Dizzy, seeing gray, trying to control her shaking voice, she said, "Andrew, there's been an-a man just phoned, from Powell's Station, about twelve miles out towards LaFollette, and he says-he says Jay-has met with a very serious accident. He wants…"
"Oh, my God, Mary!"
"He said they want some man of his family to come out just as soon as possible and, help bring him in, I guess."
"I'll call Walter, he'll take me out."
"Yes do, will you, Andrew?"
"Of course I will. Just a minute."
"What?"
"Aunt Hannah."
"May I speak to her when you're through?"
"Certainly. Where is he hurt, Mary?"
"He didn't say."
"Well, didn't you-no matter."
"No I didn't," she said, now realizing with surprise that she had not, "I guess because I was so sure. Sure it's his head, that is."
"Do they-shall I get Dr. Dekalb?"
"He says no; just you."
"I guess there's already a doctor there."
"I guess."
"I'll call Wa-wait, here's Aunt Hannah."
"Mary."
"Aunt Hannah, Jay is in a serious accident, Andrew has to go out. Would you come up and wait with me and get things ready just in case? Just in case he's well enough to be brought home and not the hospital?"
"Certainly, Mary. Of course I will."
"And will you tell Mama and Papa not to worry, not to come out, give them my love. We might as well just be calm as we can, till we know."
"Of course we must. I'll be right up."
"Thank you, Aunt Hannah."
She went into the kitchen and built a quick fire and put on a large kettle of water and a small kettle, for tea. The phone rang.
"Mary! Where do I go?"
"Why, Powell's Station, out the Pike towards…"
"I know, but exactly where? Didn't he say?"
"He said Brannick's blacksmith shop. B-r-a-n-n-i-c-k. Do you hear?"
"Yes. Brannick."
"He said they'll keep the lights on and you can't miss it. It's just to the left of the Pike just this side of Bell 's Bridge. Just a little way this side."
"All right, Mary, Walter will come by here and we'll bring Aunt Hannah on our way."
"All right. Thank you, Andrew."
She put on more kindling and hurried into the downstairs bedroom. How do I know, she thought; he didn't even say; I didn't even ask. By the way he talks he may be-she whipped off the coverlet, folded it, and smoothed the pad. I'm just simply not going to think about it until I know more, she told herself. She hurried to the linen closet and brought clean sheets and pillowcases. He didn't say whether there was a doctor there or not. She spread a sheet, folded it under the foot of the mattress, pulled it smooth, and folded it under all around. Then she spread her palms along it; it was cold and smooth beneath her hands and it brought her great hope. Oh God, let him be well enough to come home where I can take care of him, where I can take good care of him. How good to rest! That's all right, ma'am. Just some man that's kin. She spread the top sheet. That's all right, ma'am. That can mean anything. It can mean there's a doctor there and although it's serious he has it in hand, under control, it isn't so dreadfully bad, although he did say it's serious or it can… A light blanket, this weather. Two, case it turns cool. She hurried and got them, unaware whether she was making such noise as might wake the children and unaware that even in this swiftness she was moving, by force of habit, almost silently. Just some man that's kin. That means it's bad, or he'd ask for me. No, I'd have to stay with the children. But he doesn't know there are children. My place'd be home anyhow, getting things ready, he knows that. He didn't suggest getting anything ready. He knew I'd know. He is a man, wouldn't occur to him. She took the end of a pillow between her teeth and pulled the slip on and plumped it and put it in place. She took the end of the second pillow between her teeth and bit it so hard the roots of her teeth ached, and pulled the slip on and plumped it. Then she set the first pillow up on edge and set the second pillow on edge against it and plumped them both and smoothed them and stood away and looked at them with her head on one side, and for a moment she saw him sitting up in bed with a tray on his knees as he had sat when he strained his back, and he looked at her, almost but not quite smiling, and she could hear his voice, grouchy, pretending to be for the fun of it. If it's his head, she remembered, perhaps he'll have to lie very flat.
How do I know? How do I know?
She left the pillows as they were, and turned down the bed on that side, next to the window, and smoothed it. She carefully refolded the second blanket and laid it on the lower foot of the bed, no, it would bother his poor feet. She hung it over the footboard. She stood looking at the carefully made bed, and, for a few seconds, she was not sure where she was or why she was doing this. Then she remembered and said, "oh," in a small, stupefied, soft voice. She opened the window, top and bottom, and when the curtains billowed she tied them back more tightly. She went to the hall closet and brought out the bedpan and rinsed and dried it and put it under the bed. She went to the medicine chest and took out the thermometer, shook it, washed it in cool water, dried it, and put it beside the bed in a tumbler of water. She saw that the hand towel which covered this table was dusty, and threw it into the dirty-clothes hamper, and replaced it with a fresh one, and replaced that with a dainty linen guest towel upon the border of which pansies and violets were embroidered. She saw that the front pillow had sagged a little, and set it right. She pulled down the shade. She turned out the light and dropped to her knees, facing the bed, and closed her eyes. She touched her forehead, her breastbone, her left shoulder and her right shoulder, and clasped her hands.
"O God, if it be Thy will," she whispered. She could not think of anything more. She made the sign of the Cross again, slowly, deeply, and widely upon herself, and she felt something of the shape of the Cross; strength and quiet.
Thy will be done. And again she could think of nothing more. She got from her knees and without turning on the light or glancing towards the bed, went into the kitchen. The water for tea had almost boiled away. The water in the large kettle was scarcely tepid. The fire was almost out. While she was putting in more kindling, she heard them on the porch.
Hannah came in with her hands stretched out and Mary extended her own hands and took them and kissed her cheek while at the same instant they said, "Mary" and, "my dear"; then Hannah hurried to put her hat on the rack. Andrew stayed at the open door and did not speak but merely kept looking into her eyes; his own eyes were as hard and bright as those of a bird and they spoke to her of a cold and bitter incredulity, as if he were accusing something or someone (even perhaps his sister) which it was useless beyond words to accuse. She felt that he was saying, "And you can still believe in that idiotic God of yours?" Walter Starr stayed back in the darkness; Mary could just see the large lenses of his glasses, and the darkness of his mustache and of his heavy shoulders.
"Come in, Walter," she said, and her voice was as overwarm as if she were coaxing a shy child.
"We can't stop," Andrew said sharply.
Walter came forward and took her hand, and gently touched her wrist with his other hand. "We shan't be long," he said.
"Bless you," Mary murmured, and so pressed his hand that her arm trembled.
He patted her trembling wrist four times rapidly, turned away saying, "Better be off, Andrew," and went towards his automobile. She could hear that he had left the engine running, and now she realized all the more clearly how grave matters were.
"Everything's ready here in case-you know-he's-well enough to be brought home," Mary told Andrew.