Charlie's Angels. Cheryl St.John
a crimson rivulet streaming from a gash on her forehead, down her temple, a stain spreading on the shoulder of her pink sweater.
“Meredith, I’m going to take you to the Jeep and come back for her.” Hurriedly, he shoved the child’s arms into her pink coat, carried her up the incline and deposited her in the back seat. “Put your seat belt on. I’ll be right back.”
Wide-eyed and hiccuping from her recent near-hysterical crying, the child nodded her acquiescence.
Charlie opened the rear of the Jeep, took out an old plaid blanket, and plowed his way back down the bank. He paused to scoop a gloveful of snow, then, once inside the cab, he turned off the engine and dabbed the snow on the woman’s forehead. She had a cut about an inch long that looked fairly deep. He stuffed the keys in his pocket and unbuckled her. After wrapping the blanket around her, he slid her out of the cab as gently as he could and struggled up the bank with her held in his arms. He slipped to his knees twice, but retained his hold on her.
He was sweating by the time he got her into the back of the Jeep, covered her wound with a fresh blob of snow, tied it with his wool scarf and closed up the back.
Fearful of backing off the edge of the road if he tried to turn around, he carefully backed the Jeep along on the highway until he was certain the access area he reached was wide enough to back into and head out going forward. Perspiration cooled his forehead as he got the vehicle turned around and drove toward home. He would never make it to the town’s clinic in this weather without another accident. He couldn’t see the road. Meredith was uncharacteristically silent, a blessing, because the hazardous trip took all his concentration.
He had no idea how badly the woman was hurt, or if he’d done her more damage by moving her, but he didn’t think so. She’d been wearing her seat belt; her head had probably hit the steering wheel or the side window.
Grabbing his phone, he called the sheriff’s office. Sharon, the dispatcher answered. “I have Meredith,” he said. “She seems fine. But the truck the woman was driving slid off the road and the driver’s unconscious. She has a pretty bad cut on her forehead. I have her with me, but I can’t make it to town.”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll be at my place in a few minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll let Bryce know and I’ll call Dr. Kline. He can use Sheigh Addison’s snowmobile and come out to your place.”
“I’m almost there.” Charlie hung up and focused on getting the Jeep onto his property. Once he hit his drive, there were no more drainage ditches to fear. He found the path and drove along the length of gravel, clear to the front of his garage where he used the remote to open the door. He pulled into the safe dry garage and breathed a sigh of relief.
After getting Meredith out of the back seat and placing her inside the house, Charlie went back for the young woman. He carried her through the mudroom, across the kitchen and into the great room where he laid her on the leather sofa. After hurriedly running back and hitting the button to close the garage door, he turned on indoor lights and checked her head.
The snow had helped to slow the flow of blood from the wound. He grabbed clean kitchen towels and applied pressure to the cut. Meredith stood nearby, her eyes wide with fright, her dark hair curling wildly around her stricken face.
Charlie reached for her with one arm, and she flung herself against him. He sat on the floor beside the sofa to hold his baby and keep pressure on the woman’s cut.
He’d never been so frightened in his entire life. Almost losing this child had been a gruesome experience. He hugged her warm little body close, felt her trembling and inhaled the wonderful child scent he so loved. His heart couldn’t contain his gratitude at having her safe in his embrace. His eyes stung.
“Are you so, so mad, Daddy?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“We’ll talk about that later. Not right now.” He kissed her hair, her soft cheeks. Closed his eyes and thanked God with his whole being.
They were still sitting like that when he saw a headlight flicker across the lawn and heard the rumble of the snowmobile’s engine cut. “Why don’t you go to your room and rest on your bed for a little while?” he said to his daughter.
Obediently she got up and headed for the hallway.
Charlie let Garreth Kline in. “She’s right here.” He led the young doctor to the sofa.
“What’s her name?” the tall dark-haired man asked.
Charlie realized he didn’t know and told him so.
Garreth took a penlight and raised one of the woman’s eyelids at a time. “Her pupils are equal and reactive.” He removed the cloth to examine the cut. “This needs a couple of stitches. Miss? Can you hear me? Miss?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Knocked out, I’d say. Took a good whack on the head there.”
“Are those medical terms?”
Garreth ignored him and rubbed his knuckles against her sternum. “Can you wake up and look at me?”
Her eyelids fluttered open.
“Hi. I’m a doctor. Do you know your name?”
She frowned, but she said softly, “Starla.”
“Good. Starla, you have a cut on your head. I’m going to numb the area first, and then I’ll suture it.”
She nodded and closed her eyes.
The doctor tugged on latex gloves and prepared a syringe. Charlie washed his hands in case Garreth needed his help, but then just stood by as Garreth neatly closed the wound, tied a knot and clipped the thread. “She’s going to have a whopping headache,” the doc said, removing the gloves and placing supplies back in his bag. “Do you have any Tylenol?”
Charlie found a bottle.
“She should rest, in case she has a concussion. If she falls asleep and isn’t responsive, or if she vomits, call me.”
“What am I going to do with her?” Charlie asked.
“Just keep her comfortable. And don’t let her drive.”
Charlie shook his head. “Funny.”
Garreth shrugged. “Seriously. Looks like you’ve got yourself a house guest for the duration of the storm.”
Charlie studied the woman on his sofa, then looked at Garreth, whose eyes held a twinkle.
“The situation doesn’t look all that bad, Charlie.”
“I just had one of the worst scares of my life. I need some time to recover.”
“Meredith’s okay? Should I have a look at her?”
“I’d appreciate that, thanks.” He led the way to his daughter’s room. “Look, honey, Dr. Kline is here.”
Meredith sat up on her bed, a worn blue bunny hugged to her chest. “Is the angel lady okay?”
“She’s fine,” Garreth told her. “She just got a bump on the head and a cut. How about you? Did you bump your head?”
Meredith said no. “The angel lady covered my head up with my coat. I was scared.”
“She was protecting you, you know that, right?”
Meredith nodded. “That’s what angels do. That’s what Aunt Edna’s angel did. Protected her from a car crash.”
Charlie exchanged a look with the young doctor. Janet Carter’s aunt would tell the story of the angel in the car to anyone who would listen, and anyone who’d ever met her had heard the tale. What that old lady’s story and his daughter’s experience today had in common, he couldn’t imagine, but Meredith had found a comparison. Confirmation of her theory, apparently.
With