Even as I spoke I planned the way. "Carrie, do
exactly as I say. Don't lean to the right or to the left.
Lie flat on your stomach, aim for my voice. I'm going
to crawl in to you and take hold of you under your
arms. Raise your head high so your face won't be
scraped. Dr. Paul will grab hold of my ankles and pull
us both out."
"Tell her it's going to hurt her leg."
"Did you hear Dr. Paul, Carrie? It's going to
hurt your leg so please don't thrash about if you feel
pain; everything will be over in a second or two and
Dr. Paul will make your leg well again."
It seemed to take hours for me to inch down that
tunnel while the crates teetered and rocked, and when
I had her by the shoulders I heard Dr. Paul cry out, "Okay, Cathy!" Then he pulled, fast and hard! Down thundered the wooden crates! Dust flew everywhere. In the confusion I was at Carrie's side, removing the
gag and blindfold while the doctor untied her bonds. Then Carrie was clinging to me, blinking
because the light hurt, crying from the pain, terrified
to see the teachers and her leg so crooked.
In the ambulance that came to take Carrie to the
hospital Chris and I rode and shared the same stool,
each of us holding one of Carrie's hands. Paul
followed in his white car so he'd be there to supervise
the orthopedist who would set Carrie's broken leg.
Lying face upward on the pillow near her head with
fixed smiles and rigid bodies were Carrie's three dolls.
That's when I remembered. Now the crib was missing
too, just as the cradle had disappeared years ago. Carrie's broken leg spoiled the long summer
vacation trip our doctor had planned for all of us.
Again I raged inwardly at Momma. Her fault; always
we were punished for what she'd caused! It wasn't fair
