The rest of the week passed slowly. By Thursday, I still hadn't gotten to go over to Angels Camp to the office of Animal Control. Crane
had said something about it being set up the following Monday afternoon after school.
A fact which irritated me to no end. But I kept my opinion to myself. Adam was short on temper most of the week, with Brian not far behind
him. They reminded me of a couple of bears who had somebody rattling their cages.
On Thursday evening, I was helping round up some stray calves. I've been doing that most of my life, so it's nothing new.
Therefore, when I saw two little white-faced calves down at the bottom of a steep hill, I didn't hesitate to go after them. I took Petra downhill on a
full run. I would have made it too, if it hadn't been for the washed-out slope at the very bottom.
Petra lost her footing, and we tumbled. She got to her feet quickly, shaking her head. I laid there on the ground, stunned, and the breath knocked
out of me. My head ached, and I swear I saw stars for a minute. I squeezed my eyes shut, and started taking inventory of my arms and legs.
I could move everything. My right hand had a sharp pain whenever I moved it, though. So I laid my hand on my stomach, taking some deep breaths.
I could hear yelling. Lots of yelling. And my name being called, over and over.
"Here!" I tried to call back. But the wind was coming up, and it seemed to carry my voice away.
"Harlie!" Crane's voice shouted out.
"Down here!" I tried again to call.
I don't know if he heard me, or if he saw Petra, standing there beside me, but he was down the hill on his horse, so fast that from the
angle at which I was laying on the ground, it looked as though he was flying, horse and all.
He was off before Duke even came to a full stop, and kneeling at my side.
With practiced hands, he began to check me over, feeling my legs, and my arms for breaks.
"Where are you hurt?" he asked.
"Just my hand," I said, and Crane lifted it gently. I winced, and he laid it down again.
"I'm okay," I said, in order to dispel that look of worry off his face. "I can sit up now."
I started to sit up, but Crane put a hand to my shoulder, and eased me back to the ground. "Just stay still," he said.
He got up, and went to Duke, pulling out the rifle carried alongside of the saddle.
Pointing it in the air, he fired it. Once. And then again. A signal, I knew, for everybody else, to know where to locate us.
Then he was back at my side, still checking me over. I winced when he moved my left foot.
"That hurt, too?" he asked.
"Yeah," I admitted.
Crane moved, and began to try to ease my boot off.
"Foot's already swelling," he said, and pulled a pocketknife from his pocket.
"Don't cut my boot, Crane," I pleaded.
"Better the boot than your foot," he said.
"Ha, ha, ha," I said weakly.
A moment later, and there were horses all over the top of the ridge, it seemed. And brothers scattering down the hillside.
"How bad?" Adam asked Crane, and I heard all the fear of the world in his voice.
"Her hand. And her ankle," Crane responded, as he began to saw away at my boot with his knife.
"Hey," I said, looking up into all their faces. "Can one of you guys tell him not to cut my boot up?"
None of them even bothered to answer that. Adam was doing his own investigation of injuries on me, his face furrowed in deep worry lines.
"I'm okay, Adam," I told him.
"Did you hit your head?" he asked me.
"I don't think so. I'm really okay-"
A horrible thought occurred to me, and I twisted my head, trying to see.
"Where's Petra?" I asked, panicked. "Can you see if she's alright?"
When none of them acted as though they heard me, I looked up at Evan. "Evan, please, will you check her?"
I kept twisting, trying to see, as Evan began running his hands over Petra, and down her legs.
"Stay still," Adam ordered gruffly. He sounded angry, and I peered up at him.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked him, in a small voice.
"You damn well know I am. What the hell were you thinking, taking that hill at that speed?" he snapped.
"I just wanted to get to the calves," I offered weakly, feeling frightened by the horrible look on his face, and wondering how he knew that I'd
taken the hill too fast.
"You know better," he said fiercely, and I wilted, tears welling up in my eyes.
"I can't believe you're hollering at me," I whimpered.
"I might do more than holler," he threatened, and my stomach clenched.
Brian got on one knee, on the other side of Crane. "Hospital?" he asked.
"I think so," Crane said. "Better have some x-rays. And make sure there's no concussion."
Brian stood up. "I'll ride back and let Hannah and Clare know what's goin' on. We can use Clare's car."
"It has a flat," Evan volunteered. "I told Clare I'd change it in the mornin'. Use my truck."
"Okay," Brian said, and stood up. "Come with me, Guth."
For the first time, I focused my gaze on Guthrie's face, his freckles standing out in fear and worry.
I tried to smile at him to ease his worry, but I don't think my smile really came off very well.
"Is Petra okay?" I asked Evan.
"She's got a couple of cuts, but she's fine," Evan said. "I'll take her home."
I watched as Brian and Guthrie left, and then Evan, leading Petra up the hill carefully.
"Try sitting up slowly," Crane told me, and they both put a hand behind my lower back, helping me to a sitting position .
I sat there for a minute, pushing back the pain radiating over almost every part of my body.
"Alright?" Crane asked me.
I wasn't going to admit how bruised and sore I felt right then, and give Adam more ammunition to fuel his anger.
"Fine," I said, and Crane chuckled a little.
"Ready to go dancing, huh?" he teased, and I was grateful for the moment of levity.
"Name the time and place," I muttered.
"Okay, up you go," Adam said, and between the two of them, they stood me on my feet.
I knew there was no way Duke could carry anybody up that hill, and I honestly didn't think I could manage climbing it on my own,
but I was determined to maintain my tough exterior.
"Who walks up first?" I asked, with bravado.
For a moment I thought I saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of Adam's mouth.
"Not you, baby girl," he said, hoisting me over his shoulder, in a fireman's hold. He started up the hill, Crane behind him, leading Duke.
At the top, he set me on my feet, or foot, rather, and swung up into the saddle. Crane lifted me up, and put me on the saddle in front of
Adam, as he shrugged out of his jacket, and laid it over the saddle horn. "Rest your hand right there," Adam said, placing my hand on the softness of the worn denim of his
rolled up jacket.
When we got back to the house, Hannah and Clare were waiting on the front porch, along with Brian. Before I could hardly get my thoughts
together, Adam had handed me off to Crane, who installed me in the middle seat of Evan's truck.
As Crane was reaching across me to fasten my seat belt, I said, "Are you coming with me?"
"Adam's gonna want to go. He's pretty worked up," Crane said.
"One reason that I want you to come along," I muttered.
"We'll see," Crane said, and there was a hurried conversation between all of them on the porch steps.
In a situation like this, a person is bound to have a preference on who they want with them. Adam's great at comforting, if it's a headache
or something like that. Something in other words, that you haven't caused to yourself by recklessness. In those cases, then Adam's not so good. He
gets real upset if one of us is hurt. And then he tends to yell.
If I'd had my 'dream team' of people to take me to the hospital, I'd have to say it would be Guthrie, and maybe Clare. Or Crane. Or even Brian.
Still, I knew that Adam going with me was a given. I could only hope that the person besides him, who rode 'shotgun' with us would be someone a little calmer.
Therefore, my mind was eased somewhat when Crane got in beside me, and Adam got behind the steering wheel to drive.
The ride began silent. There was still an hour or so of daylight left, but the sun was leaving the high point of the sky, and sinking to the side.
Besides my worry over Adam being mad, I was starting to be scared of how much damage I might have done to my hand. Or to my foot.
I flexed my foot and experimentally set it on the floor of the truck, and pressed down, trying to gauge from the pain if it was sprained.
"Quit," Crane ordered, obviously catching onto what I was doing.
"It doesn't hurt that much," I said, more to convince them both than myself. "Maybe it's just bruised a little, you think?"
"We'll find out when we get there," Crane said, non-committedly.
I risked a look at Adam, and his jaw was set in a hard line.
"Who's gonna get those two calves?" I asked, into the next moments of silence.
"That's not for you to worry about," Adam said curtly. He still sounded super mad. I would have liked to tell him something like
how he needed to work on his bedside manner, or something like that, but before I could, Crane wrapped an arm around my shoulder
and pulled me against his side. I was tired, and hurting, and it felt good to have him hug me that way, so I shut my mouth, pressing my lips
together so tightly that I probably looked as grim as Adam did.
7
At the hospital, Adam managed to find a spot to park that wasn't really far from the automatic entry doors.
Crane helped me get out, and then as he started to pick me up in order to carry me, I said, "I can do it."
Crane gave me a dubious look, but wrapped an arm around my waist, and started walking beside me. A couple of times I had to stop
to get my breath. It was darn hard, hopping like that. I could tell Adam was seething in impatience.
"Enough already," Adam said, and before I could protest, he swept me up, and carried me the rest of the way. At least, I thought,
it was the regular way to carry somebody, and not slung over his shoulder. That would have been so embarrassing.
Once inside, he set me back down, and Crane had me sit in one of those waiting room chairs.
Then Adam went to the front desk, and talked, and then started filling out paperwork. I sighed, and looked around, holding my hand close to my
stomach.
Finally, Adam came over and sank down in the chair beside me. He sighed heavily, and ran a hand over his face.
"Shouldn't be too long," Crane offered, sounding hopeful. "It's not that crowded."
"I asked how long," Adam said. "They've got a couple people in the back that are going to take awhile."
As if on cue, there was a screaming from the back that we could hear quite plainly. I winced.
"Wow," I said.
After another blood-curdling scream, I leaned forward, rubbing my good hand on my jeans nervously.
"I wonder what's going on," I said.
"Won't do any good to wonder about that," Adam said, still sounding terse.
We sat there for what seemed like forever. After awhile, Adam got up and went down the hall, where we could see him, depositing coins and
then talking on a pay phone there.
"Calling home?" I said, looking at Crane.
"Most likely." Crane got up and went to grab a couple of magazines from a nearby rack. He handed me one of them. A tattered copy of Seventeen.
I flipped thru it, the best as I was able to, with my good hand. Some of the clothes shown, I thought were sort of ridiculous looking. There was a couple of
skirts that I liked. I held it out to Crane.
"Would you like it if your girlfriend wore a skirt like that?" I asked him.
Crane gave the photo a brief glance, and went back to his own magazine.
"Well, would you?" I insisted.
"I guess that would depend," Crane said.
"Depend on what?" Now I was curious.
"Just depend," he said.
"A girl would need really, really nice legs to carry it off," I said.
"Hmmm," Crane said.
"Well, I like it," I said, still holding the magazine between our two chairs so we could both see it plainly.
"Liking it, and wearing it, are two completely different things," Crane said.
I knew what that meant. A girlfriend was one thing. A little sister was totally another.
"Oh, I don't know," I said, stretching out my leg, and teasing him a little. "I think I have pretty nice legs."
I saw Adam coming back towards us, still looking grim, and I snapped my leg back so quickly that I bumped my swollen ankle.
"Oww!" I said, and then muttered, "Bat shit!" under my breath.
Crane chuckled a little. "That's what you get," he said.
Adam sank back down in the chair he'd vacated.
"They get the calves all finished?" Crane asked him.
"Yeah," Adam said, sounding tired.
After that, I subsided into silence, giving up on looking at the magazine. I was starting to hurt more as time passed.
I sat up straighter in the chair, trying to stretch. Another scream from the back, and I jerked, startled, bumping my hand
against the side of the chair.
"Oww," I couldn't help saying, pressing my hand back to the safety of my lap, tears filling my eyes.
"It shouldn't be too much longer," Adam offered. He didn't sound quite so angry now, and I nodded my head.
"Try to keep your hand still," he told me.
"Could I maybe have a couple of Tylenol?" I asked, trying not to sound whiny.
"They're not going to give you anything until you've been seen by the doctor," Crane told me.
"That's stupid," I said, sourly.
Adam gave me a telling glance, and I looked away.
Finally, my name was called, and we got to go to the back to the examining rooms. Between Adam and Crane, each with an arm around me, I walked
there under my own steam.
After the nurse had taken all my vitals, and asked questions, and all of that, we sat and waited some more.
Then they came to take me for x-rays, and they made me ride in a wheelchair for that. When they brought me back to the room again,
both Crane and Adam stood up, looking anxious. I scrambled up onto the bed thing again, although it probably didn't look very graceful.
"The doctor will be in shortly," the x-ray technician said, and left.
"What they consider shortly," Adam muttered darkly.
Finally, the doctor came in. He was young. And extremely good-looking. I wasn't in so much pain that I couldn't appreciate his good
looks.
He started out by asking me about when I fell, if I'd hit my head, or if I'd lost consciousness.
"I might have bumped it a little," I admitted.
"I got to her a few minutes after it happened," Crane said. "She didn't lose consciousness, I don't think."
"No. I didn't," I affirmed.
The doctor felt around on my head, and my neck, and then asked me a bunch of questions, which Crane told me later were to determine
if I had a concussion. Then he pressed around on my ankle, which hurt a lot, but I tried not to show how much.
The doctor sat back a little, smiling at me. "Well, there's good news," he said, looking at Adam and Crane.
"No sign of concussion, and x-rays show no break of the ankle. It's a Level 1 sprain."
"What's that?" Adam asked.
"The ligaments are stretched, but not torn," the doctor explained. "If she ices it well for the next 48 hours, and keeps it elevated, it will be fine."
"Can she put weight on it at all?" Crane asked.
"She should be able to by the time the weekend rolls around. We can get her some crutches if necessary."
Adam looked relieved. "Okay. That is good news."
"Well, not entirely," the doctor said. "There is a small fracture in the wrist."
"Oh, boy," Adam said.
"It's not a bad break. We'll cast it, and it should be all healed up in a few weeks."
A cast! And on the hand I used for writing! I felt overwhelmed suddenly, and tearful again.
The doctor noticed, because he smiled at me kindly. "I promise you, you're going to be fine, young lady."
"Thanks," I mumbled, feeling anything but grateful at that moment.
He patted my knee, and the expression of kindness was almost my undoing. What with Adam still looking so grim, and knowing the
lectures I was in for, not to mention the fact that I didn't know how I was going to manage homework, with my hand being in a cast.
"I'll give you a prescription for some stronger pain medicine, in case you need it, and my nurse will be in to put the cast on." The doctor
shook hands with both Adam and Crane, and told them if there were any problems to follow up with our family doctor.
We waited for the nurse, the room silent. An oppressive silence.
"No school for you tomorrow," Crane said. "Not with having to keep that ankle iced."
"I'm going to get so far behind," I said.
"One day won't put you that much behind," Crane said. "Guthrie can bring your work home."
"It's not just tomorrow," I said. I held up my aching hand. "How am I going to write with my hand in a cast?"
"Maybe if you wouldn't ride as though you think you're Helen Gibson, then you wouldn't be sitting here," Adam said darkly, mentioning a cowgirl trick rider from many years
ago, who I'd been fascinated with from the age of nine onwards.
I could not, absolutely could not, believe how mean he was being! I knew I'd done the wrong thing, taking Petra down that hill so
carelessly, and so fast, but still, I thought Adam could be a lot nicer about it.
"I don't think I'm Helen Gibson," I said sullenly. "If I was as good as Helen Gibson, then I definitely would NOT be sitting here. She wouldn't
have made such a stupid decision."
If I'd thought that by admitting I'd been dumb with Petra, that Adam would loosen up, and not be so grim, I was mistaken. His expression
didn't lighten at all.
"Humph," was all he had to say.
"You act like I got hurt on purpose or something, just to be an inconvenience," someone said. Wait. It was me. I'd said that. And I'd said it in that sullen, accusing tone.
Adam turned to face me, full-on, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The expression on his face was beyond describing.
"What did you say?" he asked, and I clamped my lips shut. That was one of those questions that an adult asks you, where they already know
the answer. They're just asking the question to see if you're stupid enough to repeat the comment. I wasn't that stupid. I'd realized my
mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.
"Nothing," I muttered, looking away from his fierce gaze.
"Harlie Marie, I swear to God, you are makin' my palm itch," Adam threatened.
Well, this was rapidly going from bad to worse. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
"I'm sorry," I said, still not looking at him.
"Well, you watch your mouth, hear me?"
"Yes, sir," I said, studying my foot that was still wearing a boot.
When the nurse came in, carrying the tray of supplies, she rapidly got to work, dipping the wrapping and putting it around my thumb and
arm, leaving only the tips of my fingers exposed. The cast got hard surprisingly fast, and we were sent on our way, with discharge instructions
and a prescription for pain medicine. In the truck cab, in the darkness, driving home, I was quiet. Crane and Adam talked, about calves,
and a car accident that had happened in Angels Camp, stuff like that.
They had switched places, where Crane was the one driving, and Adam sat next to the passenger window. I tried valiantly to stay
upright, but the nurse had given me a pain pill before we left, and I was really drowsy. I jerked awake to find that I had drifted closer to
Adam's side, with my head resting against him, and his arm around my shoulders. I debated about sitting up, seeing as how he was so mad at
me. He probably didn't really want me leaning all over him that way. I moved a little, and he said quietly, "We'll be home in a few minutes. Just
relax."
He didn't sound angry.
"Okay," I said, sleepily, laying my head back on his arm.
"How's the pain?" he asked me.
"Better. Those pills must really pack a punch," I said, and I thought I heard the rumble of a chuckle in his chest.
"No doubt."
7
