Chapter Ten #3
that was a hundred years ago. People’s outlook hadn’t changed sufficiently back to those times for parents not to blink an
eye at pushing their kids out the door to walk a few miles in the rain or snow. If the electricity stayed off for over a year,
though, those times might return.
“Fifty, maybe?”
Sela thought that might be a good number. The elementary school had almost four times that number of students, but that included
kindergarten kids and kids who weren’t close enough now to attend.
“There has to be someone in the valley with teaching experience,” she said, thinking. As usual, Carol would know more about
that than she did. “Regardless of that, you kids have your books, right? What you need is structure and someone to go through
the material with you.”
Feeding that many kids would be impossible, so everyone would have to bring their lunches. Just dividing the classes, getting
volunteers to teach, and heating the area selected for school would be a big job. Logistically, the best places for having
classes would be private houses, one for each group, so the firewood wouldn’t be used to heat entirely separate spaces. Emergency
situations required emergency adjustments. Later on they’d worry about setting up a more traditional school setting.
“Thanks,” Olivia said, giving her a quick hug. “I knew you’d come up with something.”
They dragged the tarp-load of sticks back to Carol’s house, where they unloaded and stacked half of it a few feet from the
back door. They covered the stack to keep it dry, then Sela pulled the remainder to her house and repeated the process.
The chores were so simple now. She didn’t have to deal with fuel deliveries, inventory, bank statements, or taxes. She had
to eat, keep clean, and keep the fire going on cool days. She walked a lot, hauling water and firewood, and going about the
valley. She’d met with the Bouldins and they had gone to see the Livingstons, to teach Mary Alice which particular herbs to
use to keep her blood pressure under control, and how to use them. Once a week she and Carol walked to the store to meet with
Mike and the rest of the community patrol, see how things were going, if any of the volunteers needed relief or had seen something
Mike didn’t already know about. Ted Parsons always had a lot to say, but he was taking part and she no longer thought he was
as obnoxious as he’d first seemed. He and Carol would never be friends, but at least they were cordial.
They were getting by. The valley residents were pulling together, cooperating. Even the oldest people were contributing by
taking in mending, making quilts, and any other way they could think of to pay the people who brought them food. The old women
knew how to cook without electricity, more than heating a pan of soup on the fire. Some of them would watch younger kids while
their parents did other chores. The barter system was very informal, everyone sort of made their own bargains except for what
was needed for the community patrol, but it was working. So far they hadn’t had any trouble, except for one guy on the Townsend
end of the valley who had somehow gotten his hands on some meth and trashed his house and slapped his wife around, before
shooting at the neighbor’s house. The community patrol, two former military guys, had taken it on themselves to kick the guy’s
ass and tie him up in a barn until he settled down. Other than that there was nothing they could do, they had no jail and
no one wanted to take on the care and feeding of a prisoner anyway.
Sela had the uneasy feeling that if he made a practice of taking drugs—and God only knew where he’d gotten the meth—and slapping
his wife around, he’d end up with a bullet in his head in a hunting “accident.” She didn’t want anyone in their small community
to have to kill someone, but everyone who attended the weekly patrol meetings knew that anything was a possibility. All they
could do was hope things stayed as relatively peaceful as they had been so far.
The very next morning, the mini-disaster she’d been waiting for happened. She hadn’t known who, what, or when, but eventually
something had to happen to someone. She just hadn’t expected it to be her family.
“Sela! Sela!”
She was standing in the road talking to Mike. They’d been checking on the elderly couple who lived at the beginning of Myra
Road, and discussing recruiting another volunteer for patrol so Trey Foster could cut more firewood, not just for his own
family but for others who weren’t able to cut it themselves. At Olivia’s high, wailing cry, they both turned.
Something was wrong.
Olivia sprinted down the middle of the road toward them, her ponytail whipping behind her. Sela ran toward her, and when Olivia
was close enough, Sela saw the tears on her face.
Carol. It had to be Carol. Nothing else would upset Olivia so much.
“Gran fell,” Olivia panted as she skidded to a stop. Each word was an effort, each breath ragged.
“Fell?” Sela’s heart skipped a beat. At Carol’s age a fall could be disastrous—especially now, when there was no 9-1-1 to
call, no EMTs, no hospital.
“Down the stairs.” Olivia bent over and took a couple of deep breaths. It wasn’t the short run that doubled her over, it was
the thought of losing her Gran. The kid had lost too much in her short life. She choked on a sob. “Barb said she’s broken
her leg.”
Sela took off at a run, Mike beside her. As she ran she tried to control her emotions. Better a leg than a hip. Maybe it wasn’t a break. Maybe it was just a bad sprain, and Barb, who tended toward the emotional rather than the logical,
had overreacted.
Please let it be a sprain. Please let it be a sprain. Not that a sprain wouldn’t be bad enough, in these circumstances; some sprains could take longer to heal than a broken bone.
She ran up the steps and through the front door, with Mike right behind her and Olivia coming in a close third. Her heart
almost stopped at the sight of Carol lying in an awkward position at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes closed and her face
pale. Barb knelt beside her. Sela hurried forward and as she did, Carol pressed a hand to her side and moaned. Then she said,
“Shit!” That one curse word sent a wave of relief through Sela; not only was Carol conscious, she was angry, and that was
a very good thing.
Barb looked up, surprisingly calm for someone who normally didn’t handle any crisis well. “Thank heavens you’re here, Mike;
we’ll need some help moving her.”
“What happened?” Sela asked as she dropped down. “How bad is it?” And was it safe to move Carol? It had to be; what choice
did they have? Leave her lying there until her leg healed?
Carol opened her eyes and looked at Sela. Pain was clear in her gaze, her expression, and the way she pressed her lips together.
“I lost my balance at the top of the stairs. I went up to get a box of winter clothes out of the closet to air them out, because
we’re going to need them. It’ll probably snow soon, and I want to be prepared.” She wasn’t quite rambling, but close. “Damn
it! I’m disgusted with myself, falling like an old—” She grimaced in pain. “Damn near seventy years old and I’ve never broken
a bone before now. Spectacular timing, wouldn’t you say?”
“What do we do?” Olivia asked, dread in her voice. “Oh my God, oh my God!”
Mike knelt on the other side of Carol and said to Olivia, “She’ll be okay, honey. From what I can see, if her leg’s broken,
it’s a simple fracture. I’ll get a medic over here to check, but I’m pretty sure.”
Sela danced on the edge of her own hysteria, but she couldn’t give in. She was still dealing with what could have happened,
not what actually had. She tamped down her sense of dread. Yes, it was likely Carol’s leg was broken, but it wasn’t a compound
fracture. It was a warm enough early November day, and Carol wore capris instead of jeans or sweatpants. If bone had been
sticking out, if the skin had been broken, then she wouldn’t have been able to stop the panic because she knew enough about
compound fractures to know that without expert medical care they could be deadly.
Someone had to handle this crisis. That someone was her.
“Let’s get her to the couch. Mike, what do you think would be the best way to lift her? On a quilt, maybe, like a sling?”
“I don’t think we’ll need that,” he said, slipping an arm behind Carol’s shoulders and lifting her to a sitting position.
Barb hurried to spread a blanket on the couch and fetch a pillow; with Sela and Mike on each side and Olivia gripping Carol’s
clothes from behind, they got her to a standing position.
Once Carol was upright she put her weight on the left foot, but kept her right foot lifted. Already her lower leg was swelling
and bruising some. That wasn’t a good sign. Together they lurched and hobbled their way to the sofa and lowered the injured
woman there as gently as they could. Later, and with more help, they’d move Carol to her bedroom, but for now this would do
and make it easier for any immediate care.
Carol groaned as they positioned her on the couch. She closed her eyes again.
Barb put the pillow behind Carol’s head, and another underneath her right knee. “We need to immobilize and elevate the leg.”
“You’ve done this before?” Sela asked.
Barb sighed as she took another pillow and put it under Carol’s right foot. “Yes, Harold broke his leg on a camping trip once.
It was horrible, really traumatic for both of us, but everything turned out okay. I wish we had some ice. That would help
with the swelling.”
Might as well wish for a healing fairy; they didn’t have any ice, not a single cube. They did have cold water, though, because
the water they dipped from the creek was icy. “Olivia, get some towels and wet them, the cold water will help. What else,
Barb?”
“A splint, to keep the leg immobile. She’ll have to stay off it for at least a couple of months.”
Carol’s eyes popped open and she tried to come up, but she didn’t make it far. She winced and fell back, resting a hand over