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Mama’s worried tone drew Ava from the window. “I’m notsure, but I think that’s Papa and Gil out there.” She went to the door and opened it wide. Lamplight flowed outward, giving her a clear view. Papa, followed closely by Gil, ran past the porch. Ava darted to the railing and leaned out. “Papa, what’s wrong?”
Papa rushed through the barn’s side door without answering, but Gil paused and looked back at her. “Your father’s getting his carriage. The seat will be softer than a wagon bed.” Anguish twisted his face. “Roald Willems had an accident, and it’s all my fault. He needs a doctor, so we’re driving him to Aiken.”
Chapter Seven
Gil
Gil peered from around theedge of the carriage bonnet at the night sky. Thanks to the thick cloud cover, the entire expanse was black as pitch, matching the landscape. Had he really thought the prairie peaceful? Tonight, with the stars extinguished and Roald’s soft moans a constant accompaniment to the horse’sclop-clopon the road, the surroundings were eerie. Or was his guilt coloring his impression? He put his face in his hands and stifled a moan. How could he have been so clumsy?
Roald had stayed behind after band practice and helped Gil and Bernard put the music stands away, sweep the floor, and lower all the window blinds. What a good time they’d had, teasing and joking with so much ease and familiarity that Gil felt as if he’d never been away from Falke. They were still laughing as they headed down the staircase, Roald going first with his tuba, then Gil, and finally Bernard. Suddenly, Gil realized he’d left his baton on the director’s stand. He didn’t want to risk losing such a precious gift, so he turned to retrieve it. The next events replayed behind his closed lids.
He bumped the bell of Roald’s tuba. The instrument lurched forward. The man jerked, his hands scrambling for a hold. Then his heel slid off the edge of the step. The tuba wentflying, and Roald tumbled after it. Clangs and thuds filled Gil’s memory, along with the image of Roald, white-faced and moaning, lying on top of his battered tuba at the bottom of the stairs.
A gentle nudge on his elbow blessedly rescued him from his inner reflections. “There’s the doctor’s house,” Bernard said. “He always leaves a light burning on his porch. I’ll pull as close as I can to the house. Go knock on the door while I hitch the horse to the post in his yard. Dr. Graves will help us carry Roald inside.” Bernard’s face contorted into a horrible grimace. “I hope we didn’t do any harm when we put him in the carriage.”
Gil hadn’t even thought about that possibility. His pulse pounded in his ears, and a whimper seemed to come from his heart.Please, Lord…He braced his hand on the edge of the carriage and leaped out before it came to a stop. His feet met the ground with a jolt that momentarily shocked him, but he stumbled around the carriage and up to the small porch at the corner of the two-story house. He twisted the key in the brass doorbell, nearly dancing in place on his tingling soles.
A mustached man wearing a nightshirt and cap opened the door. “Is there an emergency?”
Gil pointed to Bernard’s carriage. “Yes, sir. A man fell down a flight of stairs. We don’t know how badly he’s hurt.”
“I’ll get my stretcher.” He closed the door.
Gil raced back to Bernard, who was leaning into the carriage’s back seat. “The doc’s bringing a stretcher.” He reached in and touched Roald’s shoulder. “Hold on, Mr. Willems. The doctor’s coming.”
Roald’s eyes rolled, the way Gil had seen a frightened horse respond to a coming storm. “Jo, I heard you, boy. I will be glad for him to see me. I only wish one thing.”
Gil leaned closer to the man. “What is it?”
“That we had brought my tuba, too. It probably needs fixing up as much as I do.”
That he could joke at such a time should have encouraged Gil, but the comment stung his heart. Was the tuba beyond repair? If so, he’d replace it. He didn’t know how, but he made the silent vow to himself.
The doctor, now fully dressed, came across the yard. He carried an oil lantern in one hand and an odd canvas-looking contraption under his arm. He leaned the stretcher against the carriage, pushed between Bernard and Gil, and hooked the lantern on a nail inside the carriage’s bonnet. “So you decided to go down some stairs faster than you should, hmm?”
Bernard grabbed Gil’s elbow and escorted him several feet away from the carriage. “I want you to stop blaming yourself.” He slid his arm around Gil’s shoulders. “It was an accident. Accidents happen. We cannot go back and change it, so now we need to use our heads. If he’s badly hurt, he’ll worry about his responsibilities. So let’s plan how we can best assist him if need be. Thinking of ways to help is better than finding fault, don’t you agree?”
Gil nodded his agreement, but inwardly he wondered if he’d be able to set aside his self-recrimination. After all, it hadn’t been Onkel Bernard who’d started the chain of events that led to Roald’s fall.
The doctor strode over to them, his expression grim. “Gentlemen, I’ll need your help getting him into the house. His right leg is broken. I want to splint it before we try to move him to avoid further damage.”
A chill broke over Gil’s frame. “How bad is it, Doctor?”
“He has a displaced fracture. I hope to set it without surgery, but I’ll have to wait until I have him inside to know forsure. With surgery or without, he won’t be going home for a few days.” The doctor headed for the carriage, and Gil and Bernard followed. “When he does go home, he’ll be bedbound for a while.”
Surgery. Bedbound. Gil’s mind reeled.
“Once we move him inside, you fellows should go on home. There’s nothing more you can do for him tonight.”
Bernard cleared his throat. “I am not one to argue with an educated man, but there is something more we can do. We can pray.”
The doctor sent a quick nod over his shoulder. “Indeed, sir. And I will do so, as well.”
—
On their returnto Falke, Gil didn’t speak. Nor did Bernard. Gil presumed Bernard was praying, and he didn’t want to interrupt. Gil tried to pray, but words wouldn’t form. Worry and guilt stole his ability to string words into sensible sentences. By the time Bernard drove his carriage into his barn, the hour was nearly midnight. Time to sleep. But Gil needed Bernard’s opinion.
Instead of getting out of the carriage, he turned sideways in the seat. “Onkel Bernard, Mr. Willems lives alone, doesn’t he?”
